"Are we going the right way?" asked TheBloke (TM), as we ambled through Lakeside.
"Yes," replied I.
"But your sense of direction is rubbish," said TheBloke (TM) quite fairly, as my sense of direction is indeed dire. Last weekend I got Africa mixed up with South America and until yesterday I thought Cambodia was just south of Mexico.
"Aha," said I. "But I am dead good with shops. I navigate by shops. We are definitely going the right way."
We weren't.
A few minutes later, I said, "I think we're going the wrong way."
"I know," said TheBloke (TM). He wanted to wait and see how long it took me to notice. He didn't even gloat that much. In his position I would have been gloating much more.
Of course, had I quite literally been in his position, I would have been disorientated at the change of direction and ended up back outside the Early Learning Centre again.
It is hard being me.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
Spit and Polish
The votes have been cast. Despite the shower story being a lot more humorous (come on, do you know a story that isn't wildly funny that involves a mentally disabled child taking his trousers off? OK, well maybe you do.), you have voted for the rude Polish woman in the hotel.
So here goes.
A few weeks back TheBloke (TM) and I went for a drink near Aldgate on a Sunday. Aldgate is a slightly spooky place; despite being fairly bustling during the week, at the weekend it's like a deserted theme park - even branches of Subway and McDonalds are closed. So we struggled a bit to find somewhere open mid-afternoon for a beverage.
However, shortly, a hotel presented itself, and in we went.
The waitress, barmaid, whatever her job was, stood cutting lilies (florist, perhaps). We approached the bar. She looked at us but didn't actually speak.
"Are you serving?" TheBloke (TM) asked, politely.
She snorted her assent.
"Do you do Strongbow?" (or some other cider-based beverage), enquired TheBloke (TM).
She snorted again.
"OK. One Coke with no ice, and a pint of Strongbow, please."
"It's not pint. It's bottle Strongbow. Only bottle." She said this a bit aggressively.
"That's fine," said TheBloke (TM).
"You sit. I bring." She pointed at some seats.
Two minutes later, she slapped our drinks down in front of us. TheBloke (TM) stood to get his wallet out.
"You pay now," she said.
I shot an amused look at TheBloke (TM). He got his wallet out.
"No," said the Polish barmaid, sternly. "That was question. Do you want to pay now, yes or no?"
"Erm, yes," said TheBloke (TM).
She took the payment. He, unnecessarily, told her to keep the change.
Two minutes later, she slapped down a bowl of nuts. I didn't trust that she hadn't spat in them.
As we exited shortly after, we heard her say to a couple, "I hear what you say, but I'm not interested. You sit down." Or something similar.
It was brilliant. It makes me want to become a waitress.
And for those of you interested, The Simpsons Movie was actually pretty good. Go see.
So here goes.
A few weeks back TheBloke (TM) and I went for a drink near Aldgate on a Sunday. Aldgate is a slightly spooky place; despite being fairly bustling during the week, at the weekend it's like a deserted theme park - even branches of Subway and McDonalds are closed. So we struggled a bit to find somewhere open mid-afternoon for a beverage.
However, shortly, a hotel presented itself, and in we went.
The waitress, barmaid, whatever her job was, stood cutting lilies (florist, perhaps). We approached the bar. She looked at us but didn't actually speak.
"Are you serving?" TheBloke (TM) asked, politely.
She snorted her assent.
"Do you do Strongbow?" (or some other cider-based beverage), enquired TheBloke (TM).
She snorted again.
"OK. One Coke with no ice, and a pint of Strongbow, please."
"It's not pint. It's bottle Strongbow. Only bottle." She said this a bit aggressively.
"That's fine," said TheBloke (TM).
"You sit. I bring." She pointed at some seats.
Two minutes later, she slapped our drinks down in front of us. TheBloke (TM) stood to get his wallet out.
"You pay now," she said.
I shot an amused look at TheBloke (TM). He got his wallet out.
"No," said the Polish barmaid, sternly. "That was question. Do you want to pay now, yes or no?"
"Erm, yes," said TheBloke (TM).
She took the payment. He, unnecessarily, told her to keep the change.
Two minutes later, she slapped down a bowl of nuts. I didn't trust that she hadn't spat in them.
As we exited shortly after, we heard her say to a couple, "I hear what you say, but I'm not interested. You sit down." Or something similar.
It was brilliant. It makes me want to become a waitress.
And for those of you interested, The Simpsons Movie was actually pretty good. Go see.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Vote now!
Those of you who were worried, you'll be pleased to know that the sleep thing has worn off and I'm back to my usual grumpy self.
I am struggling for something to write about today. Despite the genius that appears to leak out effortlessly across the Plog, occasionally I do struggle to find a nugget with which to entertain you.
So, in a Choose Your Own Adventure-style Plog, I shall let you - the reader - decide what you'd like to hear about. Here is a shortlist:
- Last night's Simpsons Movie
- The rude Polish waitress in an Aldgate hotel bar
- My new shower fitting - and associated hilarity*
Vote now! (Is this better than Big Brother or what?) If no votes are received - via the Plog - Facebook voting counts not - then all three anecdotes will be lost forever. The shame!
* Hilarity not guaranteed.
I am struggling for something to write about today. Despite the genius that appears to leak out effortlessly across the Plog, occasionally I do struggle to find a nugget with which to entertain you.
So, in a Choose Your Own Adventure-style Plog, I shall let you - the reader - decide what you'd like to hear about. Here is a shortlist:
- Last night's Simpsons Movie
- The rude Polish waitress in an Aldgate hotel bar
- My new shower fitting - and associated hilarity*
Vote now! (Is this better than Big Brother or what?) If no votes are received - via the Plog - Facebook voting counts not - then all three anecdotes will be lost forever. The shame!
* Hilarity not guaranteed.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Class Zzz drugs
Ladies and gentlemen, I have discovered a powerful secret. It may be the most powerful secret known to man (and woman). It may be even more powerful than the secret of why you can walk on custard and not on hummous.
I have realised - are you ready for this? - that the more sleep you have, the less tired you feel the next day.
I know this is controversial. I know this is shocking, but I have irrevocable proof. Last night, knackered beyond my little brain's belief, I went to sleep at about 9.30 p.m. And I woke up with my alarm at 7.30 a.m. I had ten hours' sleep.
Today I woke up feeling more full of beans than a five year-old who's had too much tartrazine. I accomplished things at work. I ran a play rehearsal. I came home with enough energy to Plog. And I'm embracing the thought of doing it all again tomorrow.
Sleep is like a drug that's free! Though, like drugs, I worry that it may become addictive and that I will start craving longer and longer fixes, eventually slipping into a coma in mid-2009. Sometimes I worry that I think too much.
Right, off to do some tidying / DIY / writing / catching up with friends / possibly a marathon. Well, maybe not.
I have realised - are you ready for this? - that the more sleep you have, the less tired you feel the next day.
I know this is controversial. I know this is shocking, but I have irrevocable proof. Last night, knackered beyond my little brain's belief, I went to sleep at about 9.30 p.m. And I woke up with my alarm at 7.30 a.m. I had ten hours' sleep.
Today I woke up feeling more full of beans than a five year-old who's had too much tartrazine. I accomplished things at work. I ran a play rehearsal. I came home with enough energy to Plog. And I'm embracing the thought of doing it all again tomorrow.
Sleep is like a drug that's free! Though, like drugs, I worry that it may become addictive and that I will start craving longer and longer fixes, eventually slipping into a coma in mid-2009. Sometimes I worry that I think too much.
Right, off to do some tidying / DIY / writing / catching up with friends / possibly a marathon. Well, maybe not.
Monday, July 23, 2007
To BBQ or not to BBQ
The shopkeeper looked at me oddly. I couldn't see why. Then I realised what I was buying - the new Harry Potter... and a box of matches.
Honestly, they were unrelated purchases. The Harry Potter was for reading. The matches were for starting fires. Well one fire. A barbecue. The Second Annual Barbecue Extravaganza.
It was a bit shit. Well, that's not quite fair. We had fun. But if you were to judge the barbecue solely on the success of, well, the barbecue, then yes, it was a bit shit. Erica, Dean and I lugged our gallons of meat (of course meat comes in gallons, fool) to Victoria Park, as the sun peeked out from behind a voluminous blue cloud.
We set up our disposable barbecue somewhere where we knew we wouldn't burn the grass (we learned that lesson the hard way at the First Annual Barbecue Extravaganza). We lit the first match. It went straight out. We lit the second match. It went straight out. We lit the third match. It went straight out. I could go on for quite a while. There were forty matches in my non-book-burning box of matches.
The barbecue finally lit! For three seconds. Then it went out again. It started to rain. Erica's hands went a bit blue. Dean looked like he might cry. We threw away the barbecue, came back to my flat and grilled the burgers. All was good.
We saw Hairspray at the cinema. It was actually a lot of fun. Recommended. Erica and I thought it was a bit gay, but Dean loved it. We had already decided though that Dean is a retarded gay racist. This is perhaps a separate subject.
We failed to postpone the barbecue until Sunday as the lying BBC promised rain all day. Sunday was glorious. The bastards. So TheBloke (TM) joined us and we went to London Aquarium (Erica is scared of fish so it was a bit like a horror film for her) and then had drinks and food on the South Bank. We spent a lot of the time in the Aquarium deciding which fish were evil and which were good. We decided this by working out whether or not they'd be on Wallace and Gromit's side, if it came to it. Most of them weren't.
Later in the restaurant we spent quite a long time deciding whether or not you could walk across a pool full of hummous. We decided that you probably could with a pool of custard, but you'd need tennis-racquet shoes to do the same with hummous.
Tip-top weekend.
Honestly, they were unrelated purchases. The Harry Potter was for reading. The matches were for starting fires. Well one fire. A barbecue. The Second Annual Barbecue Extravaganza.
It was a bit shit. Well, that's not quite fair. We had fun. But if you were to judge the barbecue solely on the success of, well, the barbecue, then yes, it was a bit shit. Erica, Dean and I lugged our gallons of meat (of course meat comes in gallons, fool) to Victoria Park, as the sun peeked out from behind a voluminous blue cloud.
We set up our disposable barbecue somewhere where we knew we wouldn't burn the grass (we learned that lesson the hard way at the First Annual Barbecue Extravaganza). We lit the first match. It went straight out. We lit the second match. It went straight out. We lit the third match. It went straight out. I could go on for quite a while. There were forty matches in my non-book-burning box of matches.
The barbecue finally lit! For three seconds. Then it went out again. It started to rain. Erica's hands went a bit blue. Dean looked like he might cry. We threw away the barbecue, came back to my flat and grilled the burgers. All was good.
We saw Hairspray at the cinema. It was actually a lot of fun. Recommended. Erica and I thought it was a bit gay, but Dean loved it. We had already decided though that Dean is a retarded gay racist. This is perhaps a separate subject.
We failed to postpone the barbecue until Sunday as the lying BBC promised rain all day. Sunday was glorious. The bastards. So TheBloke (TM) joined us and we went to London Aquarium (Erica is scared of fish so it was a bit like a horror film for her) and then had drinks and food on the South Bank. We spent a lot of the time in the Aquarium deciding which fish were evil and which were good. We decided this by working out whether or not they'd be on Wallace and Gromit's side, if it came to it. Most of them weren't.
Later in the restaurant we spent quite a long time deciding whether or not you could walk across a pool full of hummous. We decided that you probably could with a pool of custard, but you'd need tennis-racquet shoes to do the same with hummous.
Tip-top weekend.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Washing up
I have just realised that it's totally my fault that the weather's so bad. Completely and utterly my fault, only I didn't expect it to take place all summer.
See a couple of months ago, I planned the Second Annual Barbeque Extravaganza (SABE). Invites were issued, invites were accepted. Once appraised of this fact (probably via Facebook, the treacherous bastards) the BBC launched its plot for this to be the wettest summer on record.
Oh yes, it's not enough that they're ripping stupid people off left, right and centre on telephone voting, but now they're deliberately plotting to ruin the one SABE I have each year. There will be repercussions. The next time they ask me to vote for a Joseph or Evita or some other such shit, I won't. Not that it'll make any difference because it's all fixed anyway.
In other news, I am very very tired and a little bit on the mardy side. Tonight's plans consist of a short trip to Sainsbury's and an early night.
See a couple of months ago, I planned the Second Annual Barbeque Extravaganza (SABE). Invites were issued, invites were accepted. Once appraised of this fact (probably via Facebook, the treacherous bastards) the BBC launched its plot for this to be the wettest summer on record.
Oh yes, it's not enough that they're ripping stupid people off left, right and centre on telephone voting, but now they're deliberately plotting to ruin the one SABE I have each year. There will be repercussions. The next time they ask me to vote for a Joseph or Evita or some other such shit, I won't. Not that it'll make any difference because it's all fixed anyway.
In other news, I am very very tired and a little bit on the mardy side. Tonight's plans consist of a short trip to Sainsbury's and an early night.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Turkish delight
Mrs Nunn is staying. Mrs Nunn subsides entirely on vegetables and multitudinous cups of tea. She genuinely makes two cups of tea for herself at any one time. This is because she is mad. I worry that it might be genetic.
Mrs Nunn was very excited by the Turkish restaurant I took her and Mr Nunn to on Saturday night. So excited was she, that she told my little brother Jack all about it. Thankfully little brother Jack is a big snitch and relayed the following at lunch the next day:
"Mum," said Jack. "What did you have for dinner last night?"
"Turkish food," said Mrs Nunn, quite proudly.
"What was that round food you were talking about? Like meatballs but veggie?" goaded Jack.
"Ooh, they were lovely," said Mrs Nunn. "I never knew I liked kerfaffle."
*Long pause while it sinks in*
"Kerfaffle?" I asked.
"Yes," said Mrs Nunn, beginning to become aware that something wasn't quite right.
Tears were running down Jack's face. TheBloke (TM) was trying to be polite, but I think his shoulders were shaking. Mr Nunn was looking at his shoes.
"It is kerfaffle, isn't it?" said Mrs Nunn.
"Falafel, Mum," said I.
Jack wasn't done. "Tell us about the humus, Mum."
"Ooh, it was lovely," said Mrs Nunn. "Thick, creamy and not too salty; just the way I like it. I ate it all up and could have had more."
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Mrs Nunn.
STOP PRESS: 20.41, Mrs Nunn: "Laura, have you seen that Ben Stiller film Meet the Fuckers?"
Mrs Nunn was very excited by the Turkish restaurant I took her and Mr Nunn to on Saturday night. So excited was she, that she told my little brother Jack all about it. Thankfully little brother Jack is a big snitch and relayed the following at lunch the next day:
"Mum," said Jack. "What did you have for dinner last night?"
"Turkish food," said Mrs Nunn, quite proudly.
"What was that round food you were talking about? Like meatballs but veggie?" goaded Jack.
"Ooh, they were lovely," said Mrs Nunn. "I never knew I liked kerfaffle."
*Long pause while it sinks in*
"Kerfaffle?" I asked.
"Yes," said Mrs Nunn, beginning to become aware that something wasn't quite right.
Tears were running down Jack's face. TheBloke (TM) was trying to be polite, but I think his shoulders were shaking. Mr Nunn was looking at his shoes.
"It is kerfaffle, isn't it?" said Mrs Nunn.
"Falafel, Mum," said I.
Jack wasn't done. "Tell us about the humus, Mum."
"Ooh, it was lovely," said Mrs Nunn. "Thick, creamy and not too salty; just the way I like it. I ate it all up and could have had more."
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Mrs Nunn.
STOP PRESS: 20.41, Mrs Nunn: "Laura, have you seen that Ben Stiller film Meet the Fuckers?"
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Rudyard to fit it all in
I have been cramming every second of every day full of fun stuff. I have been filling the unforgiving minute with sixty seconds' worth of distance run.
Hence, I claim the world, and everything that's in it. And, what is more, I appear to be a man, my son. Oh bugger.
Seriously, though, I have been busy, busy, busy recently. Work is somewhere between manic and "are you fucking joking?", and the social life is good too. Went to see the new Harry Potter on Friday evening. There were some slightly dodgy lines... "Put your wand away, Harry", "We'll get Hermione's box for you" and so on. But this merely added to my amusement.
I remember the summer that Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix came out. It was the first release for which there was mass hysteria, and I remember it arriving through my letterbox on the day I was moving house from Dalston to Bethnal Green. The weather was glorious and I was determined to take advantage of it, so instead of unpacking my multidudinous boxes, I sat in the park and read Harry Potter.
Thing is, that summer was so great, weather-wise, it took me about seven weeks to unpack. Hmm. I miss 2003.
What else have I been doing? Went for a walk with a friend and his dog yesterday, and for once it didn't rain. We ate an unfeasibly large amount of cake. Since then, I've been entertaining the parents... dinner and the theatre last night, and today they're doing a sponsored walk in Hannah's memory. (My own fundraising site is still up at www.justgiving.com/laurasplogforhannah - massive thanks to all those of you who have already donated.)
Not sure when I'm planning on sleeping as I have a paid gig tonight, followed by a very, very busy working week. And I worry I'm getting a cold.
Tis a tricky thing, being me.
Hence, I claim the world, and everything that's in it. And, what is more, I appear to be a man, my son. Oh bugger.
Seriously, though, I have been busy, busy, busy recently. Work is somewhere between manic and "are you fucking joking?", and the social life is good too. Went to see the new Harry Potter on Friday evening. There were some slightly dodgy lines... "Put your wand away, Harry", "We'll get Hermione's box for you" and so on. But this merely added to my amusement.
I remember the summer that Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix came out. It was the first release for which there was mass hysteria, and I remember it arriving through my letterbox on the day I was moving house from Dalston to Bethnal Green. The weather was glorious and I was determined to take advantage of it, so instead of unpacking my multidudinous boxes, I sat in the park and read Harry Potter.
Thing is, that summer was so great, weather-wise, it took me about seven weeks to unpack. Hmm. I miss 2003.
What else have I been doing? Went for a walk with a friend and his dog yesterday, and for once it didn't rain. We ate an unfeasibly large amount of cake. Since then, I've been entertaining the parents... dinner and the theatre last night, and today they're doing a sponsored walk in Hannah's memory. (My own fundraising site is still up at www.justgiving.com/laurasplogforhannah - massive thanks to all those of you who have already donated.)
Not sure when I'm planning on sleeping as I have a paid gig tonight, followed by a very, very busy working week. And I worry I'm getting a cold.
Tis a tricky thing, being me.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Nunn pun
Yesterday evening saw my gig at the Comedy Cafe. I like the Comedy Cafe. For it is a cafe, filled with comedy. What's not to like?
I had three lots of friends in, so the Laura Fan Club was up and running (current suggested title, courtesy of Catherine: "Nunn of this, Nunn of that"). I will be signing posters for anyone interested.
Really, really nice gig, good MC, receptive crowd, and most importantly of all, fantastic parking spot and good navigation from Jessica.
Didn't appreciate the five hours' sleep before shooting off to Watford for work though. Apologies for a below-par Plog. Very sleepy.
I had three lots of friends in, so the Laura Fan Club was up and running (current suggested title, courtesy of Catherine: "Nunn of this, Nunn of that"). I will be signing posters for anyone interested.
Really, really nice gig, good MC, receptive crowd, and most importantly of all, fantastic parking spot and good navigation from Jessica.
Didn't appreciate the five hours' sleep before shooting off to Watford for work though. Apologies for a below-par Plog. Very sleepy.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Circle of friends
Dinner with the usual crowd. Boothie and Cookie arrive late, half-cut already. Ms N is already waiting at the bar when I arrive.
Cookie regales us with stories about "accidentally" holding willies in foreign countries. We would believe this was an accident if it genuinely had been once. Unfortunately (or fortunately), this seems to happen to Cookie wherever she goes on holiday. And, for whatever reason, she seems to go on holiday at least twice a year.
Boothie tells us all about one particularly flaky colleague with bad eczema. We giggle guiltily, knowing the Skin Gods are probably listening.
Ms N notices the girls on the next table are wearing skirts so short you can quite literally see the state of their bikini waxists' work. And the boring businessmen on the table adjacent have also noticed this and have joined the dirty slappers. As we christen them. Probably a bit too loudly.
The second round of cocktails arrives.
We are nearly hysterical over an annecdote about a tortoise kept in a fridge.
Dessert is excellent.
As I arrive home at about 10 p.m. I am grateful that it's not entirely dark, that I have good friends, that it's summer and there's more to come.
Cookie regales us with stories about "accidentally" holding willies in foreign countries. We would believe this was an accident if it genuinely had been once. Unfortunately (or fortunately), this seems to happen to Cookie wherever she goes on holiday. And, for whatever reason, she seems to go on holiday at least twice a year.
Boothie tells us all about one particularly flaky colleague with bad eczema. We giggle guiltily, knowing the Skin Gods are probably listening.
Ms N notices the girls on the next table are wearing skirts so short you can quite literally see the state of their bikini waxists' work. And the boring businessmen on the table adjacent have also noticed this and have joined the dirty slappers. As we christen them. Probably a bit too loudly.
The second round of cocktails arrives.
We are nearly hysterical over an annecdote about a tortoise kept in a fridge.
Dessert is excellent.
As I arrive home at about 10 p.m. I am grateful that it's not entirely dark, that I have good friends, that it's summer and there's more to come.
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Trans-sport
Ah, London, how fickle is our relationship. I love you. I need you. I don't want to be in any other city. And yet, we do have our rows. Rows which make me (though fleetingly) dream of other places. I admit it.
This weekend, London and I had a bit of a bust up. It started on Thursday, with the Central Line derailment. It didn't directly affect me, mostly because I was in Birmingham, but made transport on Friday that bit more difficult.
On Friday evening it took me 45 minutes on a bus from Chancery Lane to Waterloo. Later on Friday evening TheBloke (TM) and I waited 35 minutes for a number 8 bus. As we gave up and headed towards St Paul's tube station, a number 8 overtook us. I did very good running (not girly running, despite what TheBloke (TM) says) and caught up with it in time for it to fail to stop as it was full. So we walked back to St Paul's again.
On Saturday I was driving off to a wedding. Now I am always obsessively early for most things so although I didn't need to be in Berkshire until 2, I left my flat at about 1 p.m. But London conspired to throw things at me. Thank you London for arranging the following on the same day on your lovely roads:
- Wimbledon
- Big fuck off concert at Wembley
- Closure of all good roads in London for a load of poncey French cyclists
- Henley regatta (admittedly outside of London, but still annoying)
- Roadworks
Three hours it took me. OK, I did get a bit lost (I blame Jessica. She's just a few paychecks away from an upgrade: I think she knows this and is acting out.). But the traffic was rubbish. London, you have been warned.
The wedding, however, was lovely. I got to read one of my favourite sonnets (as part of the ceremony, not on my own in the toilets or anything) and a fantastic day was had by all. And for once it didn't even rain.
This weekend, London and I had a bit of a bust up. It started on Thursday, with the Central Line derailment. It didn't directly affect me, mostly because I was in Birmingham, but made transport on Friday that bit more difficult.
On Friday evening it took me 45 minutes on a bus from Chancery Lane to Waterloo. Later on Friday evening TheBloke (TM) and I waited 35 minutes for a number 8 bus. As we gave up and headed towards St Paul's tube station, a number 8 overtook us. I did very good running (not girly running, despite what TheBloke (TM) says) and caught up with it in time for it to fail to stop as it was full. So we walked back to St Paul's again.
On Saturday I was driving off to a wedding. Now I am always obsessively early for most things so although I didn't need to be in Berkshire until 2, I left my flat at about 1 p.m. But London conspired to throw things at me. Thank you London for arranging the following on the same day on your lovely roads:
- Wimbledon
- Big fuck off concert at Wembley
- Closure of all good roads in London for a load of poncey French cyclists
- Henley regatta (admittedly outside of London, but still annoying)
- Roadworks
Three hours it took me. OK, I did get a bit lost (I blame Jessica. She's just a few paychecks away from an upgrade: I think she knows this and is acting out.). But the traffic was rubbish. London, you have been warned.
The wedding, however, was lovely. I got to read one of my favourite sonnets (as part of the ceremony, not on my own in the toilets or anything) and a fantastic day was had by all. And for once it didn't even rain.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
City slicker
Hello world! I am writing this from Birmingham, which I am led to believe has recently got both electricity and Internet.
In theory I should know Birmingham quite well. I came here quite a lot a few years back, but it's one of those cities in which I've never really got my bearings. Actually, the same could be said for a lot of cities. London. Bristol. Leicester. Nottingham. Even Loughborough. Technically not a city, but the one-way system is still confusing. Honest.
Bizarrely though, my sense of direction was pretty good in Hong Kong, Syndey and Auckland. Perhaps I was born in the wrong hemisphere.
Last night, embarrassingly, I was unable to point out Tokyo on a world map. I also got South Africa mixed up with Mozambique. Apparently the clue was in the name. Still, Mrs Nunn thought Africa was a country until about three months ago, so I'm still winning.
Yes, winning that well-known game of "Do you know the world map very slightly better than your mother?" I need to get out more.
Am staying in a lovely hotel (for once!) and have been lucky enough to spend a super evening with friends who live here (not actually in the hotel. That would be weird). Now it's time to toddle off to my ridiculously-sized bed, and fail to take advantage of the DVD library, iPod speakers and digital radio system.
In theory I should know Birmingham quite well. I came here quite a lot a few years back, but it's one of those cities in which I've never really got my bearings. Actually, the same could be said for a lot of cities. London. Bristol. Leicester. Nottingham. Even Loughborough. Technically not a city, but the one-way system is still confusing. Honest.
Bizarrely though, my sense of direction was pretty good in Hong Kong, Syndey and Auckland. Perhaps I was born in the wrong hemisphere.
Last night, embarrassingly, I was unable to point out Tokyo on a world map. I also got South Africa mixed up with Mozambique. Apparently the clue was in the name. Still, Mrs Nunn thought Africa was a country until about three months ago, so I'm still winning.
Yes, winning that well-known game of "Do you know the world map very slightly better than your mother?" I need to get out more.
Am staying in a lovely hotel (for once!) and have been lucky enough to spend a super evening with friends who live here (not actually in the hotel. That would be weird). Now it's time to toddle off to my ridiculously-sized bed, and fail to take advantage of the DVD library, iPod speakers and digital radio system.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Hosepipe ban
OK, you can stop with the rain now. Seriously. It's getting a bit stupid. June started well. "Lovely," I thought. "Spiffing." Then the rain set in. "Never mind," I thought. "The ground could do with a bit of water."
I find rain divides people along a socio-economic scale. Those in nice houses give revolting platitudes like, "Oooh, the garden needs it." Those of us in flats tend to go for, "Fucking rain."
But next it kept raining. Then it rained a bit. Then it rained some more. Then it was rainy. Today it's raining.
And now it's July. And it's just not funny anymore. I am a summer person. I love summer. But it doesn't really count as summer if you have to swim out of the second storey of your building.
In the meantime, apparently Southern Europe is having a heatwave. Typical. Fucking rain.
I find rain divides people along a socio-economic scale. Those in nice houses give revolting platitudes like, "Oooh, the garden needs it." Those of us in flats tend to go for, "Fucking rain."
But next it kept raining. Then it rained a bit. Then it rained some more. Then it was rainy. Today it's raining.
And now it's July. And it's just not funny anymore. I am a summer person. I love summer. But it doesn't really count as summer if you have to swim out of the second storey of your building.
In the meantime, apparently Southern Europe is having a heatwave. Typical. Fucking rain.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Wee kend
It has been an amusing weekend. The weekend started with a smattering of comedy at a West End comedy club. The most amusing things about the comedy:
1. The final comic accidentally spat on the third row of the audience. This is a good range, even for deliberate spitting.
2. At one point the MC (the rather excellent Andrew Bird) was chatting to a punter... and the punter's chair collapsed. This made me laugh so much I was a little bit sick into my mouth. Then the punter sat back on the chair... and the same thing happened again. I was quite a lot sick into my mouth.
3. The ladies' toilets had urinals. Apparently this is because it turns into a gay club afterwards. Makes weeing awkward though. Thank goodness I have a cock.
I played the Domestic Goddess on Saturday and made double chocolate cookies. I genuinely can't remember the last time I made any type of food. The only thing I've done since I've had my new kitchen is heat a pizza or two. But it turns out I am Very Good at cookies and should be given some sort of prize. If you know of anywhere I can apply for cookie prizes, please let me know.
TheBloke (TM) and I went to the park this morning for a walk. This is what you are supposed to do on Sundays. There was an amusing moment where there was a terrier type-thing going a bit beserk with its barking at a guy on a bicycle. The bloke on the bicycle's way of dealing with the (admittedly fairly small) problem? Fixing the dog with a stoic look, he uttered to the mongrel, "Fuck off".
Genius.
1. The final comic accidentally spat on the third row of the audience. This is a good range, even for deliberate spitting.
2. At one point the MC (the rather excellent Andrew Bird) was chatting to a punter... and the punter's chair collapsed. This made me laugh so much I was a little bit sick into my mouth. Then the punter sat back on the chair... and the same thing happened again. I was quite a lot sick into my mouth.
3. The ladies' toilets had urinals. Apparently this is because it turns into a gay club afterwards. Makes weeing awkward though. Thank goodness I have a cock.
I played the Domestic Goddess on Saturday and made double chocolate cookies. I genuinely can't remember the last time I made any type of food. The only thing I've done since I've had my new kitchen is heat a pizza or two. But it turns out I am Very Good at cookies and should be given some sort of prize. If you know of anywhere I can apply for cookie prizes, please let me know.
TheBloke (TM) and I went to the park this morning for a walk. This is what you are supposed to do on Sundays. There was an amusing moment where there was a terrier type-thing going a bit beserk with its barking at a guy on a bicycle. The bloke on the bicycle's way of dealing with the (admittedly fairly small) problem? Fixing the dog with a stoic look, he uttered to the mongrel, "Fuck off".
Genius.
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