Sickie Cyclist

I am officially sick of being sick. I finally dragged myself to the doctors today, after a lengthy period of trying to home-cure myself, and have got hold of some drugs (yippee). I now have official paranoia that this is a recurrence of last years health problems (requiring the chop shop), and have fairly well convinced myself that my current symptoms are an early sign of doom, and that I should be carted off to hospital ASAP. However, when I tentatively suggested this to the doc today, he just looked stern, and said "lets not overcomplicate things, shall we?". He is so old, he shuffles stooped into the consulting room, and looks like he might require urgent medical treatment himself at any moment. I find this a little unnerving, as it's not dissimilar to trying to tell all your personal problems to your own grandad.

However, these are but minor things, and otherwise all is well with the world... went to see Naz and Boo at the weekend, which involved lots of looking at wedding photos. Boo just looked GORGEOUS and FLAWLESS and AMAZING in every photo, which made me a little envious. I also saw Dion, for the first time, since he did that asking-me-out-and-then-running-away lark, that frightened blokes are wont to do. He is still Dion, good humoured and completely immoral, and inadvertently reminded me how things do generally work out for the good, in the end. The idea of going out with him now seems pretty ludicrous, when so many better things are on offer.

Bon Jovi Said

I am accidently listening to Teddy Thompson. He has a song entitled "Bon Jovi Said". Surely any song featuring references to the mulletted soft rock god should be light-hearted, amusing, enjoyable, no?? Alas, Teddy is such a miserable twit, that even this song makes you want to slit your wrists and/or fall into a coma.

CHEER THE FUCK UP.

Also Teddy has a penchant for writing songs about how shit his dad is. Fair enough. But, from my understanding, his dad left the family YEARS AGO. He didn't lose contact. Teddy is now thirty-something and still managing to ramble about it. His dad is also magnanimous enough to play guitar on a lot of the tracks in which Teddy rants about how shit he is. Which surely means he can't be that bad? Of course, I don't know the family situation, but I just want Teddy to shut up about it, and sing something nice for once.... and if you do have to write songs of rage against a unreliable parent, try and be eloquent about it, rather than just whingy. Teddy could look no further than his big gay friend Rufus Wainwright for some pointers.

That said, I do love "Brink of Love" by the Teddster. A truly lovely song.

Candle in the Wind

Had a lovely weekend, which involved some paper-boating to celebrate the summer solstice. It turned out that we hadn't completely thought through the location, as the particular stretch of the Lea Vallety navigation we chose was a) filled with dubious scum b) pontoonless - making the water out of reach of human hand. Many a poor paper boat and/or tea light carped it, in the resulting drop from bank to river.... but, of the multicoloured flotilla produced by myself, Choc Chip, Romba, Shaggy, Schwesty, Euripides, and MG, a few hardy boats made it down river, flickering prettily in the night. The boat we dedicated to the absent Monky proved the most hardy - still shining brightly as we left, and threatening to set a few (real) boats alight on the way. Eek.

On Sunday, following a a jaunt into the village for a very nice sunday roast, me and MG then tried to set a world record for the longest siesta ever attempted - went for a snooze at 3 pm, emerged at 10pm. The best bit is knowing that you have fuck all to do, and not feeling guilty for a second. Did slightly fuck with my body clock, though, and found myself blinking like a crazy woman in the early hours of this morning.

Still managed to cycle into work, though!! Pat on the back for me. Have decided that it is definitely time to get back on the fitness wagon as a) am getting fat b) potentially have someone to admire my loveliness.... so probably shouldn't let myself go too much.

AM QUITE HAPPY. FRIGHTENING. BOUND TO GO WRONG.

Oh Yes

If more cheering up is needed, then click on this link:

http://www.readingfc.premiumtv.co.uk/page/Gallery/0,,10306~1326086,00.html

This is like golddust to me ha ha ha.

Not Enough Ginge

For some reason, am feeling a bit maudlin this morning. So have decided to resurrect that well known pick-me-up of uploading a bit of ginger eye-candy to stare at. Mmm, the lovely Teddy Thompson. You may be a miserable barsteward. You may be looking slightly smirky because there's some dark-eyed beauty standing behind you, being intense. But hey, you are ginge of the top drawer. Yuhum.

Photo Woe

Can't decide if my inability to upload my holiday piccies onto this blog is because of a) my stupid computer b) my own stupid incompetence c) some other stupid unknown factor? Bahh. I need techie help!

Girl in Need of a Slap

That would be me. MG took me out again last night, and introduced yet another unexpected facet of loveliness. So, I end up this morning sat at a far off tube station, at 5.45am, looking a little dishevelled, eating a veggie scotch egg for breakfast (yum), and caught somewhere between smugness and panic. I may be in trouble, of a big moon-shaped variety. And I don't mean of the "papa don't preach" variety. Must try to stay positive. But must not care too much. MUST TRY.

Choc Chip has kindly offered to do the slapping honours, should I start to display the signs of pathetic punch-drunk mooniness. I therefore must prepare myself for a big hand shaped mark on my face in the near future! In honour of my life as a dumb inevitable creature, a (newish) poem:

This Familiar

The lambs run from the train and yet,
It cuts this way, through the glen,
Eight times a day. Oh this familiar feeling,
This too familiar thing: as known as the Rogart rain
Or the Finnstown wind. Like an empty resevoir,
My heart; like a morning moor, your skin, I will feel
The trickle, the sweet agony of blood
Returning to a rested limb and,
As sure as the lambs run from the train,
Will my heart fill again.

The African Queen

So I spent most of this weekend boating with MG. In what must count as one of the most superb impulse purchases of all time, MG (and his housemate) bought themselves a floating caravan... and MG kindly invited me on board as "cabin crew".

I think I can safely say that, after drifting along a leafy river in Surrey, crashing into a lock (MG was driving), getting actually stuck in a lock, sipping Pimms floats endlessly, and many more earthly pleasures beside, that I am now at the MOONY stage with MG. He is little and cute and endured my front-seat driving, general fear of the sun, general fear of speed and gear changes, and super-chavvy shorts (purchased in Primark minutes before he picked me up) with great grace. I also had a "little word" with him about the fact that we had, in my opinion, reached the stage where I expected him to "stick around", which he answered quickly and (most importantly) correctly.

Now, I have that horrible pit-of-stomach feeling, which comes with CARING. I must repeat this mantra to myself "must stay positive, must not fear the worst". Ahhhh.

Where the Sun Doesn't Stop Shining

The gap in blogging has not been pure laziness. I have just returned from a two-week holiday in the Orkney and Shetland Islands, which was supreme....

The first week (in Orkney) was with Ma 'Ding. It was originally intended to be a bit of a family event, to co-incide with the folk festival, and to spend time with Pa 'Ding, whose health is a bit precarious. Sadly, due to hospital "stuff", Pa 'Ding had to be left behind ,with Schwesty to act as nurse. So me and Ma 'Ding were left to have a week of solid bickering. I knew that this was bound to happen as we have our differences. It's never catastrophic arguments, and I do love her to bits, but I do object to her fussing over stuff - I just wish she'd turn her attention to her more significant and destructive habits, rather than what she eats, how high that hill is, whether it is past her bed time blah blah blah. Unfortunately I do tend to act like a kid around her, and it all gets a bit stupid. Luckily, though, once the music had started, we had something to distract us. And the Orkney Islands themselves are sensational - friendly, packed with great scenery, loads of historic sites (I went inside a neolithic burial chamber wooooo), and I even had an unlikely opportunity to dribble over a handsome young bagpipe player (from a distance obviously).....

Then I went onto the Shetlands alone. It's a different world, the scenery is extremely dramatic, and the people so friendly it's frightening... I couldn't move a step, with my suitcase, without some chap wanting to help. One practically ran the full length of a street to help me up some steps. And once I'd unburdened myself of my hefty luggage, I ended up walking miles and miles and miles. I tried to see some puffins, but unfortunately the afternoon I went onto Hermaness Head was the one iffy-weather day of my holiday, and when the howling gale and mist set in, I did seriously contemplate whether I've ever find my way home. Luckily I thought of lovely big cuddly Ray Mears, and everything seemed to work out! The puffins, however, had wisely run away to find shelter so I never did see them. D'oh.

I also had a weird "spotted". Whilst staying in a converted RAF station on the northern most tip of the northern most inhabited island in the UK (on a level with Greenland) I spotted Nick Berry (Eastenders, Heartbeat...) having dinner with his family! I also got befriended by some local folks (fairly tipsy they were), who bought me endless whiskies, and gave me their address, making me promise that I'd come back, and tell anyone I knew to come to the Shetlands, and stay in their house! That seemed to be the general Shetlands attitude, just bubbling with enthusiasm and helpfulness. I think they're fairly isolated and just pleased to welcome anyone! Other honourable mentions must go to Helga and Janet (retired lesbian?? travellers who I kept bumping into all over the place), Jim the Youth Hostel Warden (who offered me a lift everywhere), the English bloke on the Unst Ferry who invited me on a maiden voyage in his new dinghy (I politely declined, as I was slightly scared), and the bus driver who went on diversion just to drop me at a supermarket (I needed some washing powder), and also the lady who showed me how to spin wool and knit with a knitting belt at the Heritage Centre on Unst (I was unsurprisingly crap!).

And to the endless sunlight, the beautiful sunset on Norwick sands at about 11pm on my final evening on Shetland, and to all the old and evocative ruins (all over Orkney and Shetland) which I spent hours clambering around. If you like a bit of space, are lucky with the weather (I was), and have somebody like-minded with you, I think it would be an immensely romantic place to go for a break.

I will try and post some piccies (I took about a zillion, but am currently missing the upload lead) to prove the loveliness of the Northern Isles though I might have to edit out the many dull and "experimental" ones!

Now, alas, after a mammoth three ferries, two buses, one train, and a ride on the underground (two days travelling in total) it is back to the frickin' grind. Arggggg. Argggggggg. Argggggggggggg.