Friday, November 20, 2009

3 days to go...

3 days to go until the big Lapland adventure. Today I bought shampoo, conditioner and toothpaste - I think it's safe to say all the fun snow related shopping is over and I'm down to the dregs. Dregville. Sounds vampiric. Ah, on that subject - I do not give a crap about New Moon, anything Twilight related, Jedward, The X factor in general or what the BBC newsreaders are going to freak us out with on Children in Need tonight. Ok, so it turned out that wasn't related at all but I wanted to say it and I have.

Interesting week, all in all, Monday was an exciting meeting with a lady who knows people and things and may want to help me know about people and things. Cryptic says you? Why yes. I am mysterious, that's why I blog. So that people want to know more. Not so that people wonder why I blog about the fact that I don't do a lot.
Monday was also being in a box, and then surprising a surprised boy friend who thought I had already gone to turns out men don't like it an awful lot when they realise how easy you find lying. Even if it was for their own good. I hope I've learned enough of that lesson for all of you.
Tuesday was stupendous and the birthday of said surprised boyfriend who had finished being pale and slightly stuttery by then but still kept looking at me liked I'd shot Bambi's mother and then disembowelled Thumper and fed it to Bambi.
Wednesday was a lot of hide and seek which I was mainly playing with my hangover. I kept hiding it in the toilet and it kept reappearing in the back of throat. Disgusting - yes. The last time it'll happen -
Thursday was a train journey where a disgruntled woman made me too uncomfortable to eat my Terry's chocolate orange - even though I offered her a whole portion. Some people are cruel.

So that was my last England week before the Big chill. This evening I am shunning Wogan to watch Ice Age with my feet out the window. Acclimatisation baby, yeah!

Song of The Day; Every comedian's drive home anthem at some point in their life, the power ballad extraordinaire... "I just died on my arse must have been something I said..."


No iron, no steel, no cage, no bars,
Not metaphorical
- not trapped by ideas or the metaphysical.
Just difficulty instilled.
Held in by the complications of freedom.

A free world.
With paperwork for breathing
- booklets to travel.
Paper money to see the world.
Bubble of atmosphere
And a galaxy shrunk.
To the size of a desk.
A train seat.
A home.
With a suitable agent for all.

See the temptation for everything behind shiny glass.
Then see it in HD.
See the birds and the bees and the freeks and the geeks
see the freaks twice. They're funnier.
Write down your nationality and the number to insure it.
Then use it to lie in a field.
As long as the farmer doesn't mind.
Or the company that bullies him.*
Better prices for local milk
No battery hens here.
Lie on the grass
Look up at the conquered sky.
The Rusky-Yankee battle ground
or the clouds explained.
Find a mystery.
Try and find a mystery.
Then sell it for a documentary -
Prime time.

*or her

Friday, November 6, 2009

Mmmm jelly beans

I'm not sure if it's healthy that the only thing I really want to blog about is the portaloo I've been sharing with my Dad and a man named Alan this week (Alan is a nice man by the way). See, who says life ends after university? Alan calls the Portaloo the tardis - now if that isn't an anecdote to spend Friday night telling the disinterested interweb about then I don't know what is.
The most interesting thing about my portaloo is that it smells like jelly all portaloos smell like jelly beans? I'm very curious, having never really used one that wasn't already a plastic bucket of turd with the remnants of a poor diet festering on the seat, I have no idea if a clean portaloo will always smell like jellybeans or if mine is a prodigy?
I've obviously named the portaloo, my dumper truck is called Bertha for anyone who was interested, and my portaloo is called Melanie (she was bullied at school and called Melly Bean because of her fragrance, I feel quite sorry for her). We're getting on very well, even after I reversed Bertha into her - I was testing how good my perception was and it turns out it's not terrible but does result in my trying to get the red paint from Bertha's ass off Melanie before anyone comes round the corner.
I'm enjoying my little truck dumping shenanigans this week - the cold of a 6am start has made me re evaluate my planned clothing for Lapland though - I'm now intending to shear a dog every morning and just inhabit it's still warm remains. Only joking, of course (wasn't it hilarious). The satisfaction of watching my mound of earth grow is almost equal to the buzz of an eloquent sentence in an essay, making me question the £15,000 I just spent on a degree. At least with mud you can go and play in it when you've finished - no one ever had a good fight in a heap of essays. Or potentially lecturers do and that's why they fail so miserably at getting your grades to you within a useful time period.

So mud and poo cabins have been the main theme of my week and I couldn't be happier.

Song of the day; A rewrite of the Moody Blues' classic, focussing on the modern woman's right to express her true self through her choice of evening wear; "Tarts in White Trousers"

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Bye then

In a sense the trip starts here I suppose - having just left Canterbury and propelled myself not quite to the lap of the land but to the lap of my family in deepest, darkest Somerset. Was a hefty wrench and a small (ish) screwdriver to leave Canterbury but has been done and done well.

We decided on the trip home to pop in to old Heston Blumehenatinalefbgesjal's 'Little Chef' in Popham on the way home for some spangly greased up food. I have no idea what the food was like because I was so frightened by the toilets I had to leave; it's the weirdest thing! I had no sooner released my nether regions and was posed ready to apply them to the seat when it blasted a rousing chorus of 'Bangers and Mash' at me! What?! Who needs to be sung to about food when you're clearly dealing with the other end of the proverbial spectrum at that point? I will also never listen to James and the Giant Peach in the same light having been read choice phrases whilst *euphemism for weeing*.

So then the rest of the drive home happened - turns out they don't even light stonehenge up at night - WHAT IS THE ATTRACTION TO THE ROCK HEAP?

On my first day back in the West Country I drove a dumper truck. On my first day back in the West Country I broke a dumper truck. On my first day back in the West Country all work stopped on site while they fixed the truck and I got sent to make tea.

And that was day one! Let's hope things get slightly more entertaining than this as the Winter Adventure begins...

Song of the Day: A rewrite of the Rolling Stone's Classic, with a West-Country twist... "Hey, You, Get off of my Land"