tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80766452024-03-14T08:26:45.129+01:00The Cornish RamblerOooh, ahhh, that's how it always starts. Then later there's running and screaming.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger463125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076645.post-55903003990717797942008-02-17T18:35:00.001+01:002008-02-17T18:37:50.934+01:00Life In Cold Blood<span style="font-family:verdana;"><em>"This is a gold mine. The people who dug it didn't find any gold."</em> </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">So - it's technically more of what's known as 'a big hole' then Sir David?</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">--</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076645.post-5737474339315768912008-01-06T19:02:00.000+01:002008-01-06T19:05:30.011+01:00Pining Away<span style="font-family:verdana;">So there we are, Christmas is officially over. The tree's down, the decorations are gone, and I'm running out of time to do something with that last half-jar of mincemeat in the fridge.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Is it just me that appears to play hide-n-seek with decorations? You think you're done, sit down, then realise there's still tinsel round the picture. So you pull the boxes out again, stuff it in and sit back down, only to spot the wind-up santa on the bookcase (which has actually been there all year, because you didn't spot it last time either).<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Then it's just a question of getting the tree out into the back garden and deciding, rather like the Liberator, which way it should be pointing; all the time knowing it's a redundant question anyway, as either will see an equal number of needles shed into the carpet, clothes and the cat's bowl. The resulting hoovering up is also doubly difficult, because finding pine needles on a green carpet? I suppose I could always do it in bare feet...<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Still, next Christmas? Bring it on.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">--</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076645.post-67159849285626722982008-01-05T11:48:00.000+01:002008-01-05T11:58:11.825+01:00008, Licensed to post cheap innuendo<span style="font-family:verdana;">Happy, um, January? Yes, quite.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">So there I am, checking my email and trying to drink enough black coffee to wake up, when there's a short loud bang at the door. It's not quite a knock-knock, and as far as I know the doorbell's working, so I assume it's one of the cats, but I go to have a look, (somewhat tentatively, as I'm only clad in dressing gown and towel). </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">I pull open the door to find a middle-aged balding gentleman bent down in an attempt to stuff a Yellow Pages through my cat-flap.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">The Cornish Rambler : startling unsuspecting locals since 2004.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">--</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076645.post-5938108373535810782007-12-23T18:13:00.000+01:002007-12-23T18:17:16.939+01:00"You cheap lousy faggot"<span style="font-family:verdana;">So after all the fuss about Radio 1 first censoring Fairytale of New York, and then deciding not to when the entire world and Radio 2 went "Eh? WTF?" they end up dubbing it after all on the Christmas TOTP2.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Now apart from the insanity of screwing with <em>the</em> most famous line of <em>the</em> most popular Christmas song ever <span style="font-size:85%;">(TM)</span> I'll concede it was actually done in an impressively seamless way, substituting "you're drunk and you're haggard" for "you cheap lousy faggot". So if you didn't know what it was supposed to be, you wouldn't, in fact, notice. The point <em>being</em>, everybody does know what it's supposed to be. And everyone, with the exception of Peter "shut up I'm chewing a wasp" Tatchell, who takes offence at everything on principle and should therefore sensibly be ignored, thinks it's bonkers to change it.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Bizarrely, they left in the other line that was earmarked for dubbing, "you're an old slut on junk." Which, for the last twenty years, I have heard as "you're an old southern drunk." So the only outcome of the whole debacle is to make the song marginally more offensive than it had been in my head. A stonking result for the BBC there, then. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">--</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076645.post-25407012220305926602007-11-18T19:04:00.000+01:002008-01-05T11:58:46.725+01:00And finally, to prove to Dave I'm not dead...<span style="font-family:verdana;">We left home on Friday in persistent drizzle and it took about six hours to get to Oxfordshire. I've not been through the Cotswolds before, it's very pretty countryside and has some gorgous villages. The hotel was an old coaching inn, reputedly haunted by the ghost of a highwayman - his image was everywhere, looking backwards from his horse - so you would for example open the menu and be confronted with a large horse's arse. Nice.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3-8VNaL5L94/R0B-4VZCQoI/AAAAAAAAADU/3oP_QMLeq8Y/s1600-h/hotel.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5134243081482289794" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3-8VNaL5L94/R0B-4VZCQoI/AAAAAAAAADU/3oP_QMLeq8Y/s200/hotel.jpg" border="0" /></a>The room was quite comfortable, albeit with a manky old blanket and mysterious stains on the bedspread - judging by the damp patch on the ceiling, they'd had a little accident at some point.<br /><br />We descended to the bar for a pre-dinner drink - over £6 for two pints. Yeeouch. Still, managed to nab a couple of armchairs in the corner with the bookcase which was full of old editions of things like Keats, and My Family And Other Animals, and so on - the volume that caught my eye (no idea why) was King Solomon's Ring. Upon examination this turned out to be some kind of naturalist's treatise, but the chapter headings made me laugh - they included Pitying Animals and Laughing At Animals. Eh?<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3-8VNaL5L94/R0B_EVZCQpI/AAAAAAAAADc/LlYuFCpHVxM/s1600-h/hotelroom.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5134243287640720018" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3-8VNaL5L94/R0B_EVZCQpI/AAAAAAAAADc/LlYuFCpHVxM/s200/hotelroom.jpg" border="0" /></a>Dinner was served by a pretty French waitress and the tallest, thinnest waiter I've ever seen. Who tried to serve us someone else's soup, much to their indignation!<br /><br />To start with we had pigeon salad with bacon lardons, pine nuts and raspberry jus (which met with my approval in the definition of the word salad stakes, in that it was minimal salad and lots of bits of meat). Never had pigeon before, but it was rather nice, quite dark, bit like venison. Also, overcooked, but hey ho.<br /><br />For the main course, C. had rump steak with pink peppercorn sauce (which was brown - doesn't that rather defeat the object of using pink peppercorns?) and I had salmon on wilted spinach with langoustine sauce, which was rather violent orange and quite rich - we both agreed our courses were improved for scraping off the majority of the sauce heh. Also, could have done without the standard issue 'lump of cauliflower, pile of radioactive carrots and a few beans' on the side. But still, nice enough. </span><br /><div><div><br /><div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3-8VNaL5L94/R0B_WFZCQqI/AAAAAAAAADk/-RGfLEfPMWg/s1600-h/lotus.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5134243592583398050" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3-8VNaL5L94/R0B_WFZCQqI/AAAAAAAAADk/-RGfLEfPMWg/s200/lotus.jpg" border="0" /></a> The raspberry mousse I had for dessert didn't really taste of anything though, on a sad and soggy sponge base. C. had strawberries and cream in a brandy snap basket, which seemed okay, and we had coffees and a very nice bottle of wine (actually in a big silver ice bucket on a stand, which I was possibly over excited about.)<br /><br />Saturday was the day of the track thing. We started out with the breakfast buffet, where you can basically have whatever you want from huge trays of sausages and bacon and eggs and all sorts, or cereals, or fruit, or even danish pastries. I'd quite like a day in that room, actually...Oh, and the second tallest, thinnest waiter I've ever seen. I think they must be breeding them specially. This one looked like Egon from the Ghostbusters, and I kept expecting him to burst out of the kitchen with a powerpack on his back and Slimer wrapped round his head...<br /><br />Anyway.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3-8VNaL5L94/R0B_h1ZCQrI/AAAAAAAAADs/iOmH-8kpmf8/s1600-h/caterham.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5134243794446860978" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3-8VNaL5L94/R0B_h1ZCQrI/AAAAAAAAADs/iOmH-8kpmf8/s200/caterham.jpg" border="0" /></a>We eventually found the right airfield entrance, after bothering a big American security guard at the wrong one - please don't shoot us sir - and the airfield was ace, full of miles of creepy old deserted hangars. Just begging for an episode of the Avengers. The U Drive track day people were all together, so there were people waiting not only to drive the Caterham and Lotus that C. was booked in for, but also two red Ferraris, silver and yellow Porsches, and Subaru and Mitsubishi rally cars. The Lotus was the prettiest, but boy did the Ferrari make the best noise. If ever there was a noise that could be described as knicker-elastic-snapping, that would be it.<br /><br />It was misty and cold and windy, but not actually raining which was good. C. went in the Lotus first and then the Caterham, for which he had to take off one of his shoes because the pedals are so close together! He was ranked 83% and 88% respectively, and did not stall (unlike one guy in the Porsche) or drive over the cones (like one guy in the Ferrarri) although he did get lost in the Lotus and get an extra lap out of it...<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3-8VNaL5L94/R0B_z1ZCQsI/AAAAAAAAAD0/6iVMDGZoEWE/s1600-h/rollrights.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5134244103684506306" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3-8VNaL5L94/R0B_z1ZCQsI/AAAAAAAAAD0/6iVMDGZoEWE/s200/rollrights.jpg" border="0" /></a>Afterwards we made our chilly way to Woodstock, and had a steak sandwich in the Marlborough Arms, having managed to bag the leather sofa in front of the log fire. Ahh....We had a walk round afterwards, it's an intensely pretty town full of shops selling shiny things at the price of small council houses. We were going to go into the grounds of Blenhiem Palace, but it was £7.50 for the privelege, so we decided bugger that and went instead to see the Rollrights Stone Circle which was amazing - such weird stones, all pitted and knarled. The sun was setting in a wintry sky (it was only about 3pm at this point!) and it was very peacful, we had the circle to ourselves, despite there having been other people milling about in the layby. We walked around the edge of the field to see the Whispering Knights, and then back over the road to see the King's Stone - very odd shape, gives the impression it's spinning, everything's at an odd angle.<br /><br />Stopped off in Chipping Norton for a hot chocolate pitstop, then back to the hotel briefly before going in search of dinner. The original intention was to see if we could eat in the place we'd originially been booked ion to stay, as the menu had sounded good, but we couldn't find it in the dark, so follwing my beer radar, we ended up at the Crown and Tuns in Deddington, which is a pub that specialised in pies! It had a log fire, and decent beer (Old Hooky) and I had beef and ale pie. And chips. Mission successful.<br /><br />Sunday - more breakfast buffet joy (and Egon) and then the trip back, mostly in the pouring rain - although Oxfordshire saw us out in style by snowing on us!!<br /><br />Oh, and we parked next to an Aston Vantage in Exeter services...</span><br /><br />-</div></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076645.post-77319149802196345882007-10-17T14:59:00.000+01:002007-10-17T15:00:27.313+01:00AA website directions<ul><li><em><span style="font-family:verdana;">At T-junction, turn right onto the A44</span></em></li><li><em><span style="font-family:verdana;">Bear left on the A44</span></em></li><li><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em>At mini-roundabout, turn left onto the A44</em><br /></span></li></ul><span style="font-family:verdana;">Eh?</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076645.post-77595213251341248182007-10-17T11:58:00.000+01:002007-10-17T12:03:16.557+01:00So - is that like really small slices, or oriental?<span style="font-family:verdana;">Perusing the web for accommodation for an upcoming jaunt to Oxfordshire, I've just discovered one place offers on its menu "<em>Beef and Ale Pie - chinks of beef in rich sauce with crusty puff pastry top</em>."</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">--</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076645.post-15592031562405345642007-10-06T09:59:00.000+01:002007-10-06T10:01:22.600+01:00Meh.<p><span style="font-family:verdana;">Is this a cold I see before me? Actually, it appears to be more like tonsilitis, and I consequently spent about four days lying on the sofa occasionally whimpering pitifully if it looked like being of any use. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;">(On day one, I put the duvet on the sofa, inserted a hot water bottle, arranged a couple of cushions. Left the room to make something to eat, came back, and the cat had inserted herself under the duvet at the hot water bottle end. Hmph.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;">Anyway, went back to work when the alternative was being dragged kicking and scraming to the doctor.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;">So what else is new and exciting? Well, went to the Trengilly Wartha for dinner with some friends last Saturday, lamb shank and mash, very nice too. The downside being the table of hoorays across from us that found themselves hysterical. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;">Why is it some people just cannot talk quietly? What makes them think the entire bar is interested in their conversation? Also, there were halogen lights on runners above us, and they decided they didn't like the spotlight on them. Fair enough, but they swung it round so it was pointing directly into my face. And when I said "yeah, thanks for that," holding up my hands to avoid blindness, they moved it away with very bad grace. When the waitress came to see if she could help, they said "We can't point it that way because she doesn't like it," pointing at me. You do that again sweetcheeks, I'll bite it off.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;">In other news, I have grated my thumb knuckle. Ow.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;">--</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076645.post-29380033288354284132007-09-25T18:30:00.001+01:002007-09-25T18:30:39.808+01:00Note to self<p><span style="font-family:verdana;">When running out the door at the end of the day, try to remember that you came to work in pair of shoes better suited to walking long distances before you're halfway down the road.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;">I currently have two pairs of comfortable shoes lying uselessly under my desk at work, and have yet again come home in the wrong pair.</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076645.post-74145699339126884732007-09-24T18:10:00.001+01:002007-09-24T18:11:35.492+01:00A short aside<span style="font-family:verdana;">There can be few more disconcerting feelings than thrusting your hand into a coat pocket that you've completely forgotten you filled with conkers at lunchtime...</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">--</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076645.post-2649932227090381342007-09-23T14:45:00.000+01:002007-09-24T18:09:54.889+01:00Harveys Wharf<span style="font-family:verdana;"><a href="http://www.sugarvine.com/devonandcornwall/minisite/restaurant.asp?restaurant=54205">Harveys Wharf, Discovery Quay, Falmouth</a></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />You go in through a bar area with red leather banquettes, to a dining area that I should think is lovely during the day, as one wall is glass looking out over the harbour. The noise level was very high - popular place on a Saturday night - but it did mean you had to almost shout across the table to make yourself heard, and also the waiter had trouble hearing what we were ordering.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">As a starter I had the potted shrimps - now I've had these elsewhere, and I'm fairly sure they're meant to taste of more than just the butter they were embedded in. It was a huge pot, relatively speaking, therefore very, very sickly. And why is it when a place offers something in this line that they never, ever provide enough bread to go with it? What am I supposed to do with the rest, smear it on my thighs? Don't answer that.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">C. had ribbons of smoked salmon, which looked nice though.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">For the main course, we both had rib eye steaks, and the waiter did his best to convince us we wanted a sauce with it - "but it really makes it" -"a red wine sauce? peppercorn?", "why don't you share one?" No, really, we don't want a sauce, we just want a nicely cooked steak, if it's all the same to you.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">They were good though, when they came - I had mine medium rare, and it was lovely. If a bit fatty. I left a pattern of chewed fatty bits along the edge of my plate (yes, I know, lovely). Either C's steak was better, or he just ate the fat, but all his disappeared. The chips were nice, crisp and fluffy. It also came with a tangle of watercress, which I'm sure is a bonus if you like watercress.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">C. had a chocolate caramel sundae for dessert, which seemed to go down well, and a hot chocolate, and I had a black coffee to finish off. All that, and a bottle of very nice wine for £60-something.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Oh, and when they brought the jug of water I asked for, the waiter said "would you like to keep hold of it?" and seemed faintly surprised when I said yes. I felt like saying, why, are we supposed to share? Apparently so, as he was doling it out a glass at a time to the couple on the next table, just wandering up and down with the jug. I'd like to pour my own when I need it, if it's all the same to you...<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The loos were bright and clean, which is always a bonus. I set a lot of store on the state of a place's loos. Although the black and white chequered floor and walls were a little alarming - I thought I'd wandered into some deadly Dr Who booby trap, in danger of electrification if I trod on the wrong square...<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">So - pretty good. I'd go again, but I think I'd want to sit in the bar area, and I'd go straight for the main course.</span><br /><br />--Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076645.post-74148599092221478962007-09-21T11:44:00.001+01:002007-09-21T11:44:57.397+01:00It's a million to one chance - but it might just work<span style="font-family:verdana;">We have, in the department, a walk-in cupboard lined with files. One wall of this is dedicated to one particular construction project, covering about ten years, in overlapping series with no index. Occasionally someone wants something, and we can never, ever find it. This morning, I was dispatched into the cupboard of doom to find a document, with no indication of who produced it, what it looked like, when it was dated, or, indeed, if it actually existed.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I took down a file at random, and there, the first document in the first section, was what I was looking for.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">So - do you reckon I should go and buy a lottery ticket?</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">--</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076645.post-67257285973478746632007-09-20T12:40:00.000+01:002007-09-20T12:44:04.192+01:00An Appraising Look<span style="font-family:verdana;">Oh, heavens to betsy.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I have my yearly appraisal next Friday. This involves filling in a large form beforehand, to discuss with my line manager at the meeting.<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">It involves such taxing questions as:<br />"What do you enjoy most about your job?" (<em>the cake</em>)<br />"How do you think your department's objectives will affect your role?" (<em>well last year they couldn't come up with any</em>)<br />"Who/what could help you achieve your long term career plan?" (<em>I don't have one</em>)<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">It probably doesn't bode well that I've just had to ask said colleague "what's your job title?" and "what's our department called these days?" to fill in the first page (to be fair, we have just been re-orgainsed...)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">--</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076645.post-61380262140090050132007-09-18T18:07:00.000+01:002007-09-19T18:15:58.818+01:00Season of scarves and cosy wistfulness<span style="font-family:verdana;">It's cold. It's the first really cold day of autumn. I suppose I've been clinging on to the idea that it's still summer, because we didn't really get one and the recent days have been deceptively sunny. But the rowan berries are fully red and the blackberries are almost over, and this weekend brings the equinox. From now on, the nights will be longer than the days, the mornings will taste of frost and the evenings will smell of woodsmoke.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">I like this part.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">--</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076645.post-44982614279023563922007-09-17T18:00:00.000+01:002007-09-19T18:15:10.482+01:00Yo.<span style="font-family:verdana;">I don't know, you spend the day fighting demons in a pocket dimension, and come home to find a month's passed. Damn time dilation effect.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">So, what'd I miss?</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">--</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076645.post-66794728354807859802007-08-08T11:11:00.000+01:002007-08-08T11:13:38.733+01:00Monkey Business<p><span style="font-family:verdana;"><a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/6936533.stm">This</a> amused me - n</span><span style="font-family:verdana;">ot for the random simian-smugglage, but for the line: <em>When passengers noticed the fist-sized primate on the flight, they asked the man "if he knew he had a monkey on him." </em></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076645.post-89000838855445532882007-08-03T10:16:00.000+01:002007-08-03T10:18:15.837+01:00<span style="font-family:verdana;">I got a selection box from </span><a href="http://www.hotelchocolat.co.uk/"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Hotel Chocolat</span></a><span style="font-family:verdana;"> this week. Is it just me, or do <em>Citrus Puddles</em> and <em>Macadamia Turtles</em> sound like refugees from the latest Harry Potter?</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076645.post-66996091754967948932007-07-20T20:09:00.000+01:002007-07-20T20:10:14.773+01:00It's the thought that counts...I bought a birthday card in Sainsbury's yesterday. Looking at my receipt it is listed as "STD For Her Card". Probably not quite the present she was after...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076645.post-49256968228056676952007-07-10T17:03:00.000+01:002007-07-10T17:22:29.564+01:00Poldhu & Church Cove<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3-8VNaL5L94/RpOvV6jQ1VI/AAAAAAAAAC8/F4MprJcPfcM/s1600-h/portrait+of+the+artist.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085601195260695890" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3-8VNaL5L94/RpOvV6jQ1VI/AAAAAAAAAC8/F4MprJcPfcM/s200/portrait+of+the+artist.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:verdana;">Taking advantage of the brief return of decent weather, Saturday saw us heading to the beach at Poldhu on the </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Lizard. </span><br /></p><br /></p><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3-8VNaL5L94/RpOvvajQ1WI/AAAAAAAAADE/NlqPOULLL9M/s1600-h/marconi.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085601633347360098" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3-8VNaL5L94/RpOvvajQ1WI/AAAAAAAAADE/NlqPOULLL9M/s200/marconi.jpg" border="0" /></a>A spot of sun-snoozing and an ice cream (Roskilly's wild cherry, mmm) later, we walked up to the Marconi monument on the cliff top - site of the first radio message sent across the Atlantic in 1901. You can still see the concrete footings of the buildings that stood there (if you can get the cows to mooove out of the way) and the circular earthworks on the site of a revolving dish aerial. </span></div><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><br /><p><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></p><span style="font-family:verdana;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3-8VNaL5L94/RpOweqjQ1XI/AAAAAAAAADM/-FvECQ4FoB0/s1600-h/church+cove.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085602445096179058" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3-8VNaL5L94/RpOweqjQ1XI/AAAAAAAAADM/-FvECQ4FoB0/s200/church+cove.jpg" border="0" /></a>Next stop was Church Cove - the church itself was locked on Saturdays sadly, but it's a very pretty setting. I even had a paddle. Wouldn't want to swim there, I have to say, just up to my ankles I could feel the current, and the pebbles were sucked out from under my feet with every wave. Even so, there were people in swimming.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076645.post-51445246279508923612007-07-07T11:56:00.000+01:002007-07-07T12:01:35.575+01:00Bend ze knees!<span style="font-family:verdana;">So I arrive at the station yesterday, a good half-hour early, as it's Friday and I got released at 4.30 rather than 5. There is a rapidly-filling coach outside in the car park. Being of a suspicious nature, I approach the cross looking attendant.<br /><br />"Sorry, where's this for?"<br />"What?" He glares at me, crossly.<br />"What train is this for?"<br />"Falmouth," he snaps, walking off.<br />I follow him, unsure if it's ok to get on, as there are people standing up all the way down the centre aisle, and people still waiting on the pavement.<br />"Can I get on?"<br />"What?" He goes back to talking to another attendant - they don't sound overly chuffed as it appears another train has been cancelled. Well guess what mush, we're the ones trying to get home and chances are we are considerably less chuffed than you and the least you can do is do your flaming job with some semblance of courtesty.<br />"Is it alright if I get on?"<br />He flicks me a dismissive glance and shugs. "Suppose so."<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">So I climb aboard and join the people standing in the gangway; I'm about three seats back from the driver. We're all hanging onto the luggage rack over the seats, like so many deranged monkeys.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">There are still people waiting on the pavement, I think they've refused to stand. Good luck getting home then guys, because this coach will certainly be the replacement for a train that should have left over half an hour ago.<br /><br />We set off, on a tour of the local stations that I know from experience will take at least an hour (the train takes 17 minutes). I assume it's rather like skiing - swaying from one side to the other, constantly shifting your weight in an attempt not to fall over. You certainly get a good view of the countryside from standing up in a coach though, I have to say.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Eventually, at the stop before mine enough people get off that I can finally sit down. I grab my bag form the overhead shelf - there is a large, disgustingly wet blob of chewing gum stuck to it. I peel it off and look for somewhere to put it. Settle for flicking it under my seat - however it sticks to my fingers and goes slightly off course. Am now worried it's hit the shoes of the person in the seat behind, but am too scared to look...<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">In the seat next to me is a person so huge they are literally taking up half of my seat as well. I am pressed unpleasantly against their thigh, my right leg perforce dangling in the gangway. I rather wish I'd stayed standing up.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">When I finally get home, I go to wash the chewing gum residue off my hands and discover that the fingers of both hands are black with dirt from where I've been holding onto the carpeted luggage shelf. can I get me an "ewwww" please?</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076645.post-30819120093830015272007-07-06T13:04:00.001+01:002007-07-06T13:04:39.773+01:00Maybe it was having cravings?<span style="font-family:verdana;">Passing the maternity wing (no laxative jokes please) I walked behind a car that had its hatchback bit wide open. Looking in (being terminally nosy) there was a huge Alsatian lying in there, scarfing down a polystyrene tray full of chips and tomato sauce. Bizarre.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076645.post-59825702162092144872007-07-05T11:36:00.000+01:002007-07-05T11:37:01.556+01:00Genuine Spam?<span style="font-family:verdana;">I've just received a junk email with the title "cantankerous pork chop". Sounds like a cryptic crossword clue to which the answer is Miss Piggy...</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076645.post-73046414844162043832007-07-04T09:48:00.000+01:002007-07-04T09:51:08.674+01:00Tell them about the honey, mummy!<span style="font-family:verdana;">You might think life is bad, but spare a thought for m'colleague's daughter's partner (still with me?) who works for an advertising company, and last week had to give a presentation - dressed in a Honey Monster suit. I've just seen a picture of it. It's enormous. And he could only see out of the mouth. Not embarrassing at all, no.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076645.post-85112776087303142162007-07-02T18:52:00.000+01:002007-07-02T18:53:43.335+01:00Balls?<span style="font-family:verdana;">My favourite Wimbledon commentary so far this year: <em>Morigami folded at last</em></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076645.post-90523076962616011922007-07-01T18:32:00.000+01:002007-07-01T18:33:45.636+01:00A sense of perspective?<span style="font-family:verdana;">It's not <em>that</em> often you get all the newspapers leading on the same story - the death of Diana, 9/11 and so on - so it made me laugh last Thursday to see in the hospital shop a row of newspapers all with the front page dedicated to the new Prime Minister <strike>Harold Saxon</strike> Gordon Brown - with, obviously carefully positioned right in the middle, the Daily Star, which was leading on the break up of Preston and Chantelle.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0