bad head.

You know it's a bad headache when you have to keep checking your ears to make sure your brain isn't trickling out of them.

I blamed it on the hangover from Claires wedding on Saturday but I think its the bird flu finally come to finish me off. Darn avians!

I work with Claire and She and her husband kev have accompained us on many a rugby trip. And yes that is a pint of bitter in her hand!

With their wedding done and they both looked great, its Em and my turn next which isn't quite as scary as I thought it would be. Still a bit terrifying though.

Off to scout out some paracetamol, or aspirin, or a bat to club myself into unconciousness, which ever come first really.

A new entrant?

I didn't realise Ferengi could run in the presidential race!

Vote Quark/Rom in 2008!

The worlds third best spectator sport

I am of course referring to American Politics which is the third most compelling sport in the world.

Numbers one and two are Rugby and Sumo which of course are just different flavours of big bastards running at each other with murder in their eyes. And no padding.

The media seems to focus more on the candidates quirks than their actual policies because to be brutally honest the physical characteristics and differences between the candidates is the only thing that's interesting about them.

People complain that politicians are lying scumbags who'd pimp out their own grandmother to get that extra vote.

"Why can't they ever tell the truth?!" people moan.

Well interestingly enough the reason they can't ever speak the truth is that we won't let them.

Any person that has got to be a candidate for either of the major parties is a career politician. They have made their fortune or used Daddies, to get where they are today and they've done that by being obsequious and veiling everything they say in the cloak of denyability.

When we as the public hold people to such close account and such close scrutiny they simply can't afford to be seen to be wrong. No Pol can ever say 'Yep. Okay. I goofed up, there were no weapons in Iraq. Sorry about that. My bad.' because the public outcry would be enormous. 'What else have they got wrong?' the press would scream and it would be goodbye bye Mr Politician.

Instead they make statements that can't possibly be argued with and can't be quantified.

They could say, "We need to clamp down on some dissenting voices so we're going to start monitoring all your communications that go outside of our borders."

But instead we force them to say "I want to increase the security of our country."

How can you argue against security? "I disagree with my honourable friend, I think this country is just too secure. I want more danger for all our citizens. I will plough your tax dollars into increasing the variety and spread of the threats ranged against us."


So now with the race for the democratic candidacy under way we're back to listening to a bunch of people all trying to convince us as the voters they they are the right man/woman/crustacean for the job.

In these 'debates' every word is spun sanitized and polished up to a gleaming shine before its launched forth so the only part that holds the interest once our bulls%%t filter falls into place is their actual appearance.

And thank God, it used to be a choice between boring white guy number one and boring white guy number two. Now its a choice between racy ex-First lady with balls of iron and boring white guy disguised as interesting black guy number 2.



But we want a boring guy, don't we? We want someone who won't fly off the handle when the Russian bear wakes up and starts growling. We want someone who can go to those endless meetings on sanitation and discuss policy changes and all that dull dull dull crap SO WE DON"T HAVE TO.

sunset tranquillity

There's a road in Texas in between Amarillo and Albuquerque just before you hit the New Mexico border. Its not especially pretty, its not spectacularly stunning and its arrow straight as the roads over there tend to be.

It was getting to dusk when I was driving through it and the windmills that were the only presence at the side of the empty road were black sentinels standing out against the pink setting sun.

When I'm especially stressed or feel I've got too much coming at me, I switch off and pretend I'm driving that road again. The empty blacktop stretching off ahead and the sound of the tyres on the tarmac a mantra beneath me.

One day, before I'm forty, I'm going to drive that road again.

Happy birth-daze.

Had a great birthday spent in the bosom of my family and friends whilst simultaneously in the bosom of the pub. How could things get better you ask? Well some poor fools bought me all the kit I need to start brewing my own beer! Its bubbling away now, like a giant vat of fun waiting to be matured and drunk in the next 3 to 4 weeks. I've always wanted to be the mad scientist type, rubbing my hands manically in front of vats of coloured liquids with electricity sparking off in the background.

I may even cackle.

Anyways it was a wonderful way to celebrate being thirty, and today in work I got given cake! woot! I should birthday more often.

About a third of my way through Harry Potter, not from any great love of the series but because it is a cultural event. How many books can claim that? There's always a must see movie or a must listen album, but a must read book? The measure of it is if people who rarely read are compelled to do so. It's very different for we bibliophiles that devour any material that hoves into our field of vision. So Potter as a phenomenon should be appreciated and studied but I don't think there will be anything quite like it again, in spite of the multitude of pretenders to the throne, there won't be certainly in our lifetimes anything approaching the Potter mania that is currently manifest.

Having a weird brain day were its hard to focus on one thought for longer than ten seconds, I'll blame the hangover from yesterday.

Thirty.

So. Thirty then.

When I was seventeen, back when the dinosaurs roamed the earth, I thought that thirty was some distant strange far off land that one day some stranger in my skin might encounter. I never imaged it would actually be me staring down the barrel of middle age and daring myself to pull the trigger. You think you're going to live forever when you're that age and even if you do die you'll be all teenage drugs, opinions and snake-like hips until that day. It doesn't work like that.

HOWEVER that being said I want to be here, now at this age. A lot of people want to go back to being twenty one, I wouldn't swap my place for his for all the sweatshops in China. At twenty one I was a nervous stupid youth who wanted all the power with non of the responsibility when it all goes wrong. I've only just recently really learnt what that means, what it really means. I'm happy now, here in the situation I'm in. Okay job, nice house living with the person I adore more than anything on the earth and about to marry her. Why on earth would I swap that for early twenties acne, terrible terrible haircuts, crappy jobs where you're treated worse than scum, living with my parents and wasting my time by getting wasted?

I spent yesterday going through a mountain of old photos for the wedding and it was exactly the right thing to do. It showed me where I'd been, who I'd been with and what I had been doing for the last 10950 days of my life. And it showed me I've had a right laugh. And that where I'm going is just as important of where I've been.

I have:

Jumped off a Swiss mountain and parachuted to the valley below.
Worked abroad for six months for an American TV station,
Helped make a feature film that's available to buy on DVD.
Succeeded in gaining a degree in a hardcore science subject despite working full-time hours in a bar and having a brain leakier than your average colander.
Enjoyed a wrap party that lasted 48 hours starting in a Cardiff bar on a Friday night and ending Sunday afternoon on a beach with a bottle of mandarin vodka.
Watched Wales win their first grand slam in over twenty years.
Made someone laugh so hard they were nearly sick.
Shared icy beers in warm climes with cool people.
Made love in the surf with the ocean boiling around us.
Driven coast to coast in America in less than five days.
Been told a piece of my writing was superb by someone whose opinion on literature I respect.
Had my heart broken many times and broke someone else heart once. Only ever once.
Sang along with songs with friends at the top of my lungs in dingy clubs.
Fell in love with the most perfect woman who, against all laws of probability loves me back.
Felt the thrum and pulse of a city coming alive again.
Stood on a mountain top on my own and felt the touch of God.


So on the basis of that list when some slack jawed moron asks me "How does it feel to be thirty?" and I reply "F**king great." do you think that's justified?

My Nephew

Well its official! On the eve of my thirtieth birthday I have become an uncle! YAY!

Congrats to Amanda and Phil and a big hello to baby Jack!

That's brought a darn big grin to my face!

Have a great weekend!

Uncle Bob.

The revival of QOOC

"I'll try and use the shaft less, that's three times I've hit it tonight already!"

On Friendship.

Something that my Stag do proved to me is that real friendship isn't forced. There are many people that I have had close working relationships with that I would have considered good friends. When that working relationship ends that relationship itself dies. Oh sure if you see them in the street you'll say hello but you won't feel that attachment as strongly. It's like something has changed and you can't communicate in the way you used to. The conversation is stilted, the topics are all about stuff you used to do together to try and get that flow back. But nothing works.

 

HOWEVER, the flip side of that is when you meet up with someone you haven't seen in a while and the sparks are still flying and you sink straight back into the relationship you had as if its been five minutes rather than a few years, that is something special and something to be treasured. There are only a few people I would say are real proper close close friends but a good handful of those were with me on the Stag Do and that meant the world to me.

 

Thanks guys.

Notes from....

I hate myself for saying this but I really like this one.

Its got the elements of what I was looking for with a brief nod to Hunter S Thompson and his description of Nixon "A man so twisted he needed help to screw his pants on in the morning."

Little did I know when I wrote this the joys of the current administration which is starting to make the arch-Demon himself look like an underachiever.

Anyways I had to make Madison leave to give Jack something to focus on as I was at that moment unhappily single and I didn't see why my fictious characters should be happy when I wasn't.

I'm a bit of a bastard like that!

Notes from the Road 11

The Bridal Suite was huge and largely pink.

"I feel like I'm putting on weight just looking at it." whispered Madison in my ear as the concierge showed us around. It felt like everything was made of sugared confectionary I was trying to imagine who would think this fantasy place would be the perfect setting for starting a life together. Apart from an eight year old girl raised on tales of frogs, magic and princes that is.

It took up most of the top floor with two bedrooms (master and guest) 3 bathrooms, reception area and sitting room featuring the largest TV I have ever seen. It dwarfed the fittings in the rest of the room looming out from one wall dominating the available space. No matter where you were you could not but help but be aware of it's presence

I unearthed the remote from beneath a plethora of pink cushions and comforters and turned it on to try it out. There was a political show on and I found myself being frowned upon by Richard Nixon enhanced to a massive scale. I could see every wrinkle and sweat droplet and at this magnification the junkie madness in his eyes from years of power abuse was unmistakeable.

It was an unpleasant reminder of the uncomfortable times we lived in. The ingrained patterns of lunacy that could allow a vicious, amoral subhuman like Nixon to be elected to absolute power by the people of this nation not once but twice. We like to believe that politicians are motivated by a higher purpose, a greater power but every once in a while a pigfucker like Nixon comes along to remind us of the painful reality they're vengeful greedy idiots just like the rest of us.

I turned the TV off in revulsion and unplugged it from the wall as a safety measure. I stood up and saw Bran looking at me with a puzzled expression.

"Nixon," I said pointing at the blank still domineering TV.

He nodded sagely as if this were a totally normal response and walked on through to the bathroom.

You would have thought that after sending all that time in the harsh environment of the desert we would have been lounging on the couches that seemed to almost swallow you, with the air con turned up to full, ordering room service like it was the last days of the Hiatt Regency in Saigon, basking in all the man made luxury we could get.

But we were having none of that fake comfort, sitting on the wooden balcony overlooking the lake, watching the pale, sickly moon rise slowly with all the artificial lights in the suite turned off, smoking endless cigarettes and sipping moon-warmed rum. The night was close and deep with the scent of the pine trees permeating the air with a fragrance so fresh that it ironically reminded me of newly scrubbed floors.

Bran had already departed heading straight for the master bedroom with the fairly pessimistic instructions not to wake him 'Until the first bombs start falling. Theirs mind you, not ours.'.

Dog was curled up out side Bran's room his scraggy brown coat looking stupidly out of place against the violent pink door. I was still unsure if he was house trained but so far he hadn't left us any unpleasant brown surprises so I felt the odds were good.

Madison and I were sitting facing the lake with the bottle and an unspoken feeling between us. She brushed a stray strand of that dirty blonde hair I had come to love, out of her eyes caught me looking and smiled.

"You okay?" She said still smiling at me.

"Yeah," I replied moving closer towards her until her heavenly profile was outlined against the moon. She drew herself closer to me and angled her head towards mine as I leant in and our lips met and merged. The delicate rhythm of our silent conversation spoke of yearning and passion that had lain hidden for far too long. When we reached the end of the sentence she broke off but without moving her head away said " Well that was a long time coming,"

I placed my hand behind her head, gently tangling my fingers in that enticing hair and drew her into me again.


-------------------


It was late morning when I awoke, I knew she was gone before my eyes were even open. I was still curled around the empty space her slim body had occupied in the bed. The guest bedroom was mercifully white and clean but still had hints of the hideous pink that suffocated the rest of the suite.

I swung myself out of bed, stretched and caught sight of myself in the mirror fixed on the wall and grinned at a freeze-frame flashback of last night, playing in the cinema of my mind.

I found my trousers hanging from the light shade and pulled them on walking into the main lounge shielding my eyes against the morning sun and spotting Bran on the balcony.

He had his shirt off and one of those foil sun screens that must have come with the room, wedged under his chin trying to top up his already considerable tan. he looked like a gigantic turkey half wrapped in foil ready for the oven.

I found my shades and cigarettes on the table and walked out into the blinding light up to the rail looking out to mountains.

"She's gone hasn't she?" I said without looking to Bran by way of morning greeting, lighting the first of that days smokes.

"Yep."

"When I say gone I mean real gone, not like she just popped out for milk or something. She's left for good hasn't she?"

"Yep."

"Was I really that bad?" I asked only half joking.

"I found this," Said Bran and handed me a piece of stationary with my name inked on it in a delicate hand I recognised as hers.


----

Jack,

I'm sorry things turned out like this. I didn't mean to leave straight after what happened but I had already decided to go before last night. There are just some things I have to do and work through on my own. You and Bran have been great road buddies but its time for me to move on again.

When my time for travel is over I'll find you again, we have much unfinished business. Stay happy and stay in the phone book. I will find you.

Give my love to Bran and Dog,

Madison.

----

The sun continued to shine and the bird continued to sing but something inside just turned to ash as my heart broke.

"We'd better go." Said Bran interjecting on my little world of misery.

"Yeah, ..."

"They've probably run a credit check on that card I gave them by now and found my name isn't Stefan Maraschino."

I stared at Bran open mouthed as a polite yet firm knocking on the door began.

morning!

 

Bad mood today. No reason just a bad mood where you eat too much at lunch to try and cheer yourself up and spend the first part of the afternoon looking for another job.

 

Just a general feeling of despondency and malaise.

The doings of the Stag

Oh Yes.

Cardiff was indeed had by all.

Still drunk I think which might explain the previous two sentances.

(Photos on the flickr account on the left there.)

We were meant to get direct trains from Rhyl to Cardiff, which would have been lovely, however little did we know the journey would involve an hour and a half coach journey driven by Albert Steptoe.

Had a great time when we actually got to Cardiff though, went around a few of my favourite pubs; 'Prince of Wales, The Goat Major, The Yard'. Got great chips, twice. Drank some superb beer and some not-so-superb beer, Failed to go to a strip club danced like a loon, tried on a dalmation costume, talked codswallop with my friends and complete strangers, Got up after about four hours sleep and checked out Torchwood....urm I mean the Assembly buildings in the pouring rain, found a french cafe and got le plein petit déjeuner anglais, then a train ride home with no terrifying coach journeys with a man who has a blind spot for roundabouts.

Just to allay any fears I do still have my eyebrows and I wasn't handcuffed to a lampost, or sealed in bubblewrap, or arrested by the police. Cardiff has a great happy vibe about it which seems to be there even when the Rugby isn't on. Of Course I wouldn't go near the place when Cardiff city are playing at home but thats another football/rugby difference. Rugby fans have fun with rivalaries, some footballs fans use it as an excuse to beat the hell out of each other.

First time I came to Cardiff for rugby Scarlets beat Bath by a single point in a really tense semi final and an hour later we were in a bar disecting the game with Bath fans. If the same thing had happened in football I would be really nervy about having a chat with the opposition but rugby just sems to have more of a relaxed atmosphere.

I'm of course talking of union here, League is a great game but it definitely has more of a footie feel about it. Espically when you get local rivalries!

Hull

Anyways rambling a bit, got the day off so I'm going to chill out play some silly computer games. YAY!

Greetings

Been a bit crap this week due to finishing off my assignment yesterday! Woot! Feel so much better with that out of the way, it was really getting a bit over-stressy for a while. You wouldn't like me when I'm stressy. Not that I turn green or anything I just get a bit, you know, stupid.

So now that's over I've got Cardiff on Saturday to look forward to. My stag do is sure to be an entertaining affair I'm sure I won't get a midget dressed as a smurf handcuffed to me but I'm sure the Motley Crew I've assembled will do the best to celebrate the passing of my bachelor days by attempting to ridicule me.

Actually, they mostly do that any night we go out so I might not even notice the difference.

In other news R. Kelly and Usher are responsible for the most unintentionally hilarious video ever. Turn the volume off right after the point where Usher says "I have a fragrance launch in New York." or you might actually hear some of the cheesy slush.

VIDEO

"I have a fragrance launch..." glad these guys are keeping it real.

(side note: Have you noticed how everyone's now a 'recording artist' rather than 'Singer'? What? Yes I am 95 Humruph.!)

Seemingly these guys have both been dating the same girl and its up to them as modern millionaire around town , with their own clothing labels and Fragrances, to trap her in an elaborate scheme involving both of them, a restaurant, a personal basketball court a library, cigars, sharp clothes and an Aston martin.




It's so overly consumerist it reaches levels of self parody.

Haven't these people read the Great Gatsby? You can own everything and still have nothing.

travelblog: Whoops

There are a few things I regret in this life. There are fewer still that I regret that I dont remeber. Last night is one of those.

Its been a damp squib of a summer so far, so when its burning hot outside you should not under any circumstance drink a near endless suply of beer just to cool down.

This may well result in feeling unwell and abandoning the party being thrown jointly in your honour. WITHOUT TELLING ANYONE WHERE OR WHY YOU'RE GOING.

If you were there Im sorry i pulled a houdini on you and ill be a bit more circumspect about sunshine and beer in future.

Daze off

So I had two more study leave days which If I don't take them now I don't get. Work has calmed down so there was scope for the team to do without me for Thursday and Friday. So with about three hours actual coursework to do I managed to get it all done yesterday AND have time to go shopping. My question is who are all these people in town in the middle of the week? okay about half are holiday makers, you can tell them by their 'Oh my God is this it?' expression. It must be awful to have looked foward to their two weeks vacation and end up in Rhyl. We live here, we're used to its unique scent of desperation and faded, defiled dreams.

Anyways the entire centre was crowded which I can normally deal with but on my days off I like to be left the hell alone. Even stopping for a bit to eat got me even more agrophobic as I had to queue in the line of the shellsuited dead. Note to North Wales townies " You and the russian Maffia are the only peple that are still wearing shell suits. What does that tell you?"

The stag do is coming along nicely although a couple of people sadly can't make it due to other commitments. but so far there'll be seventeen of us painting Cardiff an attractive shade of vermillion.


Rambling a bit due to some exceptionally fine coffee.

Now the courseworks done I should be working on either our marriage vows or this radio thing. But instead I'm going to mess about on the computer for a couple of hours and then look at them this afternoon.

She's making a break for it! Stop her!

A question for all the ass-apes.

Why do you have to be cocks all the time? Is there some inner mechanism that run on a cycle beyond human understanding that compels you at irregular intervals to try and destroy any warmth or human feeling towards you? Are you forced against your will into saying the deepest and most hurtful things you can by an Id gone mad?
Or do you enjoy wrecking the lives and happiness of all you come across, tarnishing the souls of any unfortunates that cross your path?

I only ask because one of your butt faced brethren phoned me twice this afternoon. The first time he was as nice as pie and let me assure you, pie can indeed be nice. The second time I couldn't hear him properly as he had rammed the receiver right into his own anus and was farting out the question using his own gas and unique internal geography.

I don't know if it made him feel better taking all his aggression out on me but it did make me call him an Ass-ape in front of my colleagues and they all knew who I was talking about.

So congratulations cocks. Everyone knows who you are. That's how much the rest of the world likes you.

Stinky Cheesy Gnocchi

I made this for a few friends a while ago and one of them has been asking for the recipe. I though I'd just share this all with you lovely people.


Stinky Cheesy Gnocchi: What you will need.

Milk
plain flour
Butter or marge
Block stinky cheese (Gorgonzola or something similar).
Fresh Gnocchi.
Bit of mozzarella for the topping.


Chop the stinky cheese into small cubes and put to one side.
Boil a full kettle.
Melt about a table spoon of butter/marge over a low heat in a non stick saucepan.
Add about a tablespoon of flour, increase the heat and stir it around with a wooden spoon.
A lot.
The flour/butter mixture will turn into a paste which you need to keep on stirring around the base of the pan.
What you're doing is cooking the flour so when it turns a lovely golden colour its ready.
Turn down the heat to about a half full.
Add a splash of milk to the pan, just a splash. This is VERY IMPORTANT.
Stir it until its absorbed by the paste.
Add a splash more milk and continue. If you add a big dollop all at once its lumpy sauce for you my friend! Keep going and the paste will turn into a nice thick sauce and you can add as much milk as you want to then.
Then add the cubed cheese and keep stirring.
Boil up the gnocchi using the packet instructions, drain and mix with the cheese sauce.
Place the whole lot in an oven proof dish top with mozzarella and bake for about 15 mins until the cheese topping is nice and golden.

Dead simple I know but really rather tasty.

Tooty Flutey

Well yesterday was a bit of a waste.

Not really but I didn't get as much coursework achieved as I wanted, I'll just have to make up for it today I suppose.

I did my flute out and give it a darn good blowing. Ahem. I don't suppose it officially counts as practice if you play along with Hip-hop tracks trying to pick out the main rhythm line using a flute really does it? I can only really play when I'm alone in the house as I get really embarrassed at how rusty I am. I can barely remember scales but my fingers stilll know where they're meant to go so that's something I suppose. Still the flutes never going to be cool is it? You can play a guitar or drums or sax and make it sexy (Unless you're Curtis Stigers) but with a flute your hands are stuck out to the side and your cheeks are puffed out like you're blowing up a balloon. Not attractive. Probably why Aphrodite cursed the darn thing after all her Goddess friends laughed at how she looked when she played it.

However if you can FLUTEBOX you'd probably be pretty cool.

Needless to say I can't.

Yet...