Goodbye, TP. Thank you for all the journeys, lessons and laughs. And may your last journey on Binky be as awesome as your tales were.
Oh dear. It seems that I’ve entirely neglected this place; my last post was over two months ago and this will only be my seventeenth post this year. And strangely I’ve not missed it this time. Other times I’ve not posted for months I’ve had things to say and things to write about and have planned posts in my head without ever writing them down. This time? Nothing.
Given the content of my most recent post that’s hardly surprising. But I suppose I should just admit defeat and declare this place on hiatus for the time being.
Will I be back? I honestly don’t know. If the blog disappears then I’ve decided that I won’t be; if I start writing again then I’ll have reached a different decision. Time will tell.
Happy Christmas, though. To one and all.
So, it’s been a week since my life got flipped, turned upside down. This time last week I was a relatively responsibility free1 fella with a couple of nice things on the horizon but no real appreciation of what those things would mean.
Later on last Friday, I got that wake up call.
Yes, TLW(AMOMC) and I are now the proud cleaner-uppers after a young lad to be referred to as BBB.
Lord help us. And Lord help our neighbours, for they get the fun of hearing him test his lungs at 3am without the awesomeness of having him in their lives. Sorry ’bout that.
1 – Obviously, for a given value of responsibility free. Employment, mortgage, taxes, etc are all burdensome responsibilities and married life plus dog ownership are responsibilities but not burdens.
It’s been a while since I did one of these, so I figured I should just follow the example of Nelly and get involved.
You Are 50% Left Brained, 50% Right Brained
The left side of your brain controls verbal ability, attention to detail, and reasoning.
Left brained people are good at communication and persuading others.
If you’re left brained, you are likely good at math and logic.
Your left brain prefers dogs, reading, and quiet.
The right side of your brain is all about creativity and flexibility.
Miss you, daddy.
Roxy, our delightful hound, was advertised to us as a mongrel. Her paperwork actually mentions that she’s a Staffordshire Bull Terrier cross, without mentioning what the cross is. We’ve considered whippet, but our main thinking is that she’s got a bit of ridgeback in her.
Other sources for her build and temperament have been suggested. A popular one was Scrappy Do, for her somewhat over-confident nature and never-say-die attitude. Of course, if there is ridgeback in her, then we shouldn’t expect anything else. They were bred to take down lions, after all.
I can now confidently put all that to rest, though. I’ve discovered her ancestry: she is clearly part SBT part Gremlin.
Rest assured, all steps have been taken to manage the threat posed by this new information. All water is now out of bounds, and she is strictly denied food after midnight.
The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.
The last book in the 23 year, four million word Wheel of Time saga has now been and gone. Five years after the creator died, his notes have been plundered to finish the tale he started.
And it was a worthy end, although perhaps the last fifty pages felt a bit rushed. But it’s done now, and we know what happens to the immense cast of characters and their individual battles.
Which means that there now is a full picture of what is needed, so whoever decides to make a Game of Thrones style TV series knows what they’re getting into. Unlike, for example, Game of Thrones. Where the author is completely rubbish when it comes to publishing things in any kind of prompt fashion…
I’m not saying that this particular educational aid should be used at primary level, but surely we can all agree that by GCSE level each and every pupil will know about the existance of each word. And they should damn well know the meaning of most of them as well. Please to put it on the curriculum.
This was found at Lyle’s place, and I’ll give the credit to him, despite him saying that it’s not his.
Looking back, I forgot to do post this last year. Other things were getting in the way, I think. So it’s not nine years in a row that I’ve used the same random message for Christmas – it’s seven, then a gap, then back again.
Happy Christmas, folks.
It would appear that excellence of driving and a fair wind aren’t quite enough to overturn not having a very competitive car. Poor Alonso, well done Vettel. And well done to the pair of you for providing a most entertaining season, and an excellent end to it.
In more pleasing news, it was nice to see the two main challenges to United trip over each other. Hurrah.
Hooray! The election is over, and once again the guy I probably would have voted for has lost. I realise that this makes me entirely at odds to conventional wisdom in the UK, but you know what? I don’t give a fuck.
In fact, I say this to the wonderful echo chamber that is public opinion over here, and on Twitter etc: I don’t care that you think I’m an idiot for considering voting for that strange fellow. I don’t care if you think anyone considering voting for a GOP candidate is incomprehensible. I might not care for your tone when you say it, but your tone is your problem, not mine.
I looked at the candidates and decided that, while I might not agree with what the one said about everything, I agreed with less from the other. I think that the state stepping back from a few areas of life would be a Good Thing. And here’s the thing: despite what hundreds of millions of Europeans think, there are clearly enough people out there who think the same that the popular vote is within a couple of points.
At least now the damned echo chamber of anyone with a brain votes Obama should calm down…
Q ~ Questions
Q – Quiet or noisy? Quiet, for preference. Although not silent.
U – Unction. Bless you, that sounds like a nasty cough.
E – Early or late? Early, although it would appear that I’ve only mastered the second half of “early to bed, early to rise”
S – Shower or bath? Shower for being clean, bath for resolving aches and pains.
T – Type of dog? Any, although a certain staffie cross has a special place in my heart.
I – It lights up. When things go wrong.
O – Occurred in 1968? There was a big party to celebrate 13 years remaining until my birth.
N – Name a super power you’d like. Teleportation, just to cut down on the commute.
S – Snack/s you like? All. All of it.
Despite my best intentions, I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for Paul O’Grady. He’s daft, and irreverent, often sycophantic and occasionally nauseating. But the person he rips the piss out of most is himself, and he does it very effectively.
His current show is apparently calculated to make it impossible for me not to watch, for it is set in Battersea Dogs Home.
I loved visiting Battersea, back when we got Roxy. And I think TLW
would love to go back, as would I. Except that we’re scared that we wouldn’t make it out without getting at least one more dog.
And while Roxy seemed engrossed in watching doggies from there, I don’t know how well she’d respond to a playmate arriving from there out of the blue….
I’ve always hoped that the Olympics would be a success, but didn’t actually expect them to be when the bid was successful. Seems that I was wrong; they’ve been pretty decent all round. Of course, one of the reasons I was against them was cost, and that reason still holds as a vote against them, but the travel chaos and all that didn’t happen. Well done Seb Coe for being just the right dictator to get things done.
So, what did we do during the festivities? Well, we went to see the torch relay, because it was pretty much on the way to the station and only caused a short delay in getting to work.
We put in applications months ago to go see things at the Olympics, and failed in most of our attempts. Although we did manage to see some horses doing sensible stuff – jumping makes sense, while getting a horse to dance clearly does not.
And then we went up into town to watch a bit of the men’s marathon. It was quite entertaining, and because they do it on a looped course rather than all strung out you got to see more of how it developed. Which was interesting.
And that was it; our Olympic experience. Not too much, really.
Our Paralympic Experience has been a bit more interesting, though.
In short: dozens of medals, lots of them GB but a nice silver for Ireland as well. Lots of very interesting moments, like Mr Pistoris getting hammered in the 100m. Some great stories, like the sprinter who collapsed at 50m and then insisted in struggling over the line about a minute after everyone else just to collapse the other side of it again. The javelin thrower who ended up being in the wrong category because of a paperwork issue, and instead of giving up he just decided to compete in said category anyway – rather difficult considering he’d been in a wheelchair all his life and the competition rules require he do it standing up.
All in all, a rather nice way to spend some time, we thought…
Two years ago, almost to the minute, a poor woman formerly known as TLG
and TLF was saddled with the new title of TLW.
I’ve rather enjoyed these two years, and I hope she has too. May there be many more of them to come.
The London Olympics, presented in analogous form as a night on the tiles.
This night on the tiles could be one that you dread; there are going to be a lot of people you don’t know there, and quite a few people that you don’t like. But there are some you do like, and the blond haired buffoon who seems to be doing the organising is generally good for a laugh, plus it would be very rude indeed to just avoid going. So you resolve to go along with it and give it a go, reserving your usual excuses if you need to leave early due to chronic boredom.
The first thing you do is head to a surprisingly nice pub, with some entertainment on; this pub could be called Opening Ceremony. This is a very enjoyable experience, with much to watch and discuss, even if some of it is just bonkers.
Then there’s the taxi to the next establishment, and while nothing too fun, at least all the travel just works, despite the usual concerns about moving around on a busy night.
The next drinking spot is again a lot of fun; it’s called Home Nation Doing Well, and everyone seems to enjoy themselves in a nice harmless fashion. Bit too much crying for my tastes, but that’s OK.
Another hour, another place to stop, this time Going to Events yourself, in my case this had a horsey theme and a general feeling of being both sunny and bloody wet, but still a laugh.
Next up: Ireland’s Record – best ever performance. Much drink was had.
And then some fucker insists that we all have tequila. Nobody really wants it, nobody ever enjoys it, and everybody feels better for it. However, it’s still forced upon us, this bottle of cheap Closing Ceremony. And it leaves a bad taste in the mouth, after an otherwise decent time.
I hope that the Olympics work out well; I hope that all the bad things that could happen, don’t. I hope that the lingering image we have of it is either brilliance from Danny Boyle or good ol’ fashioned oratory and French bashing from Boris.
However, when Cracked pick up on a lot of the nonsense surrounding the games, I gotta say, I’m not sure that there won’t be one or two things for us to look back on and go what the fuck were they thinking?
Happy Olympic Travel Mayhem, folks!
I’m sure that people noticed the Jubilee shenanigans last weekend, and how people just got on with things despite the worst the weather could throw at them. It was quite nice to watch from the safety and comfort of ones own sofa.
Less so when you’re out in similar weather. I’m used to being able to drive to work, and avoiding being bothered by rain. No more; the twenty minutes in the morning to get to the station is now done on foot, and another twenty minutes to get home is impending. And the rain issue the train window is bad looking.
On the plus side, at least I wasn’t involved in this little problem…
Miss you, daddy.