keresaspa: (Nina looking a tad pertubed)
I rather fear I say this every year but it wants repeating - St Patrick's Day can take a flying leap as far as I'm concerned. Despite my Irish republican tendencies I'm no patriot and as such a day given over to displays of nationalistic fervour is never going to sit too well with me. Still, for the most part I can generally ignore it, pull up the covers and let the mayhem take place but today that certainly wasn't the case.

I have a severely disabled uncle who lives a couple of miles down the road from me. No longer able to walk, his place has fell into severe disrepair to the point where the Fold has ordered a big overhaul or else he's out on his arse. My auld doll is his next of kin so much of it has been dumped in her lap and, in turn, been passed on to me as his only other relative (ignoring all his other nieces, nephews and their offspring, none of whom can be arsed) so these last lot of weeks have involved a load of fannying about on my part, sorting, rearranging, humping heavy loads and various other bits of donkey work that invariably get dumped on you when you are huge like me.

Today however - a three hour wait for a delivery from Argos. Of a bin.

A fucking bin!

I might not care for donkey work but carrying a bin a few streets would have taken me about ten minutes instead of three hours of sitting with sod all to do, having had to battle my way through scenes of unmitigated carnage on the Ormeau Road where seemingly the entire under-25 population of rural Northern Ireland had descended to get royally pissed. Beyond repeating five or six phrases, more or less at random, my uncle (who has had several strokes, the first of which was in 1989) is more or less unable to communicate and I had already done all the sorting I could so there was literally nothing to do for those three hours other than wait for a doorbell to ring. Ordinarily it would have been the responsibility of the person in charge to let the delivery man in but she's wangled herself a few days off so yours truly was in the firing line once again.

It was well after five by the time I got out of there and the buses were running on a skeleton service so once again I was forced to walk up the Ormeau Road, where all the bais had a day's solid drinking behind them and were all the more obnoxious for it. Put it this way, when I first went down the road at just after 1 there were chaps whipping their knobs out on the main road for a pish so four hours later things were a lot worse. One house appeared to be on fire, which was a source of amusement to the assembled morons, some idiot was doing cartwheels before one of his number did us all a favour and belted him and the harassment of the female population had begun in earnest, again to the amusement of the assembled morons (the rabid misogyny of so many young - and not so young - men these days is really disturbing). Hell, that was just the tip of the iceberg as I didn't stick around but suffice to say days like this make the fact that haemochromatosis severely restricts my alcohol intake seem like a blessing rather than a "Celtic curse".

So St. Patrick's Day - you can keep it. Vulgar, drunken idiots supposedly celebrating an accident of birth by living down to every negative stereotype about their kind, the sort so blind with sectarian hatred that they wrap themselves in a made-up green, white and yellow tricolour flag because they're too bigoted to don the colour orange that makes up one third of Thomas Francis Meagher's banner. Future Sinn Fein leaders in other words. The only day of the year that kind of makes me wish I had been born a loyalist, this might have to join the Twelfth as an excuse to quit this backwards dump for a while in future.


Aug. 29th, 2015 11:07 pm
keresaspa: (Seagull)
Hello you *waves*. Yeah, just back from Paris and that, which, of course, means I have to go on at length about the last week. Apologies in advance if this gets a bit incoherent but you should all be used to that by now.

Lundi )

Mardi )

Mercredi )

Jeudi )

Vendredi )
keresaspa: (Cartman)
Out of the blue yesterday I received a phone call informing me that my annual (give or take) appointment with the liver specialist was to happen today. Ordinarily such things involve a significant amount of fannying around but not this time, just a single day's notice. As I've previously said I'm not a fan of this annual load of silly shenanigans and I inevitably come away with the feeling that a day has been wasted.

A 2:15 appointment was chosen by them and so inevitably I was seen just after three. My previous consultant has transparently moved on to bigger and better things (good riddance, he's a little tosser anyway) and so as a result I was told that I have been shifted to my third consultant since being diagnosed with haemochromatosis. Equally inevitably when they finally deigned to see me I didn't even get the consultant, but rather one of his stooges. I'm notorious for looking rather older than my years but this boy could easily have passed for my son. Call me old fashioned but I find it hard to take medical types seriously when they look generations younger than me, never mind years. My rewards for a hike up the Falls Road and over an hour's wait? The information that iron and booze are bad for haemochromatosis and that I'm overweight. Great to know, son as I never could have figured out that a condition in which you overload iron and which can damage you liver might be aggravated by iron and alcohol whilst I've lived in a state of blindness for my whole life and therefore have no idea what body shape I have. Mr Consultant, whose name I've forgotten already, didn't even put in the standard token appearance this time and the end of meeting blood tests were scrapped, to be done on Friday when I have my regular venesection anyway. On top of that the kid had the notion that he was witty (which he wasn't; Paul Sinha has nothing to fear over his "funniest MD" crown) and had that irritating young person vocal tic of starting nearly every sentence with the word "so" despite it's total irrelevance to what was to follow.

At a time when the NHS in Northern Ireland is supposedly falling apart due to lack of funding I really don't know why they persist with these annual appointments for people like me who have haemochromatosis but are otherwise unaffected. After all the nurses measure my vital signs when they're blood letting me and could easily alert the big cheese if anything goes tits-up, rather than making me sit about like a spare one for ages just to be told the bleeding obvious. Yup, waste of a day as ever.
keresaspa: (Albert Gladstone Trotter)
2013, eh? What a year! All this new stuff happened, a bunch of old stuff stopped happening and a load of other stuff continued happening. Crazy! There'll never be another year the same, although every year will probably be a bit like it in that there'll be earthquakes and chaffinches and carbon dioxide and outbreaks of drizzle and quarks and all that other stuff that every year is packed with. You know, fifty years from now if somebody comes up to me and says "remember 2013?" I'll say, well nothing as I'll be in the cold, cold ground by then. Mind you, were my corpse able to talk I'm sure it would say "piss off. What's the meaning of coming to my grave just to ask about indiscriminate years? Bloody nuisance!"

Still, New Year's Eve! Just think, this time a year ago the earth had completed one less transit of the sun but, now as if by magic, it is back in the same arbitrary place in space as it was then, give or take the bit we have to make up with leap years. Momentous isn't the word for it. It's been a whole 2,014 years since somebody started a new calendar based on a miscalculation about the birth of our Jesus so obviously the only answer is to go mad, drink your own bodyweight in alcohol and join hands with strangers in an unusual manner whilst singing a Robert Burns poem whose lyrics you don't quite know. Those who had a bad time in 2013 can look forward to 365 days of unmitigated bliss in the coming year, because as we all know that's how life works, plus we get to make new year's resolutions as January 1 is officially the only day you can decide to stop eating so many biccy-wicks. My resolution is to be the first man to climb Mount Everest. I'm sure I'll manage it before those pesky Norwegians get there first.

So a guid new year to ae and aw. It's been probably the single most important year in history containing the numbers 2, 0, 1 and 3 (in that order) and we'll never ever forget it, barring the onset of Alzheimer's disease.

And now, because I demanded it, I will keep up my annual tradition by recording for posterity the 100 musical artists whose works I listened to most in this twelvemonth. Read it and weep. Though leave the weeping to the end as it will interfere badly with your vision.

Here it is )
keresaspa: (Brigitte Bardot)
All I seem to have been doing on this thing recently is leeching ideas off [ profile] caddyman in order to fill up entries. Well, today is to be another instalment in that rip-off sequence as the man himself has presented another of his memes and I'm jumping on the bandwagon. The basic plot of this one is to provide eight facts about yourself. Apologies in advance for the boring nature of these but I'm a boring chap I'm afraid.

1) I had only just started walking when I toddled my way through a glass door in the house in which I was born. Whilst I cheated death that day it had been by a whisker as had the cuts gone an inch in either direction I would have severed major blood vessels and most likely carked it. The scars left behind on my forehead were very prominent until fairly recently but now the deep worry lines that have sprung up on my forehead have largely merged with them, rendering them almost invisible.

2) Around the age of five I took part in, and won, a foot race against other children from my school. I was rewarded with a bag of sweets for my trouble. Hardly a big deal in itself, but it must be balanced by the "bulky" frame I have sported ever since and the complete aversion to running that has dominated my thinking. I reckon Douglas Bader with have a chance in a foot race against me these days.

3) I was about 12 when I first decided to become politically aware but I didn’t fully embrace communism until the age of around 19. As a youngster I was a firmly moderate social democrat whose political allegiances belonged to the Labour Party and the SDLP. I began to move to the left around the time Blair took over Labour (the two occurrences were not connected however) when I was about 14 and from then until about 17 I looked more to the likes of the SWP and the IRSP, whilst maintaining a strong admiration for the authoritarian Left in the developing world. By the age of 17 I was more open to communism and finally declared for it around 19, following a very very brief flirtation with anarchism.

4) At GCSE I was put forward for the Additional Mathematics exams but, after getting a B in my one year normal maths, I completely lost the thread of what was going on and effectively gave up. As a result in both papers for the subject, which were two hours long, I was finished after about fifteen minutes and had an hour and three quarters to just sit there bored (my school wouldn’t permit you to leave when you were done). The fact that I got an E in the subject (a fail in my day, not so sure now) rather than the U I deserved probably pinpoints the exact moment when they started marking GCSEs too easily.

5) Although I now find it impossible to go a Saturday without attending a football match I didn’t actually go to my first live match until the age of 16 (Cliftonville v Standard Liege in the Intertoto Cup) and I was absent entirely between 1998 and 2011.

6) I once brought a half bottle of whiskey with me along with my standard haul of several bottles of ale and a bottle of Buckfast to a goth carry-out disco. The resulting levels of drunkenness that ensued on my part became legendary in the local scene for several years to come, although for my part I have little memory of it.

7) Having said that, although my hell-raising reputation was well-known once upon a time I did not taste a drop of alcohol until the legal age of 18, which was the same time I first smoked a cigarette. Incidentally I had smoked at most ten cigarettes before I made cigars a regular part of my routine.

8) Despite being a heterosexual adult male with no children, and despite not liking cats, I possess several toys and pieces of ephemera of Hello Kitty and I feel absolutely no shame in admitting that fact.
keresaspa: (Ye olde Harry Secombe)
During the course of my life I have went through a number of phases when it comes to the act of reading. When I was but a child I had little time or inclination for reading. Quite why I can't remember (my memories of childhood are pretty scant to be honest) although I do seem to recall being singularly underwhelmed by the literature we were pushed towards as it was all either Roald Dahl - whose writing I have nursed a deep-seated hatred for ever since - or yawn-inducers about children having so called adventures. Not the Famous Five and the like, which was just too jolly Old England for anybody to even think about trying to sell to the offspring of Irish republicans, but "one child's struggle" sort of books which, whilst in retrospect perfectly innocuous, did not appeal to my young self because they were rooted too much in mundane reality.

I was probably about ten before reading started to hold an appeal and about 12 before I really got into it but by then it was entirely non-fiction as the other kind seemed a bit pointless to me. Sherlock Holmes was probably the only exception as I would happily chew through the short stories, a pleasure that has never left me despite them seeming increasingly hard to swallow the older I have grown. My attitudes relaxed when I turned around 15 and decided that it was fine to enjoy both intellectual and lowbrow pursuits and that I could happily enjoy rock music, football and bad TV without becoming a moron so I returned to fiction, going through phases of reading the classics, Inspector Morse, Rumpole of the Bailey and Len Deighton before a combination of university and sweet lady alcohol intervened to ensure that my reading time was slashed and what I had was given over to study reading.

But eventually I found the time again as studying became second nature and alcohol's role diminished and I broadened my reading, discovering my well established favourites like de Nerval, Garcia Marquez and Turgenev. Then suddenly I stopped. Like most of the crashes I've had I reckon it occurred around the time I gave up smoking but ever since I have reverted to my twenty years ago state of finding fiction a waste of time and only reading about reality. Suddenly having the internet at home probably didn't help either. I made attempts to ease myself out of my slump. Daisy Miller was read several months ago - the sort of novella that in my peak I would have demolished in a day. I made it through to the end but it was a real slog and by the time it was over I would have happily flushed its stained pages down the crapper. Rumpole books were procured from charity shops on the off-chance but they lay unloved and most recently I battled my way through a few Edgar Allen Poe stories until I could take no more and tossed the book in a box to fester.

Then suddenly it happened - out of nowhere I read about a book and became consumed with the fire of old that I had to get a copy and read it now. I tried a variety of shops but nothing so in the end I gave up and went on ebay, finally netting a copy last week. And yea it was like old times as I flew through, at last feeling once more that wonderful separation anxiety that a really good book gives you when you aren't reading it. The ending was pretty disappointing but that wasn't really the point, the important thing is I believe I have finally rediscovered the pleasure of fiction and I owe my rebirth to Lud-in-the-Mist by Hope Mirrlees, the very definition of forgotten gem. Given that my computer will soon be taking a trip westward to get the [ profile] burkesworks treatment and I recently got a haul of books from the closing down sale of the discount bookshop in Bangor this renaissance is as serendipitous as they come as I will have both the time and the material. And I owe it all to Nathaniel Chanticleer.
keresaspa: (L7)
As I type an open air music festival by the name of Tennent's Vital rages away about a mile from me as the crow flies. As loathe as I am to sound like an old fogey, they couldn't make it much louder, could they? I would never get between the young people and their music and I lost count of the number of times I was at open air music festivals in my youth (well, I never was actually) but turn the bloody racket down.

I might complain a bit less if the line-up was a tad better but I fail to see the appeal of dull indie chancers like the Black Keys and the Cribs, much less the Minutes or Trucker Diablo (although admittedly I have no idea who the last two are). But top of the bill? The bloody Foo Fighters! How these gits have got away with the same old regurgitated bog-standard bore-rock for so long, with Dave Grohl still hailed as a genius and the voice of a generation, is beyond me. People who rightly pillory the likes of Foreigner and Journey for churning out bland, formulaic, "anthemic" stadium rock will lick the Foo Fighters rings clean despite the fact that they have been doing the same thing since time immemorial. I bear them no malice as individuals but the sort of lowest common denominator rock that they, along with their offspring in the Kings of Leon, spew out has little or no musical merit at all as far as I'm concerned. The sort of crap that exists only to be blared out at ice hockey games to avoid the possibility that any of the morons in attendance might dare to have a thought in their heads. I swear if I hear a garbled version of bloody "Monkey Wrench" floating over on the wind I might just have to perforate my own eardrums.

That and the fact that Tennents is a pile of pish and even when I boozed I couldn't stand the blasted stuff as you would be better off drinking an alky's wee-wee. Harumph.
keresaspa: (Julius Nyerere)
2011 review thing )
keresaspa: (Bucket)
"Drinking is evil". "Smoke and we'll jail you". "Exercise or else". "Five a day or it's the ducking stool for you". "If you even think about being fat we'll take away your balls". The government sticks its collective oar in constantly, seemingly intent on establishing its own version of the Nationalsozialistischer Reichsbund für Leibesübungen and demanding a health-obsessed country of nonagenarians. Then it turns round and cries "everybody is living longer for some reason and we can't afford them. Wahh!" Was David Cameron not paying attention to all that bla-fum about "joined up government" that we have been force-fed for years? If you don't want to pay for people in old age stop forcing everybody to live so long! Of course I'm being flippant but if you spend all your time effectively criminalising ill-health you can't complain when your policies produce an aging population.

Meanwhile when people unite to strike against the government's determination to suddenly shift the goalposts Ed Miliband's so-called Labour Party refuse to support them, only a couple of weeks after he launched his bold new policy initiative of savaging the unemployed at a time of rampant unemployment. Labour will probably be scratching their heads at why they lost so much support in Inverclyde but they need look no further than Miliband who has been a bloody disaster as leader, seemingly forgetting that the purpose of being Leader of the Opposition is to oppose rather than support. If they don't buck their ideas up soon, preferably by bucking Miliband out PDQ, Cameron just might nab an overall majority next election and unleash the sort of evil monetarist onslaught not seen since the days of Augusto Pinochet.

Liberal democracy - waste of sodding time!
keresaspa: (Karl Marx laughing)
Well my annual London pilgrimage has come to an end and I'm still feeling a tad worn-out. However between seeing one of my favourite bands, visiting the resting place of my leader, catching up with some good friends and adding to the collections it was well worth the effort. Permit me to elaborate.

The third way )
keresaspa: (Rasputin)
Were I a sensible man I would be in bed right now, sleeping off the after effects of the week in London. Still, despite my physical exhaustion, I still feel compelled to come on here and report on events whilst I can still remember them in relative detail. A silly boy I surely am but these things need to be recorded for posterity before I go senile. So without further ado:

2009: A London Odyssey )

So all in all London proved a rare old treat. Good times had with delightful people, plenty of exploration done and loads of new stuff to keep me amused. Top banana, although now my bed is calling me too much to resist so I'll end this hoo-ha and let you all get on. Ta-ta.
keresaspa: (Karl Marx laughing)
There's drama afoot in Rangersland - or perhaps just proof that the fabled Tartan Army are getting a bit too sensitive for their own good. God knows I'm no fan of the Hun but this whole Barry Ferguson and Allan McGregor story may be the very definition of storm in a teacup. Yes the boozing and v signs do make them bad little eggs but life bans from playing for Scotland? Surely the reaction in cases such as this is a spell on the sidelines in disgrace ended by a grovelling apology and a quiet return in a low-key friendly. Am I being too cynical by imagining that the above scenario would be exactly what would have taken place were this the prodigiously talented Barry Ferguson of the early noughties rather than the spent force that he is now? Well see if I am in a few months when George Burley (who, if the rumours are to be believed, is no stranger to marathon drinking sessions himself) realises that relying on a guy who can't get into the Sunderland team is a recipe for disaster and a penitent McGregor returns to the squad. Heck, under Terry Venables it was rare to find an England player who hadn't been caught in similar circumstances and they were European Championship semi-finalists, albeit in somewhat dodgy circumstances.

Meanwhile in my little world I am once again a man in possession of no goldfish. The current pair, named Marx and Engels, appeared around 2006, not long after the previous incumbents, Fish and Fish, died. Engels didn't last long but Marx soldiered on alone until last night, as I prepared to give him his 1 AM feed, I noticed a singular lack of movement. Today the worst was confirmed as he was floating on his side in the way fish do when dead. Still, at least he was buried with full honours (well, kazoo renditions of "The Last Post" and "The Red Flag") in the back garden along with his fallen comrades who were put to rest at the same spot (give or take) when they went. I will probably wait awhile before getting any replacements in case it was a disease that took him but I'm sure more will come eventually as I am loathe to be without fish for some reason.

Bye then.
keresaspa: (Idi Amin)
Enough work for one day I think. Actually a surprisingly productive day after yesterday's unexpected absence (of which more later) but I feel I how now reached my limit and do not wish to continue. Rather, and in direct contradiction to what I said on Monday about not boring you all with the details, I will provide an outline of how I spent the weekend. Cut for the benefit of those of us who wince when somebody turns their journal over to describing a bunch of random events that happened to them recently (a category I sometimes include myself in, so excuse the hypocrisy). Anyway:

InFest 2008 )

So there you have it. A good time all and all and great to catch up with a number of you and meet various new people. On the negative side I was struck down late Tuesday night by a rather debilitating stomach bug (hence yesterday's absence) but luckily it now seems to have passed so i can concentrate on clearing up the work. And those of you who hate travel reports can come back now!


Aug. 26th, 2008 03:39 pm
keresaspa: (Nigella)
Well, I'm definitely back now as I'm already having computer problems! Gah!!! Anyway Bradford was a good laugh - too much alcohol and tobacco consumed for my own good and I feel a bit dead to the world today but I must soldier on as work still needs to be done. I'll not bore you all with the details as I can't remember a lot of them and they'll probably eventually turn up on [ profile] queenmartina but it was great to catch up with so many of you. Anyway, back to work I must go.
keresaspa: (Shakuni (Gufi Paintal))
So, London then. Well, late morning start on Sunday which was good and sorting out the flight was very easy which was even better. Tube ride from Heathrow to King's Cross was surprisingly painless, although it was very hot and this soon became the defining characteristic of the week as I do not believe that I stopped sweating even once. Indeed I feel that I accomplished something in not taking a heart attack! Found the hotel, the Crestfield, easily enough and was able to get my room as soon as the all-Spanish staff worked out how to understand my accent. Oddly enough the hotel had a Scottish Terrier that appeared to have severe breathing difficulties, perhaps brought on by being constantly kicked by oblivious Germans as its dark fur disappeared into the night.

Monday brought the trip to the British Library to get my pass and have a look at the things I ordered. My plan to cut a fine dash in suit and tie went to the wall as it was much too hot for a jacket or tie but otherwise a reasonable start as, although there was quite a bit of queuing involved, it was easy enough to get the pass. Problems came when I went to the reading room and found that I could not bring in pens so a mad dash back to King's Cross tube station was needed to pick up a set of pencils from the WH Smiths therein. Got through quite a bit of work that day, although spending the day reading nought but BNP propaganda was a harrowing experience to say the least and, whatever falafel is, I must remember never to eat the bloody thing again as it tastes like armpits.

Tuesday was more British Library. By this point BNP propaganda was driving me to madness so I thought "sod it, let's go balls out and finish this lot today". So I wired through the remaining copies of Identity magazine and then had a bit of a job seeing a microfilm that was needed. With any luck I won't need to bother with those bloody things again. Anyway that was the Library done and dusted after two days, rather than the five I had allowed myself, which was odd. A quick stop at Burger King left me feeling relieved and allowed me the chance to read those silly papers that they hand out for free. Before going I had never heard of either Agyness Deyn or Kimberley Stewart but I suspect that without them London Lite and The London Paper would collapse into the sea for both were on every bloody page seemingly. I soon became equally bored hearing about David Miliband, a man who I would trust about as far as I could throw, not least because he and his brother bear more than a passing resemblance to the Maxwell brothers.

As such, come Wednesday I was at a bit of a loose end as I had seriously overestimated the time I would need to do the work in question. Still, rather than waste the time I decided to take a tube into Covent Garden which [ profile] queenmartina had told me was a good shopping area. Personally, I was rather unimpressed by the load of old tat on offer, although I did wander into Charing Cross Road and found myself surrounded by some good bookshops where a fair bit of money was frittered away. Having left the hotel without a map I soon became hopelessly lost, wandering into Chinatown (not a lot going on, although nice arches) and seemingly passing the Ivy and Stringfellows about a thousand times. Liquor was consumed at the Nag's Head and the Crown before finally getting my bearings and stopping into some silly perfumey shop for [ profile] queenmartina where a helpful Goth sort was able to find what she wanted. By the time I got the tube home I was done out.

Thursday saw a trip to Oxford Street, which started somewhat difficultly as I headed up the road to Euston station in order to access Tottenham Court Road (I'm sure you could go straight from King's Cross but I could not see how and did not want to take any chances). Oxford Street itself was a fussy old place that was somewhat dominated by rain but the HMV was really rather good and turned up some interesting rarities. By and by I wound back up in Covent Garden where the Marquess of Anglesey, the Nag's Head and the White Lion provided suitable libations to get yours truly somewhat merry. Nice to just sit around and waste from time to time, although the preponderance of silly Pete Doherty wannabes wearing them hats was a slight irritant. Equally mystifying was the extreme difficulty in getting holding of an ordinary packet of Berkeley. I did not realise that these were so scarce in England (nor indeed that Lucky Strike were so common) but it forced me to smoke Benson & Hedges which, whilst a satisfactory substitute, lack the extra length of a nice Berkeley. Tube back to King's Cross was a no-no for some reason so I went buck mad and got a taxi before partaking of the most welcome Kentucky Fried Chicken I have had in my life.

I was unsure what to do for Friday, although ultimately I settled on the mysteries of the Northern Line to go into Camden (which proved somewhat fussy at first as I had been pretty much sticking to the Central Line). I'm not altogether enamoured of Camden as I find it a bit too much of that odd mixture of posy and slum but it's one of the few areas I know so I thought "why not". Still a bit of dump to my eyes, although I did manage to get some decent music there and was able to booze it up a bit in the Dev and the World's End. I did consider hanging around a while but sense took over as I wanted my wits about me for the trip home the next day so I headed back early and took to bed.

Kicked out of the hotel at 11 on Saturday which was not ideal for a half three flight but needs must and so I tubed it back to Heathrow and arsed about a while. The flight itself took off over half an hour late and was marred by a constantly screaming child with an overenthusiastic father and a mother who looked liked the whole married with children thing had been a mistake but otherwise was relatively OK and I only had one brief "oh shite" moment over a bit of turbulence which is quite good considering I'm afraid of flying. Glad to be home, mind and finally get my own bed.

Well, that's that then. Apologies for boring you all with the details but it gives me the perfect excuse to avoid work as my head is not really back in the game yet.
keresaspa: (Karl Marx laughing)
Anyroad (as the late great Amos used to say), just a quick one as usual as the work continues to come thick and fast and I am looking to have this bugger done by the end of the month. Dublin was a good lark over the weekend as the alcohol came thick and fast. Props to [ profile] queenmartina who was footing the bill as an early birthday present. Managed to stock up on some decent cigars too and even availed myself of the Marxist bookshop this time, getting hold of a Lenin effort for 30 of your cents. Cheap as chips. Anyway, that's the lot for today as the work must be done. Keep busting.
keresaspa: (Rasputin)
Aiee! Still recovering from a weekend of debauchery at Infest, my lords, ladies and gentlemen. Quick rundown of what happened then I must get back to work to make up the lost time. Friday began thankfully not too early with the flight from Geordie Best, which was thankfully not too packed. Taxi into Bradford followed with a mix-up over room keys that eventually had to be sorted out by a lass who looked like the third and not so pretty Shetty sister. Eventually faffing about ceased and myself and [ profile] queenmartina decamped to the Titus Salt to meet [ profile] burkesworks for a couple of jars and some dinner. A couple soon turned into quite a few leaving us somewhat merry by the time we ended up at the place itself. As a result my memory of the night is a bit hazy, although I recall talking to all and sundry and seeing a bit of Portion Control. That being said, my old legs can't stand up to the bands as well as they used to and as such I spent most of the time outside having a feg.

Saturday began with a trip to that museum that [ profile] queenmartina is so fond of, on the way to which we passed the most drunk/stoned man in Christendom who, after staggering past the halls, fell over a barrier onto some waste ground. Takes all sorts! Proved a reasonably pleasant diversion due to a Bollywood exhibition that featured some rather nifty posters of what appeared to be Russ Meyer films Indian style. That thought kept me busy for quite some time as you can imagine! Back to the boozer for a bit of lunch and a drink where we met [ profile] purpledonna and a bunch of others before winding back to the halls then on to the nights entertainments. Not a lick of bands saw that night, with time once again given over to catching up with everybody and smoking. Ended up finding a settee near a bar which proved to comfortable to give up, especially as the place was deserted for the main band. Good laugh, which I seem to recall involved singing Victor Lewis-Smith jingles and laughing at a middle aged man in a loin cloth.

Sunday was an earlier start after a somewhat surreal trip to the Co-op. Seen a little of the delightfully named Painbastard before nipping outside to meet up once again with [ profile] burkesworks who had stopped by. Knocked about outside with the man himself for quite sometime, demolishing a few pints, a couple of bottles of wine that he had sneaked in and a glut of green shooter things, the name of which escaped me. Hung about to gone 11 before bidding Tez a fond farewell and heading back in for more boozing and fooling about.

Up about 11 on Monday nursing a malefaction of a hangover that made packing and getting out of there a bit of a chore. Eventually made it away and got a taxi to the airport where a slightly loony driver was blasting Islamic devotional music the whole way. I'm pretty sure I heard "Mujahideen" in it and [ profile] queenmartina believes she heard "Al-Qaeda" at one point. The tobacco rattle in one of the voice made me want to laugh and I was really struggling to hold it in when a particularly whiny one put me in mind of Paul Whitehouse but luckily we made it without laughing. In the end there was no need to rush as the plane ended up being cancelled due to some cock and bull story about it breaking down at Manchester. 23 of us were chosen for reassignment (I wonder what became of the rest of them) and, after agreeing to transfer to Doncaster, were left waiting for a coach like a bunch of sausages until half four. Still, it gave me time for a fegs and a community spirit of sorts developed in the face of adversity. Eventually we made it to the ludicrously named Robin Hood airport and it was gone 8 before we got home.

Been pretty much done in the last couple of days as a consequence of everything but a good time was had by all. Nice to see so many of you (you know who you are) but now I must returned to the realities of chapter fettling. The end.
keresaspa: (Shonen Knife)
Feeling more than a tad ropey today, my lords, ladies and gentlemen. I decided to head out for a wasting session on Saturday and, deciding to ignore the heavy rain as just a shower, proceeded to take shank's pony from my place into the town (around five miles give or take). Talk about stupid decisions. I spent the next hour and a half or so in short bursts of walking in between sheltering from the heaviest rain since Noah was taking a boat building course at Zeredathah College of Further Education. Water was literally billowing down the road as I stood in vain trying to eke out a tiny bit of shelter from the Lyric Theatre. To compound the hellishness of it all I was wearing a boot with a hole in it and so by the time I got to where I was going I was effectively walking around with a paddling pool on my right plate. Amazingly I am yet to develop the flu but it seems only a matter of time. Summer, what summer?

Still my fuzzy head seems to fit the ambience of this place today. Rooms have been closed down for no appreciable reason, there are builders who appear to be lifting flag stones and then replacing them and there is a sudden rash of Western-attired Asian girls who nonetheless are all wearing different coloured variations of the same flowery head scarf. Or perhaps I'm imagining all this and the flu really has got me. No work today methinks, lest I decide to rejig a chapter in order to argue that BNP immigration policy is actually driven by their fear of tapirs taking control of Norton Radstock.
keresaspa: (Communism)
Well, we knew Nicolas Sarkozy was going to be a bad egg now it seems he is demanding apologies from the Belgians for suggesting he was drunk. Amazing really that somebody that thin skinned would enter politics when being the target of constant criticism goes with the territory. Besides he certainly looks drunk (or possibly high) to me. No doubt he goes along with darling Tony and his recent attack on the media. What a pair of prats! Time you woke up to reality, gentlemen. As leaders you get to decide the destiny of millions of people, get lifted and laid, ferried about the world looking like a big shot and get more opportunity for free money and sex than anybody. If that means the odd mauling from the press then it's a fair trade-off for everything you lot get. Don't like it, then bugger off and get jobs in McDonalds. Bloody moaning minnies!
keresaspa: (Max Miller)
Back from Edinburgh on Monday and I'm still feeling a tad on the ropey side. I swear I can't take the drink like I used to. Anyway, a quick run-down of what happened so for anybody who might be remotely interested.

Friday - ungodly early start, a complete lack of provisions for smokers in the airport and flying made me a jittery bag of nerves. Glad to get off the plane and run into [ profile] psychokatuk and Steve at the airport then get the bus into Edinburgh. Bit of pratting (mostly getting lagered up in Frankensteins) about before finally being allowed into the hostel, a grotty sweat box with a shared bathroom. Mucked about a while on Friday seeing a bunch of bands, none of whom I remember, in between nipping out for smokes with [ profile] pinkiemcpinkie and changing venues. Given that it was [ profile] queenmartina's birthday the alcohol was flowing fast and I vaguely recall downing whiskey. Got a bit starving in the end so called it a night and went and got the most bogging fish supper I've ever eaten which was practically lobster thermidor given my hunger at the time.

Saturday - surprisingly little in the way of a hangover, despite being woken up by one of those completely pointless fire alarms that Scotland seems to be infested with, so another load of tramping about in between Frankensteining, where a breakfast of haggis was consumed. Even managed a trip to the National Library of Scotland as [ profile] queenmartina wanted to see an exhibition about something called Miffy. I managed to deface the guestbook with a drawing of said rabbit enjoying a smoke but my attempts to get access to a puppet show, where I hoped to try out my own Max Miller/Vic Reeves hybrid material were thwarted by a queue. Bum! Different venue for the evening, but again I don't recall any of the bands too well. Again, a fair bit of boozing before I regressed into a zombie-like state as the lack of sleep, alcohol and advancing years finally caught up with me.

Sunday - as you were during the day with Frankenstein's the port of call, although it took us a while to get started on drink. Eventually wound up in the same place as Saturday for the last night. Zeitgeist Zero got a definite thumbs up from this man for their Betty Curse-like work. I had been of the mind to enjoy Voices of Masada who followed them but got bored waiting and in the end lost interest pretty quick. Back home to bed after a couple of other ones who were less memorable.

Monday - up early as the room was kicking us out at ten but luckily they had free internet access in the main building so we were able to kill time by reading you lot and checking YouTube for footage of dancing Boris Yeltsin. Quick lunch in Frankensteins (where else?) then a bus ride to the airport followed by a plane home filled with a hen party. Fun! Great to get home as I was ferklempt. Hello to all I didn't mention in this review that I was talking to (that would be [ profile] evil_girlie666, [ profile] ishkhara, [ profile] purpledonna and [ profile] the_fi in alphabetical order) - great to see you all again.

Well, there you have it. That'll do me for now as I have a shedload of work to catch up on. TTFN!


keresaspa: (Default)

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