The Second Record

8:17pm: It's Venture Brothers...All Over.
The past few days I've had no internet connection at home. Fairly obviously I do now and am pretty much hugging the fact that it's not just returned but is better, faster, stronger, more beefy, and makes me want to lick it. In the meanwhile I left the house in a fit of sulks and decided to interact with humanity.

Twaz, Paulo, Seth and I went out for one of these various evenings and met two completely different but utterly beautiful people. One being Rodeo (a transvestite more beautiful than almost any woman I've ever known) and the other being Steve...who looks almost exactly like Vin Diesel around the Pitch Black era. I had enormous crushes on both on them, dampened only by Twaz reminding me of Dave Bond.

Dave Bond was what appeared to be a bouncer standing around outside somewhere in upper Manchester. Twaz and I were sat in a bar opposite the road from him, and had huge amounts of hilarity gained from guessing his name and thinking that despite his perfect appearance it would be something akin to, "Dave." To Dave Bond, we apologise.

To Steve Diesel we do not apologise. You were doing it on purpose. Various members of our party would have licked you dry over it. The point is, to every human that looks awesome, including myself, there is always a name about as sexy as a pair of big gym knickers.


Moral: Do not parade through Manchester singing the lfgcomic.com song "Slaughter Your World" if you don't wish to attract weird.

1:29pm: Obsessive? Compulsive? Disorder? Individually They're All Correct.
Apparently Bourneville and I have slight OCD. Whether or not Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is going a bit far considering we're as normal as we can be is up for debate, but still. I didn't really think about this until I mentioned it to her and she told me about it. I just thought it was a "quirk".

Not going into hers - bit mean - but mine:

Refusal to enter presence of others without makeup.
The perfect toast - in my case, triangular.
Everything on my desk has to be aligned to perfection otherwise it bothers the crap out of me.
Everything on everyone elses desk has to be aligned to perfection otherwise it bother the crap out of me.
Things that aren't symmetrical.
My Mother saying "RIGHT!" (although that stems from a childhood of said word preceeding things I don't want to do).

Moral: There are so many more things to add to this list I can't speak.

3:41pm: Doing Science.
I just remembered. Whilst Twaz and I were just dangling around watching daytime TV the news came on (it's that marvelously boring time of day when you either get sport, sport, sport, news and sport; or war, war, war, news and submarines depending on the day). We weren't really listening until it came out with a marvelous line:

"Scientists have discovered a new way to combat global warming. They propose to build giant ships that convert sea water to salt and inject it into the clouds, making the clouds shiny."

It was the "making the clouds shiny" quote that made myself and Twaz nearly die laughing for about ten minutes, for the simple mental image of a respectable BBC news reporter trying to sound serious whilst saying it.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/sci/tech/8231387.stm

This of course led to discussion as to whether some idiot would shove pink dye in among the salt crystals. It's on a par with the tale of when various companies allegedly thought it was a good idea to project logos onto the moon.

Moral: I'm living in Dr Who land.

3:23pm: Oh The Great British Public Transport System...Part 1,000,000.
Just occasionally I completely lose it with humanity. Well, actually I do so all the time, but normally I can keep a lid on said loss long enough to leave the room or find something to occupy my mind. The other day however I just couldn't.

I'd been staying at Twazs' house for about four days and had already brought with me enough to entertain herself, Paulo (at least until he went away) and I. Twaz had days upon days off work and no clue what to do with them, so in essence I was Twaz-sitting. I also brought some food (to appease my Mother) and spare clothes along with the usual makeup, wallet, phone, MP3 player, keys combo that I'd normally have in my pockets. Before Paulo went away he gave me a bunch of ingredients along with instructions in response to a question I asked him related to voodoo (if you don't already know just nevermind). These were however just adding to the already increased weight post-shopping I was lugging across Manchester and up Oxford Road Station incline. In the cold rain. Not a recipe for calm.

I was let through the barrier by a cheerful security guard, and went to get a ticket. A man who followed me went to do the same to catch the same train. We were fifteen minutes early and the ticket both of us wanted is only available at the ticket office. I knew it would take me a good few minutes to drag my heavy bags and myself up the stairs and to the platform, but reckoned it couldn't possibly take anything like fifteen. I counted out my change and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And continued to wait whilst a small Chinese guy had a long debate over fares, travel times, which station it was best to travel to, whether or not it would be better if he did this or that or went on a different day ad infinitum, with a woman who could not have been more computer illiterate if she were a trained monkey. A poorly trained monkey at that.

Finally myself and the guy behind me looked up at the clock, mutually shook our heads and stomped off, he considerably faster than I. The cheerful security guard looked after us in sympathy knowing we would likely now have to pay full fare. "Sorry about that! What was the problem?"

"THEY WERE BOTH IDIOTS!" I yelled at the top of my lungs without turning round.

I got to the train just on time and boarded, still seething and with now aching limbs, but was granted karmic reprieve when to my delight, I didn't get ticketed in the end at all.

Moral: One of these days I'm going to fill a large rucksack with confetti and leave it on a station platform to see if they'll "destroy" it.

2:26am: Another Episode Of "Awesome With Bourneville" (That Just Needs To Be Televised).
I had a bit of a Diff moment again today. I elaborate:

Bourneville and I went off to Chester on a mission to get stuff n things, or rather she did, but predictably I wound up with stuff n things too because other than saying "yes that's pretty awesome", "not that one" and "can we please get lunch now because even I am hungry" I had no real things to do, bar the one MAJOR thing of getting new liquid eyeliner which I not only forgot but left my original bottle at her house anyway. I'm a walking compendium of fail.

In any case, we went through charity shops (one obviously black shirt later) and a book shop (seriously did you REALLY think I was going to leave without great tomes?). I also immaculately timed the removal of original jumper to put seconday jumper beneath it as it began to pour down. There is photographic evidence of this to prove; which we did in yet another compendium of fail - Bourneville desperate for the bathroom and the machines in the developing shop first running out of ink, then paper, then people to ask for paper then receipts and frankly the litany continues until she's hopping around on foot to foot and I'm being thoroughly unhelpful by giggling.

All this said, we achieved what we had come to accomplish, and Bourneville got some great pictures. Then I tried to go home.

Bourneville got off the train at her stop, I got off at Newton, reasoning that even if my parents weren't home I could chill with my Nana who lives about two minutes walk up the road. Fail. Either people were asleep, people deaf, or people just glancing out of windows and going, "Shit it's her." So no response from Nana. Returned to the nearby pub to use their phone, no phone, got pestered into AWFUL kareoke. No credit on mobile. Called via landline. No humans at home. Called taxi. FINALLY got a taxi, got home and just flummed because days are long and I are not. Took me a grand total of...oh forever.

Thankyou Bourneville for yet another brilliantly entertaining couple of days, despite that I feel like your cat on a leash!

Moral: Also, we came second in the pub quiz the other night. Considering one category was kids TV programs I do NOT know how we didn't win. Did get some crisps though.

3:01pm: Bananaramor.
Alright, so I've been putting it off this long. Last night I got it over and done with. If you don't want to hear a Warcraft story please stop reading, 3...2...1...

A player named Adel and I have been getting me bits and pieces of semi-decent armor for I know not how long. People that game know that good armor makes you look like a total tit for the first and later-middle part of your characters existence. I do not know why this is, I've played various games and it's a totally reacurring theme.

The trouble with this particular set is that it looks like I threw a jester at a cow and shoved the whole thing together, collectively it has become known as the banana armor. In game I wouldn't be seen dead in it (although on my own frequently am) but by my FRIENDS? No way. Broke that rule at about 3 a.m. This was to of all people, Leoral.

Anybody who knows me very well knows that Leoral is a deeply beloved of mine who IRL lives in Sweden and is a total sweetheart. Even he (I.C. admittedly) said if he saw me in the banana armor again there would be issues. So it's back to the grind. Literally. Gah!

Moral: I'm saving the Pride post for the morrow, before anyone mentions it.

5:21pm: Writer's Block: Kindness of Strangers


Yes, I would. I would donate any and all parts of my body to total strangers because there's enough of them donated blood that I had a complete internal makeover. Problem being that right now I can't. Given the opportunity I would though.

Moral: If you needed something that important, wouldn't you want somebody to help?

11:50pm: Mum'RAAAAA The EVER LIVIIIIING!
That's it, it's official, my Mother is driving me insane. Brother Round no longer lives in the family manse, my Father is away for a couple of days on work, so not only do I have to put up with her weirdness but I have to put up with weirdness enough for THREE PEOPLE.

I'm so going out tomorrow, and I don't care where.

Since she's been open enough with the entire world about it (and that's just part of her weird) I may as well relate that my Mother is going through the menopause. End of the world it should not be, and it doesn't seem to bother her, but it's turned her every last spectrum from averaging 4 straight to 10. Each day my alarm call is not my alarm itself but my Mother bounding in from the landing to start firing questions, accusations, and finally buggering off singing at the top of her lungs to commence frantically hoovering the landing just in case one speck of dust might be resisting the dyson. I go to bed at around when she wakes up just to avoid the woman! What's worse, my Father agrees! He's sleeping in the other room because even when she goes to bed she starts riverdancing. There is no point in any persons lifetime they should have to gang up on their own Mother with their Father but we're spending as much time as is possible either out the house (nice timing with the "work trip" Father) or in entirely different rooms purely to drag together what remains of our collective sanity.

I don't want a cup of tea, yes I have eaten, it was lasagna, lovely, fine, it's okay we don't need any more, yes I had my vitamins, no we don't need any more of those, I'm still fine, yes I've phoned Nan, still fine, no tea thanks, tidied the room, please stop hitting my ankles with the hoover, put down the silver polish you did it yesterday, still fine, no more tea AND WILL YOU JUST GO AND LIE DOWN AND WATCH SOMETHING AWFUL LIKE EMMERDALE!

Moral: Sad thing is if I left right now she might explode.

6:48am: Hey I've Got A Bit Of A Life! Watch Me Go! *crash into lamp post*
I returned last night from two enormously enjoyable days courtesy of Twaz and Paulo (you are both awesome). Everyone else who has set eyes on me this weekend I adore you too because bar my stupid feeble self having a rebellion at one point (which I am waaaay too used to by now to care about) it was entire awesomesauce.

There is a slight regret in that I haven't managed to contact Bourneville yet, and I can do little but say Twaz and I were NOT at that point drunk, we just thought you should hear the song and we couldn't stop laughing, oh, and the same goes for the weird pavement music. I think both were "you should have been there" moments. More info if and when I wake up properly.

In fact no there will NOT be more info as and when I wake up properly because I know who will read this and frankly half the things I've been doing this weekend are deeply enjoyable but also deeply wrong. Do I care? No, no I do not. Those who participated are aware and had much fun too.

Moral: Paulo is great and I should not be trusted to tell anyone anything. I'm like the Darth Vader of tarot.

8:30am: Happy Birthday! Have A Fig.
Yesterday was Bournevilles rather unofficial birthday party, during which we told her she was old (we meaning I) and went to the park for a picnic. This rolled in with a haze of alternately grown up (apologising for swearing around kids) and juvenile (me wanting to play on the inflatable slide and pretending to be under 11) humour.

Between everyone who came along we had more than enough for a picnic, in fact we had more than enough for a fair few picnics. Bourneville made sandwiches, brought crisps, wine (allegedly not allowed on the park but we reasoned a bunch of people with a bottle of wine was not going to be looked upon quite the same as students with a crate of beer), and a variety of other things. Me? I brought loads of obscure fruit. It was great. For once the weather held off and I got up feeling decidedly jolly despite fooling around online until stupid hours the previous night. We had sun. People had blue lollies. We mocked things in the mini zoo. A goat escaped.

In spite of the complications surrounding Twaz the Unmagnificent, Paulo, and Brother Round AKA Skum arriving, we had six people left at the end of our day to go into three teams of two for mini-golf, these teams dictated by random colour selection of golf balls…and quite possibly sanity. There was Team Red, Team Blue, and Team Slightly Beige, the latter of which consisted of myself and Twaz. Predictably the only thing Team Slightly Beige accomplished was to kill ourselves laughing, and although we would have liked to do other things it was post-golf that the rain started.

…Brother Round and I did make a short swift stop at the kiddy playground to go down the twirly-wirly slide and sing, “LET YOUR LOVE FLOW” like the guy in the ad who goes home via waterslide.

We then moved to the pub where there was cider and various card games, more crisps, and Marlon the Coconut got a makeover. All in all a great day.

Moral: HAPPY OLD…I MEAN BIRTHDAY BOURNEVILLE!

12:39am: Believe Me, It Was Worse At The Time...
Sometimes being both incredibly immature and a late night gamer is worth it. I'm player 3.

P1: "Where's the house?"
P1: "NM, found it."
P1: "Got it, can't find the dog."
P2: "It's round the back."
P2: "In the crevice."
P3: "...hee...he said crevice..."
P4: "Hee hee!"
P2: "What? Did I spell it wrong?"
P3&4: *snickering*
P2: "I was right! It is spelled crevice!"
P3&4: *cackling*
P2: "Crevice: small crack or fissure."
P3&4&1: *trying desperately not to wake up the entire neighbourhood with laughter*
P2: "Shut up! It's crevice. Is this some guild thing I don't know about?"
P3&4&1: *try not to weep with amusement for fear of shorting out laptops*

Moral: Miss no opportunity for puerile humour.

12:16am: Writer's Block: Two Truths and a Lie


Okay, briefly, I'll play.

1) I have owned a turtle as a pet.
2) I have owned a fox as a pet.
3) I have owned a snake as a pet.

This is a test of how well anyone knows me.

Moral: I work well with animals and children, but dislike the latter.

12:10am: Writer's Block: Two Truths and a Lie

Okay, briefly, I'll play.

1) I have owned a turtle as a pet.
2) I have owned a fox as a pet.
3) I have owned a snake as a pet.

This is a test of how well anyone knows me.

Moral: I work well with animals and children, but dislike the latter.

3:07am: A Walking Ctrl Alt Del.
Don't make me do anymore. Don't make me go the hospital, don't make me have scans, tests, injections, samples, be poked or prodded or have to pay attention to lists of precisely what my internal composition is. Don't make me listen to someone tell me what I did to myself, what others did, what I should be doing, what I'm no longer allowed to do.

I'm still here.

If this continues, I have no interest in remaining here.

I want it to stop, all of it. Later today I will be driven again to hospital so I can wait interminably for a scan which I will go to the room for and request it not be done. I am so very, very tired. The cancer patients that request they receive no further treatment get respect, I get ignored. I already died twice. I want this to stop. Please. Now.

Moral: Reality breaks your heart. Best to avoid.

2:17am: Prologue to The Big Spanish House (2)
Yes, it's come to that period in our calendar when nobody can actually stand to turn on the television in case there's more fascinating coverage of a bunch of berks either asleep, arguing, or demeaning themselves whilst confined to a single dwelling. So for anyone looking to escape it, here's something similar. But at least you're reading.

Big Spanish House introduces same four contestants as last year in order of age:

Brother Round - Ranging from camp as a row of tents to conservative as Thatchers shoes, also known as Skum.

Self - Utterly irresponsible, pretty good at cards. Likes cats.

Mother - Obsessed with washing things.

Father - Shouts whenever things don't go his way. Has arguments with lilos.

Moral: Tell people you'll meet them at the gate then work out where you really want to go.

12:43am: Bedridden Only By Daytime TV
It's now been a fair few weeks since I was released from Arkham and began the tedious process of self-rehabilitation. I'm starting with building up enough physical strength that if ever anyone tries to tell me again being pinned to a bed by squeezy legwarmers is good for me I'll kick them to death. Yes, it's true. They kept me in intensive care with squeezy legwarmers. Oh there MAY have been allusions to the legwarmers preventing my prone form from developing fatal blood-clots, but that's just a pack of filthy lies perpetrated by the same people who decided to model hospital gowns on comedy bin-sacks.

During my incarceration I was apparently thought to be so dangerous that I wasn't allowed to breathe by myself, and this led to a mildly interesting period in which I tried every other possible means of communication including semaphor and morse code before finally getting my hands under enough control to write. First attempts were not great. Sentences turning out like a deranged game of hangman, and my brother Round briefly labouring under the misapprehension he had to write as well. Finally I was given leave to operate vocal chords, and did so, shortly after which I left.

Today I'm doing pretty well (and thanks again to everyone who was worried), and in between making myself laughable in the gym am a fair way back towards where I should be. Newsflash over.

Moral: My next super-plan is to create a ray which temporarily removes the conscious barrier that prevents you from hitting someone when they mollycoddle you.

7:58pm: That Big Blue Screen In The Sky
I'm free! FREE I TELLS YOU! Well...alright, I'm out of hospital after two months so it FEELS like freedom. Freedom from being woken at ass in the morning by a woman with a clipboard enquiring about my last visit to the bathroom anyway.

To anyone who was unaware of my apparent disappearing act followed quickly by the announcement that I'd gone to hospital; yes I did call at deaths door (various organs failing) but it was only to drop off a note to say I couldn't make it. Maybe another time.

Moral: Keep on swimming.

6:36am: Global Warming? Please.
I’m going to do a grand rant later today but right now having been woken by the cold and yet another slippy sheet episode finding me in my nude on a coverless bed I’m going to continue the grumble toward my parents unmagnificent weird questioning.

Q“ What are you doing awake at this hour?!”
A“ Until Monday I’m in the coldest room in the house, perpetually shedding my slippy sheets onto the floor and pillows to the wind, actually go to bed in the deeply unsexy mode of black pyjamas, socks and robe which I then somehow also shed, then have to reappear at half six because I’m bloody freezing and need a sodding cup of tea and a hot water bottle!

Moral: You may refuse to believe me, but I refuse to be human, and apparently wherever I come from it has a warmer climate.

7:53pm: Even WoW Is Doing Pink Hearts Over People I Hate.
Right. Valentines Day can just fuck right off. I've evidently given over my Christmas Curse to this particular holiday and in retrospect have a damn good reason for doing so. The best Valentines I ever had was a Valentines Bah Humbug many years ago with Bourneville. I shall ask her if she or anybody else fancies doing the same this time round, because otherwise I'm going to find Celine Dion and give her a slap whilst bellowing, "THE HEART SHALL NOT GO ON, IT SHALL BE BROKEN AND STOMPED ON!"

Moral: Bitter? Twisted? Oooh no.

4:19am: Fifteen Minutes Of Fail.
Ugh. In Warcraft there is a fifteen minute warning before they do the once-a-week shutdown to update quests and generally fiddle with things. It's in the middle of the night so the gaming populace has yet to deploy armed forces to start waving pitchforks, nooses, flaming brands and laptops while chained to the Blizzard HQ gates, but it's still annoying. Why I personally am annoyed is that I forgot about this, particularly since the last time it was applicable was when in Denmark, which is an hour out of sync with us. Also, this warning occurred when I was having a really rather silly and wonderful time riding around in a friends sidecar with the numberplate PWN on the back and playing at being terrified. Ah well.

Moral: If in doubt, kick an orc in the shin.

2:07am: Writer's Block: Early Birds, Night Owls

I'm sure that if I HAD a schedule I'd be up early, possibly with someone resorting to a vast spring placed under my matress timed to hurl me off the bed every morning. Considering how much I love to remain awake at night I really doubt even this would work though. There'd just be a "boing-splat-snore" compendium.

Moral: Wake a cat with great effort and trepidation. Or wake a cat by letting her fly off the bed thanks to slippy sheets...AGAIN.

6:14am: I've Worn Trousers With More Sense.
I've just had another Pointless Parent Moment, which I felt I had to (second) record for your amusement:

I awoke some ten minutes ago with the desire to attend the bathroom. Since although my Father wears earplugs and during the day my Mother couldn't hear me were I to be the cymbals part of a brass band parading up and down the landing my bathroom desires are apparently loud enough to wake both even though I keep the light off and tiptoe in - oh and before you say it I was not pooing. I HAVE NEVER DONE ANYTHING LIKE THAT IN MY LIFE! /Family Guy

In any case whilst trying to be the most quiet creation ever built my Mother opened the door with a face resembling a red cabbage and asked what I was doing.

...

I actively wanted to leap to my feet and gesture toward downward trousers and then fling a toilet roll at her head. Circumstances dictated otherwise, fortunately. Still, how many other things that aren't probably by now on U-Tube has ANYONE done given the situation?!

Moral: Seriously, I give up. I'm spending my money on makeup, beer, and living alone.

6:55pm: I'm So Going To Delete This When Home.
I want it to stop. The pain that completely wracks me mentally to shreds. It won't. It won't until I get you to understand that in all ways I am willing to make a compromise. For one reason. You.

Moral: SHUT UP YOU TWIT!

6:40pm: Writer's Block: Half a Glass

I keep trying for the former, but at the moment getting up off of the floor seems surprisingly difficult.

Moral: Yeah, there really is something wrong with gravity.

3:57pm: Our House, In The Middle Of Our Street.
Where I currently live is a fairly small place just outside a mildly larger village. Beyond the planet hopping, I've lived here with my parents my whole life, and as a result my entire family and their friends have grown to know our neighbours by their houses. Some are obvious, Pams Jams (the lady at a farm down the road who during more pleasant weather makes excellent preserves), the Wanstalls, Perkins, etc. Some, however can be more esoteric:

Amityville - directly across from us and looking like there should at the very least be an old woman looking through the top window and never moving.

Murder House - a very large, imposing place where you imagine they run Cluedo nights. By the way, the name is apt.

Mad Dog Womans Place - the former residence (it's since been rebuilt) of a very nice woman who was probably far less mad than I am...but she did have a lot of dogs.

House With A Room For Everything - actually a mansion akin to Murder House, we fondly guess that whenever anyone who lives there takes up a new hobby they just convert a barn or stick another extension on.

And finally...

MAISON DERRIERE! - a huge ancient manor house in Tudor style which seems to hold mysterious parties and has fireworks that Chinese new year would envy. Brother Round and I dubbed it that but despite great efforts we've been unable to come up with anything matching the "We put the SPRING in Springfield!" Best we got was "We put the OFF in Croft!"

Moral: Love thy neighbour, they probably have your keys...and a hatchet.

Sub-Moral: "We're the stone in your shoe, When you've just stepped in poo, Yes we put the OFF in Croft!"