Sunday, 12 August 2012

Bloody Food!

Age is killing me. My body is rebelling. I am not happy.

I decided in January that I really need to be healthier and this is working albeit slowly. Ive lost three stone, go for walks around the New Forest and I'm gearing myself - gasp! horrors! - to start running, having downloaded some very helpful podcasts from the NHS. ("Couch to 5k" if you are interested).

This is all very well, but my body has, for the last few years, thrown me some googlies.

I've always had an intolerance to Dairy, but mostly ignored it as I simply cannot live without cheese. Although my intake has plummeted in 2012 because of the weight loss thing, it hasn't been cut out altogether, but I do actually feel better simply for not eating it all day, everyday.
So when in 2000, my body decided alcohol was evil and had no place in my body, I knew the signs, knew it was an intolerance got it checked by the doctor and have barely had a drink since.
On the rare occasions I do go out and get shit-faced, I have to ensure two clear days after so that the rashes and swelling go down before I get on with life.

Then, probably about 7-8 years ago, my second love after cheese started giving me the same symptoms along with the feeling that my stomach was trying to escape from three polar bears that were ripping it apart. Mushrooms, my beautiful beautiful fungus friends, now cause me immense pain. Learning to live without has be incredibly difficult although sometime I just think "fuck it" and endure the pain for the joy of mushrooms. Quorn, incidentally, is made up of the very protein I'm intolerant to. I once had some Quorn and screamed solidly for two days. Quorn is evil. Yes it is.

So, being a heavy drinking, cheese loving mushroom fiend, my life of foodie treats seems pretty much to end. Well, at least I have bread, right?

Um.

Since last summer, every time I"ve eaten bread, pasta, biscuits, etc., my stomach has swollen and done the polar bear thing and I've pooped like wee. I now have a wheat intolerance.

I can eat a bit of bread, but anything more than about half a slice of white and I"m writhing on the floor in agony. I find myself walking round Sainsbury's 'Free-From' section and sighing a lot.

Still the wheat, dairy and gluten free vegan Chocolate and Ginger Slice was lovely. So thats something. My doctors says it common for people of my age to start rejecting foods, so I shouldn't worry, but hell. All my favourite things gone? I truly believe I died many years ago and instead of going to hell I was sent to Southampton to have food intolerances.

Wednesday, 1 August 2012

Now That's What I call Whatsiwhositnow?

I find it very interesting that the "Now Thats What I Call Reggae" album is being advertised on TV by a number of reggae artists doing non-reggae songs.  THe only vaguely reggae sounding song on the advert is "Red Red Wine" by UBfucking40.

What's wrong with this picture?

Tuesday, 31 July 2012

prometheus revisited

I had a dream last night where my friend Craig insisted that I go to the cinema with him to see "Prometheus" with the Directors Commentary.   I insisted we got the good recliner, leather seats at the back (and Craig spilt his coke all over the place, but that's by the by).

The film starts and the commentary consists entirely of Ridley Scott apologising.

"Oh God, I can't believe I did that"
"That was supposed to be so much better"
"Oh god I'm so sorry"
"Yeah that didn't really work, we ran out of ideas"
"Oh that was so bad, I'm sorry".

Vindication comes in strange forms . . . :-)


Friday, 27 July 2012

Real Art Training starts here

I never really got university.  I had a thoroughly miserable time and with the exception of meeting a few lovely people, it was mostly frustrating and, apart from some of the art I produced, pretty much a waste of time.

None of this information is new.  You've heard it a million times before from a whinging and angry me.

But . . .

I left two years ago and the horror of producing art as, at last receded.  Since being made unemployed (i say "made" . . .), I spent the first could of weeks recovering from the bullying bitch(es) in my office - mostly playing Skyrim, a week or so being very ill (and recuperating by paying skyrim) and then...something weird happened.

I started making art again.  Slowly at first with a couple of sculptural objects, then for the last week or so, I've ben in a total frenzy, pumping out paintings. Paintings?  Um.   This is a bit of a development.

I don't paint, you see. Well.   I didn't paint.

One of the biggest disappointments that university dumped on me was that, contrary to what I was told when I signed up, I received no actual skills tuition.  I got in on the strength of the photographic work I'd done, some sculptural objects and the force of my conceptual ideas.  Being in a place that would teach me to draw and paint was want I wanted more than anything.   However, the Uni decided that drawing, painting and sculpture were passé and we were encouraged to do conceptual work.   Not a stretch for me.

Anyway,  will never understand how I managed to leave university and still be completely unable to draw and paint.  But thats where I am.  I have a 2:1 in Fine Art and can't draw or paint.  Mental.

So.   Suddenly picking up paints, canvasses, etc was something of  surprise.

Now the stuff I'm doing isn't that great, I wouldn't expect it to be, but I'm in the bizarre position of never having painted before about 10 days ago and yet because I have this degree and i've trained as an artist, the stuff I"m doing is, without a doubt, art.

Of course.  It's not necessarily *good* art.  But It is ART!!!   because I AM AN ARTIST!!!

At last.

I feel like an artist for the first time ever.  Will Vigar, BA Fine Art (Hons).  Oh yeah.


Monday, 25 June 2012

Random wibblings mostly about weight loss.

Still losing weight.   I"m down by 34lbs now.   Still a fatty, but...

Anyway, I go to Leeds a lot, which is a 5 hour journey by car from Southampton.

I don't drive, so I just sit there - my job as navigator taken from me by a Satnav; I feel like Sigourney Weaver in "Galaxy Quest", dammit!

Since losing so much weight, I've lost a lot of the padding I had on my bum. Five hours on a fleshy tuccus isn't that much of a chore but, even though my bum can't yet be called 'boney', my god, I've noticed a difference to the levels of comfort.

After a couple of hours, I was screaming for a break, just so I could stand up and take the pressure off my rapidly diminishing butt....

Weight loss isn't all fun you know! :-)


***


You sort of expect that weight loss will cause you to have to go shopping for new clothes, right?

Well, that's not really happening as I"ve not got much in the way of cash at the moment, so I look like I"m dressed in flags at the minute... not to worry.

The weird thing is that my shoe size has also changed. It never occurred to me that losing so much weight would change the size of my feet. I mean, feet are feet, right?

Wrong! I'm now a size 10 whereas I used to be 11.5. 

Fat feet. 

Weird.



***

I've also recently discovered the joys of tofu. I used to eat it back when I was vegan (enforced, not by choice) but love my chinese food has taken over.  So a plate full of stir fried veggies (the barest splot of oil and steam with xiaoxing and light soy sauce) with a hand full of chopped tofu is wonderful.

Speaking of chinese food, has anyone sen the Gok Wan show about chinese food? Amazing! I got the book and it is such a healthy cuisine! Making lots from the book.



***
I had something of an experience at the weekend.
My partner and I love Hound Tor on Dartmoor. Apart from it being a truly beautiful piece of landscape, it has associations with both Doctor Who and Sherlock Holmes. it also has a ruin of a mediaeval village at the base which holds particular memories for me. So really, it's a win win place to be.

The thing is, the last few times we've been up there, it's taken a good 40 minutes to get to the top. It's not far; it's not particularly steep. However, with all the weight I was carrying, I had to stop ever few minutes in order to catch my breath.

This time, we got from base to summit in 12 minutes. Non-stop. Okay, I was breathless when we hit the top, but it only took a minute or so to get my breath and carry on. We even climbed the really rocky bits to get to a hitherto unexplored because of exhaustion. Then we ran down the Tor to escape the rain. 

It wasn't till we'd got back to the car that we realised how much progress I had made.

Marvellous.



EVIDENCE!!!


Picture one: taken 11 years ago before the huge weight gain. I put about a stone on after this was taken.  Notice the leather jacket, straining a the stomach and notice that the zip has torn from the strain.

Picture 2: taken last weekend 

Same jacket, same tear, but...notice how it's wrapped round?


Oh yes.   It's going! 

I went to Sainsbury's at the weekend and got a basket.   I filled it with 68 x half pound packs of lard.  Thats what I was carry around all the time.   No wonder I was constantly in pain and knackered...

ugh

unemployed

arse.

Saturday, 2 June 2012

Prometheuzzzzzzzzzz


Tragically, it seems to have more in common with Event Horizon than Alien.  It has a plot so thin 80's Doctor Who would have thought twice about putting it out and a script so clunky and with such lumpen dialogue, I wonder whether the writers have actually finished high school. They certainly rely way too much on Chekov's Gun.

I had avoided all press and trailers so went in very no preconceptions and expecting nothing.   Sadly, that's what I got.   In abundance.

However, pretty it looked, and there were some aesthetically beautiful moments, it was vacuous nonsense.  I mean, however stupid Alien:Resurrection was - and it really was - it was at least well paced and fun.   This plods and offers nothing that we haven't seen in countless other lower budget movies - the aforementioned Event Horizon, The Thing, etc., and rather than creating a shocking moment of body horror, as John Hurt managed in the original, it tried too hard to create unease by many moments of half-arsed body horror, instead.  It failed, with only one genuine moment of squirm that was casually tossed away a few minutes later.

Whereas there's an argument for Alien being a metaphor for male fear of penetration, pregnancy and birth, with Gigers design for the eggs and face huggers being disturbingly anatomical, transplanting that fear to a sterile female character simply seems crass.  And most of the aliens, rather than looking like walking vaginas, this time are extremely phallic and exhibit violent acts of penetration.  It's not subtle.

Having four writers was not a good thing when they all seem to be pulling in different directions.  The Von Daniken angle being the most gobsmackingly awful.  This, I think, is the crux.  The plot, such as it was (land a ship, run up and down some corridors, get killed) had no real focus, it simply didn't know what it wanted to do or say.  Nothing was explored to any kind of satisfactory conclusion and rather than be excited by the potential for an well signalled sequel, I just thought 'Who cares?"

Fassbender was probably the one redeeming feature, and how ironic that the one character that was meant to be cold, distant and aloof was also the most human.  Marshall-Green could have been great had he not been despatched so early and Idris Elba was savagely underused.  The problem is that everything was a plot device.  Every character or piece of machinery that was introduced had one plot device/use.  Ooh look, she lives in the life boat; golly it's an automated surgical unit; lawks a lummee, there's only one person who could do *that* sort of manoeuvre, I mean he's bloody told he can often enough..... GAH!

The addition of the 'finding god' plot was, again, lumpen and felt tacked on in order to give it some perceived gravitas and an attempt to TACKLE IMPORTANT ISSUES.  All it did was make you want to punch the female lead. And giving someone Daddy Issues doesn't make them interesting, especially when you have such a lacklustre cast who simply can't pull it off.

Somehow, this movie, despite looking rather lovely, manages to diminish the entire franchise and make a nonsense of the established chronology/mythology.  It makes you yearn for the original while it so thoughtfully pokes you in the ribs going "eh, eh..this bit's in Alien you know"   Yeah, but its *better* in Alien; all it achieves is to point out and accentuate it's own inadequacies.

And don't get me started on the sub-Star Trek soundtrack.

Disappointing and genuinely awful.

Saturday, 5 May 2012

Further Tunbridge Wells things

Being back in Tunbridge Wells has churned me up quite a bit.

A lot of my past remains there, abandoned.  Walking around it this week, actually reminded me that I did have a lot of good and happy memories of the place.  It was probably the last place I was happy at school despite, by all accounts, The Ridgewaye being the poorest School in the County, which is why it no longer exists.  My schooling, post The Ridgewaye, was marred by not really being able to adapt to the moves, the changes in temperament of the various peoples, etc. (Humberside was particularly noxious, as I've probably mentioned).

Thing is, I so focus on the negatives, I forgot that a lot of the time, I was actually quite happy at Southborough and High Brooms.  And, my brother not withstanding, I had happy times with my family.

Walking around Chartwell, home of Sir Winston Churchill, something I had done with my parents, was a particularly poignant reminder of the way in which my folks tried to educate me.   I don't think I appreciated it at the time - and I remember getting much more excited about the fig trees than the house or it's history - but in the context of an adult visit, I finally learned to appreciate the lengths they went to to enrich my learning.

Chartwell seemed smaller.

I felt older.


Carluccios in Tunbridge Wells.

Sort of a restaurant review, I suppose.

I'm not big on 'name' restaurants, I've been to a few (most notably on of Rick Steins places in Padstow) they usually come with so much expectation that they are hopelessly disappointing I'm looking at you Ramsey!)

Carluccios was a better option being part of a chain that has a famous name attached.   Slightly different prospect.  Anyway, we went in and was taken to a nice banquette by our waiter.  We'd barely got the menus open when he was back asking us to order drinks.   As were don't really do alcohol, we wanted to look at the soft drinks and we asked if we could have another couple of minutes.   He seems to be mortally offended by this and stomped off.   20 mins later he finally came back to us after seating people either side of us, taking orders, and delivering starters to both sides, all the while steadfastly refusing to acknowledge us.

Disturbingly, he was also flirting/slobbering over the young girls on the table next to us.  He sidled into the space between table and bent over.  A lot.   There isn't much space between the table which meant that for most of lunch, we had a waiters arse in our face. Had it been a nice arse, it might have been seen as a bonus (and he might have got a tip, arf, arf!) but as it was, it was a rather unpleasant distraction.

The food eventually started to arrive and the Chicken Liver Pate was exquisite.
The Milanese di Pollo not so... nothing wrong, but it needed something with it other than salad leaves to make it fly.  The dessert, a rum and vanilla panna cotta with candied orange peel, was enough to make a grown man weep.   Once we actually got it.

We were, thanks to the ineptness of the waiter, running out of time before our next appointment of the day, so we ordered dessert and coffee together, even having a bit of a joke about it and having a mad discussion on the difference between a single and a double espresso.  The dessert arrived.  The coffee did not.  The dessert was cleared away, the coffee did not arrive.   After much flirting by the waiter, again with the next table, we finally managed to catch his eye. And he somewhat sourly asks us if we'd like to order coffee.   We already have done, we equally sourly respond.  There's a brief moment of huffing and "no you didn't", after which I remind him of the conversation we had about it.   "Oh yeah", he says and a full 25 minutes later, from the second time we ordered it (some 45 minutes from the first time) we get the coffee.  Which, it has to be said was awesome and possible the best espresso I've tasted.

But the whole meal, which would have been hugely enjoyable, was spoiled by a waiter who seemed to determined to put the concerns of the contents of his pants before the needs of the customer.  Plus, y'know, I had a blokes arse in my face for nearly two hours.   Not the best advert, I'm afraid.

****Addendum.   I went back to the shop part of Carluccio's in Tunbridge Wells as I'd seen some rather tasty looking Mortadella.   Being a mortadella fiend, I had to get some.  Despite being the only person in the deli part it took 25 minutes to be served and then, after asking for mortadella, I was given first, ham, then mozzarella and finally mortadella.  The person serving, although she was very pleasant to chat to (eventually) had absolutely no productt knowledge.  I might have asked for grated fruit bat given the blank look on her face when asking for mortadella.

It sad when a potentially great experience is turned into something less than enjoyable and extremely frustrating by staff that don't seem to give a toss.

Friday, 4 May 2012

Onward Christian War.

Standing outside of HIgh Brooms Boy school yesterday, I remembered one of the peculiarities of the school.
We still had those assemblies where the singing of hymn was mandatory unless you were Jewish, in which case you had to sit in silence with the school secretary in her office.

Anyway, the school wasn't huge and didn't have a piano.   It used to have one, but being a Grand (I saw pictures) it took up too much space and was dispensed with.  The only teacher who could play recorded on of the hymns onto reel to reel tape recorder and when the singing of hymns was required, someone would change the tape to the appropriate human, press play and we'd all sing along.

Except that the favourite hymn of the school - Onward Christian Soldiers - had been used so much the tape had become warn and had eventually broken.   The thought of the school without Onward Christian Soldiers being belted out was simply not on, so they cut the broken bit out and taped what was left back together.

Chorus 3 now went "Onward Christian So-o-o-o-diers Waaaaaarrrr".   This was fine for those in the know, but each year there would be an entire first year of baffled first years wondering what the hell happen to "Marching As To" from the third chorus.

The some bright spark yelled "Have a banana", all hell broke loose and Onward Christian Soldiers was never sung again.

Thursday, 3 May 2012

Tunbridge Wells (3)


After a fortifying breakfast of fruit salad and Caramel Macchiato at Starbucks, Tunbridge Wells (the one with the super fit barista.  YUM!!!) we ser out on something of a walk.

Down Camden Road to the Recreation ground, half of which seems to have vanished and built on, paying particular attention the pond and ‘caves’, the site of the former Satellite Club and what used to be a vast tract of waste ground – now a very large housing estate and a small amount of woodland replete with huge quantities of wild garlic..  Following that, a walk along Clifton Road – site of the old homestead – to the playgrounds –extensively rebuilt and wooded – and then the walk to school.   Well.  Schools.  My junior School – High Brooms Boys School which has now merged with High Brooms Boys School, been extensively rebuilt and is now called ‘St Matthews School’.  The old boys school building is still there, just…built onto.   I would have given my eye tooth to have a look around.   As it was I felt a bit sleazy taking photos of the outside of a boys school.   God knows what the local residents thought… there’s a story about the assemblies tha I must remember to write down.

Next up was a walk up Yew Tree Road and along the Ridgewaye; site of the last school I was happy at:  The Ridgewaye School.

Sadly, it was knocked down some years ago, although the old Home Economics block is still there and being used by the council for some reason or another.  I walked past where the Woodwork and Metal Work workshop were; along the length of the main teaching block; a moments silence at the place where the stage had been; a fond remembrance of the kitchens where Phoebe the awesome dinner lady worked. 

We went past the place where the mystery gardener lived; past the sandpit with the dodgy story attached (see later) and on to Southborough Library, site of the majority of my education.

From there, we went down Chestnut Avenue, along South View Road past the Toc H and onto Dynevor Road.  Number 35 was my Nans house, it’s been converted into two flats, although given the bizarre layout of the house, I have no idea how that works.  I’ll write another entry about my nans house later.

From there, along Silverdale Road, onto Upper Grosvenor Road and back into town to Carluccio’s for lunch…

Tunbridge Wells (2)


It’s about 6am and after a terrible night’s sleep thanks to appalling stomach-ache, I'm thinking about family and community; community being high on my list of bugbears at the moment.

I’ve always sought the comfort of community from communes, religious or spiritual organisations, clubs, etc.  I wonder whether this is because of my necessary abandoning of my family?   My meeting with Donna and Brenda yesterday was great but the weirdness of people being completely accepting of you in that way is something I’ve searched for for years.  And there it was.  In my family.

Suddenly, I feel as if I might have made a huge mistake.

Wednesday, 2 May 2012

Tunbridge Wells (1)


I’ve been pretty churned up about this visit to my old stomping ground for a number of reasons.   Not least because it’s where a lot of my family live; family I haven’t seen or kept in touch with since 1978.  Okay, I found myself in touch with two cousins a couple of years back and there have been a few emails/facebook chats, etc., but today, for the first time in 34 years, I’ll be with family other than my parents.

I’m sure this happens with a lot of families; internal politics becomes so fraught that people just disappear off the radar.  I was fed up with trying to keep up with who was and wasn’t talking to each other and why.  That and what I suffered at the hands of my brother just made me think that family wasn’t worth bothering with and I retreated as soon as retreating was an option.

The thing is, I actually liked Tunbridge Wells.  I had good friends there new my way around and was beginning to get excited about the possibilities that post-puberty would bring within – and outside of - my social group.

Just as things were getting intense, that is having exploratory fumbles with willing classmates, we moved back to Yorkshire.

Initially, this was a blessing as we’d all longed to get back there, instead I ended up at a school in Humberside which, wouldn’t you believe it, was genetically pre-disposed to despise anyone and anything from Yorkshire.  The bullying I suffered was horrific.  The depression compounded.

I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere and I knew no-one. I wanted to move back to Kent.  Bearing in mind the family hassles that were happening when we left, this surprised me and quite rightly mystified my parents.

The practical upshot of this is that I retreated into myself, and became increasingly insular.  I lived with my head in a book, or a comic.  It was that that gave me my education, rather than the hate filled schooling I received.  I spent so much time hiding in the cloakrooms, round the back of the cricket stand or squashed between the portakabins, hiding from my oppressors that I didn’t have time to do school work.

But I'm digressing spectacularly.

I had wondered whether I should just slip into Tunbridge Wells and slip out again without family even knowing I was going.  I decided not to do that.  I got in touch with my cousin and suggested lunch.  She said fine.  And then 5 minutes later said “Is it okay if my Mum comes, to.  She’d really like to see you”.

I had mixed feeling about this but went with it.

The journey to Tunbridge Wells was conducted in almost total silence.

We arrived at the meeting place and I felt sick.

The phone went:

“Are you here yet?”

I said yes and waved them over having seen them come in.  My cousin Donna and Aunty Brenda who, terribly indiscreetly, was always my favourite Aunt, were standing in front of me for the first time in 34 years.

We hugged, laughed, lunched and chatted away as if we’d been doing this regularly for decades.

And to think I was nervous.

Tuesday, 1 May 2012

Faith (Part 1)

It's been three years since I lost my faith.   Well, technically, three years since irreversibly acknowledging that I'd lost it

Most of the time it doesn't impinge but yesterday was a bit fraught.

I believed in Gods (multiple) and, for ease, I called myself a witch.   I'm not sure what happened but one day I woke up and just thought "Hang on . . ."  For an unidentifiable reason, suddenly Gods, Magick, etc.  Just stopped making sense.

I fought against it for a year or so but inexorably, it just dawned that the thing I found most comforting in a largely cruel world, was a lie.

I'm sure there are rationalists out there cheering and, ironically, telling me I've stepped into the light, but what has actually happened is that I've stepped in into a colder, less caring and more brutal universe.  I"m finding that a huge struggle.

I miss the comfort of ritual.  I miss the community. I miss the warmth of knowing that what I do and how I behave impacts on how I live my next life.   I have no next life.  I get stuck in a hole in the ground and that's it.

Yesterday was something of a test for me.  I've been going to Avebury since I was 18 and considered it a holy place.  I'd often meditate there, occasionally doing some small scale ritual. It cropped up in my writings and poetry and left a massive psychic - and I use the term advisedly - imprint on my life.

I'd not managed to get there for some years as I was in Leeds and since getting back I've been avoiding going for what must be obvious reasons.  However, yesterday I decided it was time to bite the bullet.

We did the whole experience.   We stopped off at the Polly Tea Rooms in Marlborough for elevenses, moved on to Silbury Hill and West Kennet Long Barrow - places merely of historical interest rather than places of emotional attachment - and then onto Avebury.

Have you ever met an ex-lover in the street, years after breaking up, and although it's nice to see how they are doing, you wonder why you ever loved them?

Seeing Avebury was a bit like that, except Avebury broke up with me and I still loved it.

For the first time, I could only see Avebury in terms of History, Archaeology, Anthropology and folk tale.  That mysterious 'other' was missing.  It wasn't like losing a limb, it was deeper than that.   More like losing a cardio-vasular system.

I only managed to walk round about a quarter of the circle before weeping.   I can't believe how painful it was.
I noted with a certain dryness that I couldn't even rail against the sky, shouting cliches like "My Gods why have you forsaken me" because no one was there to listen.  I don't think I've ever felt so alone.





Friday, 27 April 2012

It says a lot about David Tennant's run on Doctor Who . . .

  . . . that the best episodes of his run barely feature him at all.

Turn Left and Blink, in case you need to ask . . .

Wednesday, 25 April 2012

Things like this . . . .

. . . really shouldn't bother me.

But they do.

To whit:  The job I'm doing at the moment is in a very large office.  Most people there are okay and one guy in particular was very friendly when I first started.  I got on with him really well. We had a laugh, etc.

Then he 'found out' that I was gay, not that I'd ever kept it secret, after all, I had mentioned 'My Partner, Andy' several times.  He'd simply not put two and two together.

Now, according to him, I obviously fancy him which is why I was 'constantly sniffing around'. . . and he's being a big an arsehole as it's possible for one man to be.  How depressing.

The really annoying thing is the job I'm currently doing - which is okay - has just turned up on the job website as a full time position, which, I've been told, I could easily get.  But do I want to spend the rest of my working life dodging a bigot?

I thought this sort of attitude dies out in the 80's.

We didn't even have the comedy confused tolerant bigot conversation of yore:

"I'm Gay"
"Well as long as you don't try anything on with me"
"It okay, I don't fancy you"
"Why not? What's wrong with me?"

Oy!

Sunday, 22 April 2012

Diagnosis: Body Horror

When ever I've lost weight  before - and I've now lost 25lbs since Xmas - my psyche conspires against me to give me horrific 'body horror' nightmares. In one instance, I found a small hole in my arm where my bicep is. I prodded it with my finger and found I could get my whole finger in it and eventually, my whole fist, at which point, the hole widened, sprouted teeth and bit my hand off. It was like something from John Carpenters "The Thing". Several weeks of body horror dreams, and I stop going to the gym...the dreams stop, the weight goes back on.


Once, in real life, after a couple of weeks of gym work, I found a lump in my arm. I was convinced it was a cyst and terrified it might be cancer. I went to the doctor pointed out my fears, got him to prod the lump and was diagnosed as 'having a muscle'.



Oh the shame . . . .

Monday, 9 April 2012

Game of Thrones.

I'm finding Game of Thrones frustrating.  



I was deeply surprised by the books - well, the two I've sad - and get annoyed with the relegation of the Dothraki to fairly mindless savages; the Khaleesi having the most fascinating character development within the first book. Her relationship with Khal Drogo and her education of the ways of the Dothraki being the highpoint of the book for me.

As for kit shedding, well, it's all a bit 'Torchwood' isn't it? Making an 'adult' TV series should really mean that it's uncompromising, take some though and not afraid to shy away from difficult decisions rather than chucking in shagging for the sake of it.  I mean, noone seems to be able to hold a conversation without either taking someone else from behind, orchestrating lesbian sex or getting blown by whores....   I mean, way to play up to the fantasy geek living in his mums basement...

And besides, from my perspective, there's only two so far that would suit nudity.  One died within 5 mins of episode one starting and the second resolutely stays within a bulky cloak.

Sean Bean ruins the character of Ned Stark.  Where the books have him as a man strangled by nobility and chivalry, intelligent but hamstrung by being able to empathise with everyone's point, Bean turns him into a baffled idiot.

Conversely, Cersei is a revelation.  THe character in the book was a bit of a cypher, but here you get a real sense of the hurt she's been through and a real sense of revenge all done with a subtle and powerful performance. Marvellous.

Other than that I'm really enjoying it.

And The Imp pretty much owns every scene he's in...especially the 'confession' scene.  Marvellous.

Haven't seen season 2 yet, I've still 2 episodes of season 1 to watch and I'm waiting for the blu-rays, anyway :-)




Sunday, 8 April 2012

SATNAV

Yes, we have a Satnav.

it's okay actually; helped us out on a number of occasions...

Except today, but i think that's more to do with English Heritage who never seem to sign post their properties and seem to want to hide them from potential punters.   The point being that the postcode took us to a place about a mile away from the actual site we wanted to go to.. and from there we managed to circumnavigate the building but were unable to find an actual entrance.

Anyway... what baffled us was the tag line on the Navman Satnav that we have: "Beyond navigation".

The place we attempted to go was certainly beyond navigation, but in general, that tagline suggests it'll never get you to where you want to go.   I think the might have slipped up a bit, there . . .