The Circle

Hello. It's been a little while since I last updated, but it really hasn't been my fault – honest. Since I got the fuck out of that dump Gloucester, I've been relying on the free wi-fi offered in places like Wetherspoons and Starbucks to get online. I suppose I could have written blog posts about all the shit that's been going on in my little bubble and then uploaded it once I was connected, but to be brutally honest – I just couldn't be fucked. And to be fair, quite a lot has happened since I last posted just before Christmas.

As alluded to in a previous sentence and/or paragraph, I have indeed uprooted and moved away from Gloucester and back to my home town Manchester. It was a pretty simple move seeing as I only have a relatively small number of belongings – a few cases of old games consoles and a couple of black bags of clothes (most of which I've since chucked out due to never wearing more than about three or four different outfits) was all I lugged up the M5 with me. I was initially staying at my mum's house while I sorted out my apartment, and of course it was Christmas too, so I just kind of slobbed around for a few weeks and drank way too much. To counteract the less desirable effects of all the ale and gin (yes, gin) I was swigging, I also managed to crank out some fairly impressive long-distance runs over the festive period – which was nice. 

So Crimbo came and went, I somehow managed to co-erce a letting agent into letting me sign a tenancy agreement, and then I moved into the new gaff in mid January. In hindsight there was quite a bit of stress involved - lots of viewings, lots of cancelled viewings, some irate telephone exchanges (by which I refer to the conversations had over the telephone, not the actual telephone exchange building...can buildings be 'irate'?!), sleepless nights and a couple of pretty heated arguments too. It all seems to have come together in the end though, so I can't really grumble. One thing I do feel the need to grumble about is my employment status. 

Now, I don't want to go into it too much on here as I can't afford to upset anyone (yet), but when I left my job in Gloucester, I was assured that i'd be 'in post' by the end of January. It's now almost the end of February and I'm still waiting for a fucking start date. The recruitment department at my new place of work are blaming the delay on the return of my CRB (criminal records) check from some arcane and secretive government dept (The Laundry?), but I blame that age-old blight on progress: human laziness. Sigh. So life at the moment is pretty dull for me. Yes, I'm back home and yes I've got a whole flat to exist in (as opposed to just a room), but the novelty of being off work starts to wane after a few weeks. I'm keeping myself busy/sane by going for lengthy runs and cycling (and using the cross trainer I recently bought off ebay – more on that in a future post), getting busy with the HS30 EXR uber-camera, and reading books. And now I've got the internet back in my life (no thanks to Plusnet who kept me waiting for a goddamned MONTH to get it switched on) I'll be blogging again, too. Lucky you!

On a slightly depressing note, I had my motorbike stolen a few weeks ago and it sent me into a bit of a downward slump. The insurance cunts, sorry, company wouldn't pay out either because I hadn't updated my address details after moving so I was left with nowt but a snapped chain, a broken disk lock and an empty space where the Goose had once so proudly stood. Oh, and a fucking £1000 hole in my finances. The story doesn't end there though. 

When I discovered that the bike had been nicked, I obviously rang the police and reported it. To their credit, the cops turned up pretty soon after to take some details and stuff. And the day after another patrol car stopped off at the flat to let me know that they hadn't found the bike yet. It was nice to know that the cops were actually giving a toss, to be honest. And even if it was just for show, at least they were doing that. Anyway, a week went by and I just accepted that the Goose was long gone, either sold on or burnt out somewhere in a ditch (which, ironically, is the fate that befell my CG125 a few years ago). It was on the following Saturday that I took a bus ride to the near by town of Bolton (also the town of my birth, fact fans!). On the return journey, I was sat on the upper deck of the bus and messing with my Blackberry when I happened to look up and to my left. What do I see parked down a side street but my Suzuki Goose! I got off the bus at the next stop and went back to where I'd seen the bike, and there she was...albeit in pretty bad shape. 

The little fucks who'd stolen her had ripped off the mirrors and indicators, prised open the petrol cap and pulled the body panels off the sides to (I presume) hot-wire it. Mecanically, the bike was still in good condition, and there was no other damage, but by that point I was sick of the whole incident so I resided to getting the bike back to the flat in the back of a mate's van and sleeping on it (the subject, not the bike). Next morning, I concluded that the damage done by the worthless scrotums who had pinched the bike was probably easily repairable by someone with the know-how and resources, so I sold it as 'spares or repair' to a motorcycle enthusiast for £300. Silver linings and all that. It didn't give me my transport or freedom back, but that money did go some way to softening the blow of having my vehicle stolen by some retarded, pathetic waste of human skin. I can only hope and pray to Cthulu that those responsible develop an extremely aggressive form of cancer and die a horrible painful death. Not now, but later in life. The circle will then be complete.

Next up - how laminate flooring and ignorant lesbians in the flat above can DESTROY your short-lived happiness.

Glow Your Own Way

Howdy. Been sorting out my big move back to the capital of the North over the last week hence the lack of updates. Took the Goose up the line on Friday morning and stashed it in my brother’s garage before getting the National Express back late last night. I set off at about 6.30am on Friday morning in an attempt to escape the biblical storm that was sweeping across the country and I almost made it – it was only in the last half hour of the journey that the rain finally caught up with me and soaked me to the bone. I know I’ve moaned about this many, many times over the last year – but Christ. Every single time I get on that fucking thing, the heavens open. All last week it was dry as a bone. Ridiculously cold, but dry. And then as soon as I decide to get on the bike and transport it, the rain starts. I’m not stupid enough to actually believe that some arcane rain god has it in for me, but it just always seems to be that no matter how nice the weather is, as soon as I get on my motorbike, it turns shitty.

Apart from the rainy (windy and dark) journey on Friday morning, the weekend was quite pleasant. Spent Friday night at my dad’s and Saturday night I went to a friend’s house party/Christmas do that eventually spilled out into a few pubs. It was in a place called Ramsbottom on the outskirts of Manchester and was a really good event, not least because the pubs around that area mostly seem to be proper ‘real ale’ pubs with good friendly atmospheres. I don’t really know Ramsbottom that well, but from the few times I’ve been there to visit this particular friend, I have quite a positive opinion of it. The place seems to be very ‘old fashioned,’ but not in a horrible, urban decay way – more in a ‘dry stone wall’ way, where a lot of the buildings are made of those grey odd-shaped bricks. There’s also a proper steam railway around there somewhere, so it gets a thumbs up from me. I fully intend to dress as Isambard Kingdom Brunel and ride that quaint fucker one day. 

I went to Minehead a few years ago and we went down to the station there to have a ride on the steam train, but the twat wasn’t running so we just went to the pub instead. So yeah, Saturday night was a bit of a blur involving lots of ale and party food. Earlier in the day I got lost on the ridiculous motorway network encircling Manchester and ended up somewhere near Liverpool when I was trying to get to Stockport (and predictably I also got piss wet through), but apart from that, it was a chilled weekend. 

I got the coach back from Chorlton Street in Manchester and discovered to my horror that it isn’t only Birmingham coach station that charges 30p for the pleasure of being able to have a piss or shit in their toilets. Personally, I think that this kind of thing is disgusting. Charging people to carry out essential bodily functions. I remember when I went to Hull a few months ago and was bursting for a piss, but the toilets in the train station were even more expensive than the two aforementioned coach stations! I can’t remember how much, but I’m pretty sure it was more than the already outrageous 30p levy at Brum and Manc. In case you were wondering, I didn’t use the bogs at Hull, I just emptied my effluent all over the main High Street instead – not that you could tell (this is a joke, by the way – I think Hull’s a pretty nice place, especially since they built that new shopping area). But anyway, enough of my boring life story. 

When I was in Manchester waiting for my coach, I stepped into a shop called Clas Ohlson, which to me at least, appears to be Ikea without the furniture. It’s full of all sorts of tat – from garden tools and kitchenware to electrical and computer accessories. I love it, and could spend ages wandering around just looking at stuff. One thing I did see was this: 

768 colour combinations apparently. Not sure about that.

It’s a lamp. Not just any lamp though - its called 'Glow' and it comes with a remote control that lets you change the fucking colour! How insanely cool is that?! 

Each button changes the colour, the ones on the right adjust the brightness

Standard 'orange' mode

Probably should've tidied up before taking these pictures

As soon as I saw it I had to have it, so I shelled out £30 for it and transported it back halfway across the country with me. What else? Oh yeah – I sold my old iPod on Gumtree as well as my laptop in order to fund my latest ‘big’ purchase – an iPod Classic 160GB. It’s silver and matches the new MacBook Pro I got last week. I’m becoming everything I ever hated buying all this Apple stuff, but you know what? I think I can see why people desire Apple stuff: it just fucking works. It comes out of the box, you turn it on...and it just works. As simple as that. I’ve had no issues whatsoever with the MacBook, and the iPod is just the same. None of those stupid Windows dialogue boxes popping up with error messages accompanied by that stupid alert noise. Nothing but silky smooth performance. Sure, the MacBook is only a week old so that’s what you’d expect, but the OS is so much better than anything gaudy old Windows 8 could ever be, what with its hideous neon squares and incompatibility issues. Urgh. I played around with a Windows 8 PC in Curry’s last week and I was pretty horrified by how clunky it felt compared to Mountain Lion...and that was after using the Mac for about 3 days. Am I an Apple convert? Well, I was always slightly into Apple macs anyway (my first job after Uni was selling and demoing Apple G5 Powermacs), and I did all the online exams to gain ‘Apple Product Professional’ status (those RAID exams were fun, let me tell you), so I don’t think it’s a question of being a convert. More a case of ‘I ditched Windows because Mountain Lion kicks ass.’ Or something like that. In other iPod news, I’ve managed to download a piece of software that converts DVDs into mp4 movies that can be played on the iPod – so now I can watch movies on the cross trainer in the gym. Which, frankly, is awesome. Right, that’s enough from me for the moment. Until next time.

Bookmac

It’s recently dawned on me that over the course of the last year I’ve actually read quite a fair number of books. I started thinking about this as I was having a clear out last night in preparation for my exodus back north (which should be in the next couple of weeks, hopefully), and found a load of books in a box on top of my wardrobe. I say ‘my’ wardrobe – it isn’t really. It belongs to the landlord, as does the bed, the dresser and the bedside unit. And the carpet, curtains, walls and ceiling. I don’t actually own any furniture and after last night’s ultimate cleanse of all unnecessary items, it became apparent that I can squeeze all of my worldly possessions (excluding the Suzuki and my knackered pushbike, but including clothes) into 2 suitcases, a hold-all and three boxes. Seeing it all there in a pile is quite comforting, especially when you take into account my complete repulsion when it comes to clutter: useless ornaments, bags of stuff for ‘what if’ occasions...I hate it all, so in those bags and boxes (one of which is full of smaller boxes for my myriad gadgets) are only meaningful, useful items. But anyway, back to the books.

My most recent books I’m still not done with – Beyond the Shadows (book 3 of the Night Angel trilogy) I really only read on my Kindle when I’m on the cross trainer in the gym, and House of Leaves only gets a look-in when I’ve got a spare 3 hours to sit there and try to decipher what each individual page is trying to tell me. I did get a good chunk of it read last week during my well-documented National Express journey to Manchester and I’m really enjoying it...but the constant footnote references and the way paragraphs continue on previous pages and written backwards (yep, you read that right) does get a little annoying at times. I can see what the author was trying to do (after all, the book is meant to be made up of scraps of documents found in a big bundle so I’m guessing the odd layout is a way of conveying that (?)), but it doesn’t half grate after a few chapters. The different monoluges and fonts used to depict these I can deal with, but when you’ve got different chapters running backwards next to each other on the same page...well, it becomes more of a chore than a pleasure. Still, I’m sticking with House of Leaves because a) it's fantastic, and b) there are things alluded to in the story that are really intriguing and haven’t yet been fully explained. I just need to find a few spare hours. 

I briefly mentioned the Night Angel trilogy and I just want to reiterate how fucking cool the whole saga is. I’m about half way through the final book now and even though some of the story gets a bit muddy and confusing (and downright eh?!) in places, it’s still a cracking read. I feel like I’ve been watching an epic Game of Thrones/Lord of the Rings-style story unfold over the course of the three books – massive battles, genocide, betrayals, romance, rape, alcoholism, prostitution, suicide, magic, love, friendship...it’s all in there. I can’t really praise the trilogy enough, and (as I’ve said in the past) that it was the first published work by Brent Weeks is testimony to the guy’s talent. Not sure if I’ll seek any of his other books out any time soon, but I’ll definitely remember the Night Angel books, and the characters therein for a long time to come. 

Other shit I’ve read this year: Robopocalypse. Set in a world where the machines have become self aware and waged war against the human race (sound familiar?), Robopocalypse is an account of the origins of the machines’ rise to power as depicted in CCTV recordings and diary excerpts etc. If you’re thinking Terminator rip-off, I’m not going to argue...although the way the tale is told through the recordings and written accounts of human battles with errant machines is totally unique. Well, unless you compare it with World War Z...but lets not go there. For now, anyway. Interestingly, Steven Spielberg (so I hear) is working on the film adaptation. Wonder if he’ll do it justice. And speaking of movie/book crossovers, I also finished I Am Legend this year too. I saw the Will Smith adaptaion before I’d even heard of either the book or the original Omega Man film, so all I had to go off when I started the book was the image of a sweaty, shirtless Will Smith doing pull ups in a dilapidated apartment block. The book, however, is umpteen times better than the film ever was, simply because the guy in the book isn’t some super-human beefcake like the guy Will Smith portrays. He’s just an average Joe who is scared shitless by all the zombies knocking about the neighbourhood, and who discovers through lots of trial and error and experimentation how he can fend them off. He also battles with boredom (I know how he feels) and alcoholism and loss. It’s a fantastic book – much bette than the (Will Smith) film. Still not seen The Omega Man though, so I’ll pass judgement on that. 

A further adaptation (well, a character from a book that recently got turned into a TV series, anyway) that I got through was the Dirk Gently novel The Long Dark Teatime of The Soul. It was pretty good and is a strange tale about ancient Gods and the bumbling holistic detective Dirk Gently somehow (apparently at random) managing to solve all sorts of crimes by taking a holistic approach – that is, all things are connected...or something. It was in January that I read this book so it’s kind of faded from my memory somewhat...but I still recall it being entertaining. One book that I read that wasn’t fiction (possibly) was Tales From Development Hell – The Greatest Movies Never Made (updated edition), a book about films that were green lit by Hollywood bigwigs, in some cases had stars attached to them, and then for whatever reason failed to see the light of day. Really insightful and well worth tracking down if you’re a fan of movies (or movies that never came out, more appropriately).The first book in the series, The Greatest Sci-Fi Movies Never Made, featured a chapter on a novel called The Stars My Destination which I went on to purchase and read. I still think that book is the best science-fiction novel I've ever read.

Then there was The Strain, a modern vampire novel written in part by the director Guillermo del Toro, which again was pretty damn good (and nothing like that Twilight shit, before you start thinking I’m into vampires that glow in sunlight. Urgh.), but just got a bit boring towards the end. The Strain is the first book in a trilogy but I started reading the second book almost immediately and didn’t feel as if anything new was happening...so I let it go. I’m not one of these people who feels that if they start a book they have to finish it – if I get bored, I will literally just stop reading it. That’s not to say I won’t give it a chance to stop being dull...you get the idea (I hope). There were also a few HP Lovecraft short stories (The Horror at Red Hook, Shadow Over Innsmouth and The Colour out of Space) and a few random Sci-Fi shorts too. I hope this has enlightened you. If not, then please feel free to go and do something interesting for the next half an hour to restore the equilibrium in your life.

On a different note, last night I stripped the Macbook down and emptied a whole hoover-bag’s worth of dust and shit out of its innards. The result? A machine that now runs almost silently. Now, if Bristol Apple Store can sort out the broken keyboard thing...well, it’ll be awesome. I’ll find out soon enough.

Wake Up Call

Hmm. Trying really hard to think of something positive or mildly humorous to write about, but it’s proving difficult. This probably because all I can actually think about is sacking my job off, stashing all my meagre possessions in a self storage cube and then fucking off travelling for a while. I should never have bought that Lonely Planet guide to Thailand last week. Just looking at the pictures of bustling cities and tropical island paradises has ignited within me a desire to leave this cursed place far, far behind...at least for a few months. 

This desire probably wouldn’t be so bad if I wasn’t hundreds of miles away from most of my friends, girlfriend and family, and have virtually no social life whatsoever. At least if I was in Thailand or some other far flung exotic idyll, I’d have a whole new culture to explore, new things to see and be able to discover a whole new country. Which, I’m sure anyone reading this would admit, is way, way better than being stuck in a tiny, unfriendly, run-down ‘city’ in the west of England, where it does nothing but rain incessantly and nothing ever, ever happens. In case you wondered where I’m living at present, it’s a place called Gloucester. And I’ve grown to despise the place in the few months I’ve been here. 

Understand that I only moved here to be closer to my job (as described in a previous post), and at first I found the place to be quite alright, if not spectacular. The ‘city centre’ has quite a few places of historical interest, including the oldest timber-framed medieval building in (I think) the world, an impressive cathedral, various ruined priories and blue plaques everywhere you look. There’s some serious history knocking about – even the street layout in the main shopping area is faithful to how it was back when the place was a Roman citadel. The thing is, Gloucester must be one of the most run-down places I’ve ever been to. Apart from the historical sites, there is very little else to recommend about Gloucester and I really regret moving here from a city as impressive as Bristol. Being a Mancunian and all, I have a certain image in my head of what city life should be like – having a social life, places to go, things to do...all things that since moving to this particular ‘city’ have all become glaringly absent from my existence. 

You may have also noted the use of apostrophes when I describe Gloucester as a ‘city.’ That’s because it doesn’t really qualify for such a prestigious moniker in my opinion. You can see from one set of hills to the other with the entire settlement in the middle, and the only high-rise building is the fucking cathedral! There is nowhere that can be considered an ‘upmarket’ area – the whole place looks like it was built in the 1960s and then just left to rot alongside the ancient structures. There are whole swathes of wasteland all over the place, and everything just seems riddled with decay. Old railway sidings full of rusty carriages, old red-brick industrial units with shutters permanently down and boarded up pubs with crisp bags, empty beer cans and leaves blowing around in doorways. Even the ‘new’ places, such as the quays, are just full of empty retail units. 

What I guess I’m trying to say is that Gloucester is not, by any stretch of the imagination, a ‘cosmopolitan’ city. There is no nightlife, no real social scene. I have tried to be social, going out to the few pubs...but who wants to meet people in pubs? The centre is absolutely full of chavs and tracksuit clad old men and people drinking cider at 2 in the afternoon. There are very few social activities to engage in here, other than drinking, so if you turn your back on that shit – you’re fucked. So you can probably see why I’m really desperate to get away from the place and return home where most of my friends and family are, and if it means giving up my job (which I have no real issue with, apart from the location of the building – i.e. Gloucester), then so be it. There will be other jobs. And there is Thailand. I just need to get the fuck out of this hole and start having a normal, healthy existence again. Watch this space.

Clutter Snipe

I've been a bit of a miserable cunt recently and I've let a few things get out of hand, so what I propose to do from now on is try to keep myself busy to take my mind off all the less appealing events that have been going on recently. So, the first things I intend to do are finally have a good auld fucking tidy up. You may remember how I waxed about being evicted from my house-share a few weeks ago via text message. Well, since then, I haven't actually unpacked any of my belongings or clothes - I've just thrown them into a big cupboard in my room and left it all in a big heap, leaving me rummaging around for items of clothing whenever I need them. Not an ideal situation by any means, so I need to sort the detritus out and put it in some kind of order.

On the subject of my recent eviction, once I had got back to my previous (or is that current?) dwelling, I noticed that I was slightly lighter on clothing than I thought I should have been. After a quick call to one of my previous housemates, I discovered that I'd left a load of clothes in some draws in my old bedroom. Shortly after this call, the cowardly bastard of a landlord texted me to tell me he was leaving my clothes in a bin bag outside the back door on the following Sunday. Fucking charming behaviour for a middle aged, apparently professional adult, eh? What a cock (sucker). Hope him and his live-in closet boyfriend go on to be very happy in their own little version of Narnia.

I also need to tackle the obscenely scruffy article that is my car. Since I used it to move all my shizzle from the house of a thousand pillow-screams, It's become something of a shit-tip. Food wrappers, empty bottles, old shoe boxes (?) - it is just full of crap. It needs a damn good internal clear out and a good scrub on the outside too. It shall be returned to it's former glory and regain the crown of best mid-range family saloon driven by a family-less bloke in the South West...you mark my words.

So what else has been happening? Well, it looks as though my time as a glorified security guard/boredom researcher is coming to an end - and thank fuck. I can honestly say that the last 6 - 7 months (of my employ, naturally) have been pretty damned dire. Overall though, said months have been pretty interesting and, let's say, 'character building.' Sometimes, random sequences of events pepper your life and they can leave you head-fucked and completely at a loss as to who you are, where you're going or where you've even been. My sequence of events, I'm sure, have been going on for a few years now, but I just need to re-address how I'm looking at things and move on. So that's what I'm doing. If not physically, certainly in an emotional sense. And the first thing I'm going to do is sort my clutter out.

Guess What?

Its raining and I just ate some crisps. However...

Don't usually talk about current affairs on here because, well, I don't want to - but what the fuck is going on with Israel? Boarding aid ships full of civilians and blasting the hell out of them? That ain't on, seriously. Can you imagine if British forces did that? or French or German? Hell, forces from ANY supposedly 'developed' country? No, me neither. Those fuckers seriously need to be dealt with by the international community. A nation that allows it's special forces to board an AID SHIP full of unarmed CIVILIANS and then shoot a load of them, is a nation that could potentially cause problems of the mushroom cloud-shaped variety, if you catch my (radioactive) drift. Anyway, that's enough about pseudo-interesting news items - lets discuss ME. That's me, by the way, not M.E., just so we're clear.

Really need to sort my shit out. Not literally, you understand - I'm not implying that I need to take a dump into a petri dish and have a rummage around with a scalpel/breadstick - no, I mean I need to actually unpack all my belongings and get my current (albeit hopefully temporary) abode in some kind of order. Since I moved last week I haven't had the inclination or the willpower to get up off my arse and get all of my crap out of my myriad suitcases and put it all away. Ergo, my room looks like the kids' bedroom from Poltergeist after the little girl gets sucked into the telly. But fuck it, that shit can wait. I have more pressing matters to attend to - namely Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2. Now, I know that I lambasted this game upon it's (in my honest yet humble opinion) over-hyped release, but I finally bit the bullet on Sunday and bought it. It was reduced to £22 in CEX (used) because Gamestation has recently reduced the price of a new copy to £25, so I just thought "why not?"

And yeah, I have to concede I may have been a little hasty in my slagging of the game, as from what I've seen so far, it's a quality piece of software. Granted, I only managed to get up to the infamous Airport mission, where you have to mow down scores of innocent civilians in the terminal with a massive great gun (Israeli military training aid, perhaps?) before I had to retire to my pit, but yeah - I'm suitably impressed. Great graphics, brilliant shoot-outs, baffling storyline - it has it all. Don't know if I'd have been as impressed if I'd shelled out 50 notes for it like some knobs did, but what you gonna do?

Went for another run last night. It was pretty balmy and my balls kept squashing out of the side of the lycra boxers I was wearing under my shorts, but it felt good to be running the old routes again. Somerset - even though I think most of the towns are chav-infested shitholes with fuck all going for them - has some beautiful countryside, and for this reason I find running round here more of a pleasure than a hindrance. I'm also going to join a proper running club and start entering runs etc, just to keep me busy. And with any luck, my fucking knees will hold out permanently this time.

Anyway, that's enough inane bullshit for one morning. Might check in later with some more. Peace, bitches.

Living and Learning

Well. How the devil art thou? It's been a long time since I updated this little baby hasn't it? A month and a day if I'm not mistaken, and rather shockingly, quite a bit has happened in my social-wraith-like existence.

Went camping in South Wales during the second weekend of May. I went with my better half to the idyllic, shining beacon of industry known as Swansea...and it rained. It wasn't actually Swansea town centre that we camped in - it was a place called Clyne, a bit further down the coast, and had it been as sunny as it was when I decided to book the campsite, I wager it would have been a pretty spectacular weekend away. As it was, we got there on the Friday evening and had a little BBQ in the brief spell of sunshine that the Gods granted us...before the heavens opened and unleashed Dante's vision of Hell upon the campsite. And there said vision presided - through the night, into the Saturday and then on into Saturday night. The weather was, happily, the only shite thing about our little excursion. We had a nice walk into the town centre, ate a fucking enormous meal in a pub, and walked around some ornamental gardens. All in all, a rather enjoyable weekend. Shame the tent was fucking tiny and the rain came through in one corner, but you can't have it all.

Which is pretty fucking weird, considering the weather has been pretty damn fine throughout most of the rest of the month. Ah well. Speaking of the fine weather, I have made the most of it by resuming my running. My knee has finally decided to stop pissing me about and sorted it's act out. So no more ridiculous pains and no more painful feet when out pounding pavement. I, as previously documented at great length, had reverted to using a cross-trainer to get my exercise done whilst my knee was out of action, but in recent weeks it seems to have fully recovered and as such I'm back out in the wilderness again. Not to the excessive levels I was previously, you understand, but out there nonetheless. As such, last week I bought some new running trainers: Saucony are back in my life.

Saucony are, without a shadow of a doubt, the best running trainers I have ever used. I was previously wearing Nike, and the physio I was seeing advised that I get some dedicated running footwear in order to lessen the effects of my injury. Alas, I couldn't afford any new trainers at the time and that's where my love affair with the cross-trainer began. Last week though, I pooped into the new TK Maxx store in Weymouth and spotted a pair of (gasp!) size 9 Saucony Grid running trainers for the meagre sum of £29.99 wedged in between the hideous bright blue pairs of Converse basketball shoes (who the fuck buys those?!). As soon as I spotted them, I knew they had to be mine...so I handed over the card and purchased them. And as predicted, they are every bit as comfortable as both of my previous pairs - the first of which fell apart after so much use; and the second which shrank after I washed them and tried to dry them on the radiator (as previously documented here, on this very blog folks).

Also been doing a bit of reading. After the marvellous Frankenstein, I have acquired a copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula, and it is superb. Far better than the film adaptation, but then that's to be expected these days. Not finished it yet, but getting there.

Remember how I was going on a few months ago about trying to find somewhere to live and then deliberating about how I was thinking of moving out? Well, the decision was made for me earlier this week by my landlord: I was evicted via text message. Seriously. The reasons are still a little cloudy, but the story leading up to the aforementioned text message are as follows.

On Sunday last, my dad and cousin ventured down from Manchester to visit me in my shared house for a few days. I had previously asked the (live-in) landlord if this was OK, and he was quite enthusiastic and had said it was fine - they could use the spare room. He even went to the trouble of making up beds etc. Which was very good of him. When my guests arrived on Sunday evening, I had already arranged a bit of a BBQ for them and a few beers in the extensive garden, and also strategically arranged the seating etc in an area as far away from the occupied bedroom windows as I could in order to a) prevent smoke going into open windows from the BBQ; and b) prevent anyone being bothered by noise. Furthermore, I invited several of my housemates to come and join us. None of them did, but the landlord and his partner (he's gay) came out to chat with us for a while. It was all fine, up until half eleven that night when the previously jovial landlord came storming out of the house in his dressing gown to tell us, quite abruptly to shut up and keep the noise down. It was news to us that we had been making an inordinate amount of noise, but with that we decided to call it a night and went to bed after tidying up our mess. The next morning, I spoke to him (the landlord) and apologised for the 'noise' and that was the end of it...or so I thought.

That same night, after being out of the house all day showing my old man and cousin around the town and the beaches etc, we went back to the house end ended up sat outside again, as we had the previous evening. Not long after we had got back, one of my housemates appeared with his girlfriend, a crate of Budweiser and a bottle of vodka. Cue much merry making, but in greatly hushed tones due to the previous night's chastisement. We finally retired at around 2am, making sure as not to disturb any of the other people in the house. And so the night was done. Until the following morning, at about 8am when the landlord decided to boot my bedroom door open (while I was still asleep and thus waking me up), and go into a raving tantrum about how we'd kept him up all night with our 'yapping' and how we'd left the garden looking like we'd had a 'festival.' Don't know how many festivals the tit has been to, but if any of them looked like how we'd left the garden, they must've been pretty shit.

I got up, went downstairs and tidied up the beer bottles and ashtrays that had been left on the table. It was done in under 3 minutes - just to illustrate the scale of the debris. Landlord then flounced off to work. After this (and after also, unbeknown to me, being rude to my dad and cousin), neither of my guests wanted to stay in the house and cut short their visit by a day. I avoided the landlord for a further two evenings by staying one night in my room and then the next night at my girlfriend's house. By this time, it was Thursday morning and I still hadn't seen or heard from the melodramatic twat. I decided to try to clear the air by sending a text message to him asking if we could sort it out. He responded by saying he thought it would be best if I moved out by the middle of June!

For a bit of fucking noise!

I'm actually working for most of June, and won't be at the house very much, so decided to move out there and then, humping all my worldly possessions back to my previous residence at the military base I sometimes (but once again, exclusively) called home. In some ways, I'm a bit disgruntled because there are some people living in that house share who have done some pretty shocking things whilst lodging (one guy held a fucking knife up the throat of a previous resident, for example...but still happily resides there); but in others I'm quite happy to be out of the place as I no longer have to give a chunk of my wage away just to live a lonely existence in a town where I know nobody whilst sleeping in a room the size of a shoebox. Silver linings and all that.

Other events that have littered May are: a cricket match that turned into a piss-up that nearly turned into me pissing in my girlfriend's wardrobe; a visit to a tapas bar that, again, turned into a piss-up; a day's temp work on a building site that saw me dig a ditch around a building with a pick-axe; nearly getting citizens arrested by a Community Support Officer (a fake cop, basically - with no real powers of arrest) for riding my bike along a coastal path that didn't have any signs stating that I wasn't allowed. At 7am. When said path was deserted (what the fuck was the jobsworth doing down there at that time anyway?!); being recognised by somebody watching a Navy recruiting video; meeting my girlfriend's parents (I was shitting myself, but it turned out to be a great day); and then, at the death of the month, having a bit of a fall out with the aforementioned lady in my life. Not a great end to May if I'm honest, as both that and the eviction episode occurred in the same week, but we live and learn don't we. Well, most of us do.

Lastly, yesterday I purchased a used copy of the much-hyped Modern Warfare 2 for my 360. Got it home and popped it into the drive to be confronted with the 'disc unreadable' message. Upon closer inspection, it appears that the disc is cracked in 3 places. Which means I've got to drag my ass back to the shop and get an exchange. Not impressed, CEX. The moral of the story is to check your game discs before you leave the shop, folks.

Ass Clowns

Hello. Thought it was about time I updated this bastard again. It's been a few weeks. Not that much of note has appertained in said time-gulf. You know how I was bitchin' and whining about finding somewhere to live? And that I found somewhere? Well, today I gave my landlord notice that I'm moving back to the military establishment from whence I came. Sounds a bit retro-active, I know, but the reasons for this are two-, possibly three-fold.

Firstly, I'm hardly ever at the house. The weeks when I'm at work I stay at the base; the weeks I'm off I'm rarely at the house...and also I don't actually know anybody in the town where the house is situated so when I am there I'm bored off my fucking nut. Now, you may be thinking "you soft cunt...go out and meet people..." Have you ever tried to meet random people?! In a town where you know no-one? To say it's difficult is an understatement...especially when there is no common ground to fall on, as that twat who sang Breakfast at Tiffany's may once (or maybe twice) have said (sang). The other biggie for me kinda ties in to the other reasons for my desertion - the rent. I'm effectively renting a room out that I only stay in occasionally. When I think about this, it just seems fucking stupid. And finally...my house mates. There is nothing particularly menacing about any of them - in fact they're all perfectly decent people...it's just that they're a totally random bunch who never socialise together. Not really the kind of environment I was looking for when I set out to find a suitable abode. Ah well, we live and we learn. So yeah, I'm moving out. On the plus side, I'll have lots of money again, and I think one of the first things I'm gonna do is get one of those European train tickets and go for a little jaunt around our fair continent. See a bit of the place. I've not been to many places - namely Turkey, Holland and Sweden outside of the UK, but I really want to experience France, Germany, Italy etc.

Everyone needs a change of scenery every now and then, and I've been moping around sleepy rural England for far too long. It's fucking boring, is what I'm getting at. So, certainly within the next few months I expect to be updating this motherfucker from Paris or Rome. Well, that's the plan anyway.

In other news, I was involved in a bit of a fracas last week. It's all been dealt with though, so I have no worries about recounting the experience here. Here goes:

I went out for a few beers with some mates last week to 'celebrate' a birth. We went to a well-known chain pub and had several beverages. Afterwards, as is usually the case, a few of us decided that some food was in order, so we ventured out in serach of a chippy/olde worlde kebab shoppe. We found a suitable outlet and went inside to order our chosen grease and trans-fat laden delicacy, which arrived promptly and was, in hindsight, thoroughly delicious.

As we were all shoving horrendously tasty fast food into our gobs, the door swung open and in marched a 'jolly' fellow dressed up like a 50 Cent's younger, poorer cousin who then proceeded to aggressively enquire as to which one of us (we were the only 6 people in the shop) had spilt a drink on his shirt. Bemused, we all politely told him that he was mistaken and that he should take his line of enquiry elsewhere - especially as none of us had a fucking clue who the ass-clown was. 30 Cent (geddit?!) then approached one individual in the group and 'squared up' to him, repeatedly accusing him of spilling a drink on his shirt; before ripping said shirt off his back pushing his forehead into the face of his quarry. At this point I decided to step in and try to diffuse the situation, so I took 30 by the shoulder and escorted him to one side explaining that there was a mix-up, none of us had spilt our drinks on him and that he should probably just go home. He then shoved his forehead into my face, while simultaneously asking what I was going to do about it. Without going into too much detail, I then demonstrated what I was going to do about it and the following actions left him in the corner with a busted lip and nose.

At this point, two Policemen came barging through the door and gripped a hold of both of us...although when I explained what had happened, they let me go and took 30 Cent away for some 'questioning.' I've since spoken to a Policeman friend of mine, and he says that the other guy was in the wrong for head-butting me and that I was technically acting in self defence. Whoever was in the right or wrong is irrelevant...the fact is that that guy came into that chip shop with every intention of starting a fight - and he got his just desserts.

Moving on, by FAR the most annoying thing that's happened since my last blog here is the malfunction of my Nintendo DS. Well, it's less of a malfunction, more of a fault that developed literally overnight - I turned it on the other morning to play a bit of FIFA 10, only to discover that the top screen had spunked several blue vertical lines all over the middle of itself. I can still play it perfectly well, but said lines are a little distracting...and they simply were not there the last time I put the thing down. I've looked into replacing the screen myself with a DIY screen replacement kit you can get off ebay, but I've decided that it'd probably be wiser (if not a little more costly) to get Nintendo to do it for me. I'm good with a screwdriver, but I'm convinced I'll just end up breaking it - so I've filled out a fault report on their website and they've sent me a little freepost sticker thing to send the console to them for repair. Which is nice. Still probably gonna cost the best part of £50 to mend it though. Fuck it...travel comes first.

Facebook of Psalms

Yep - it's been more than a fortnight and I've not written anything down. No particular reason, other than that I simply couldn't be bothered trying to get online. To wit: it really annoys me that getting online in this day and age is seen as a privilege as opposed to a right of living in the so-called 'digital age.' I remember when I was at secondary school in the time before the world went online mental. IT lessons were the only time you ever got near the internet (usually to check cheats and other such game-rated shite), and because stuff like Facebook, Hotmail, eBay etc didn't exist then, it wasn't overly important. And because of this lack of importance, the fact that the only way to get on the internet seemed to be a few stolen minutes in an IT lesson didn't matter. Fast forward to now though, and little seems to have changed - for me, at least. Trying to get the internet up on my phone inevitably leads to constant 'page error' messages, whilst trying to access a wifi hotspot on my laptop almost always leads down the dead-end, pot-holed lane of 'lack of connectivity;' or the appearance of one of those BT Openzone pages where you have to pay £6000 with a credit card for 3 minutes of internet access. Alas, in a parallel to my earlier internet experiences, the only time I seem to be able to actually get online with a decent, reliable (yet censored) connection is a few stolen minutes at work every now and then (like right this minute, for example). And yet still we are being coerced into thinking we live in some highly advanced, hi-speed online world. Come and live with me for a week. Not only will you learn to live on a diet of Cornflakes, toast and lager - you'll also learn that trying to get online appears to be more trouble than it's worth.

But enough ranting about that. In the time gulf between now and my last post, a few things have happened. Perhaps the biggest thing is that I finally managed to move into an actual house. It's not an exclusive, me-only house though. It's another shared one. However, unlike the one I lived in down in Portsmouth the landlord is a live-in one and so actually possesses the right to turn up at the house when he wants and sleep on the couch. The last landlord didn't live in the house, yet still partook in this activity. Which, as you can imagine, was a bone of contention with me. No, this house is infinitely better than that hole. It's massive, has a top view of Weymouth/Portland Harbour and I'm living with a good, varied bunch of people. Really can't complain. For now. I also got my first ever valentines card yesterday (which wasn't sent to me by myself), which is a result!

Tech news: I'm swapping my new phone. Yes, I harped on about the HTC HD2 a few weeks ago, and I still think it's one of the best gadgets I've ever owned. The only problem I have with it is the touchscreen interface. I'm forever texting and on Facebook (when it loads, fucking shitty O2 network), so a good input method is a must for any phone I own. This is really where the HD2 falls down for me. For obvious reasons, the keyboard you have to use is a software one that pops up on the screen when writing. It must be the buggiest input device on the planet. 5 times out of every 10, it will not register the letter you are trying to press and even with the predictive word suggestion (which is a godsend, by the way), it's still all too easy to end up writing a sentence of complete and utter gobble-de-gook when all you wanted to say was 'crypto-zoology.' It's even worse if you're outside in the blistering cold. For some reason, the capacitive touchscreen doesn't like the cold weather, so trying to text in such conditions truly is a test of patience. The only thing stopping me from hurling the bastard thing at the pavement at times was the knowledge that it's worth about £400. I thought about going into the O2 shop near my new gaff to see if they'd swap it for another handset with a keyboard, but abandoned that because I knew what the answer would be. So instead, I went back to my old friend swapz.co.uk.

Lo and behold - I have found the perfect replacement for my HD2 - the Palm Pre. Whilst it doesn't look even half as technically advanced as the HD2, it has one massive advantage: a proper qwerty keyboard! It's also a bonafide smartphone with all the bells and whistles you could want (including the coveted YouTube app that I've been abusing (when it works)). So I've arranged a one for one swap with a guy who wants rid of his Palm. It comes with a fairly nifty little charger that allows you to simply place the phone on the charging 'block' without actually plugging it in. Sounds pretty cool. I should have it by the end of the week, so I'll post my views as and when.

Speaking of that swapz website, I got my Nintendo DS. To say it's addictive is an understatement, especially since it came with a thing called an R4 cartridge that is in effect a device that allows you to put roms on an Micro SD card and then play them on the DS. Since I acquired the DS, I msut have played nearly every major DS games there is...and I'm impressed. I used to have a PSP and granted, whilst the visuals of most of the games are far superior to any on the DS, I have to admit that having the touch screen adds an extra dimension to a lot of them. Most impressive for me is the way that a lot of the first person shooters use the d-pad and touch screen as a mouse and keyboard substitute. So you use your left thumb to move around and your left index finger to fire (via the left shoulder button), whilst you control the view with the stylus and touch screen. Intuitive - especially in Metroid Prime: Hunters. Furthermore, the range of different games available for the DS is staggering. From games where you have to survive on a desert island (Lost in Blue), beat em ups (Viewtiful Joe), racers (Mario Kart) and crime sims (Crime Scene) to slightly more bizarre things like a game called Scribblenauts where you get to solve puzzles by 'drawing' items - every gamer is catered for. Seriously though, the sheer number of genres represented is amazing - I for one never thought I'd be playing an air traffic control game on a handheld console before I got my DS. It's a brilliant console, and even has wifi capabilities...not that I've been able to use the wifi, or access any of the multi-player modes in any of the games. See paragraph 1 for details.

Kneesy Peasy

Annoyingly, I have done my right knee in. As regular readers (all one of them) will know, I am quite the keen runner and I tend to average between 45 and 60 miles per week...but since last Friday I have been out of action. I'll explain. One of my routes takes me along a 1.6 mile stretch of fine Somerset A-road, and during the recent blizzards it naturally got blanketed. The constant trampling of this snow by other users of this route, combined with sub-zero overnight temperatures created a terrain not dissimilar to that of the surface of the moon - I would imagine, having not been there myself. And it is down to running over this icy, uneven lunar surface that I blame the recent destruction of my right knee. It feels like a particularly nasty daemon is sticking a knitting needle through my kneecap when I run for any period of time, and so have been giving it a miss over the last week, instead using a zero-impact cross-trainer/elliptical machine in the gym instead. This is fine, although I can only go for around 40 minutes before becoming so bored I want to strip the skin off my arms...I seriously need to get back out in the fresh air and once again embrace the freedom that road running offers.

When I think about my current predicament, it amazes me that I, up until a few months ago, almost exclusively ran on a treadmill in the gym. Now that I have started to run outdoors, I just can't see the appeal of sweating away in a dingy room with a load of other equally sweaty people. But I digress. I need to get this knee sorted asap and get my luminous yellow jersey on again soon as I fully intend to take part in a sponsored 7 miler in mid February. I forget the name of the good cause that funds raised will go to, but it will be a first for me to actually take part in a running event rather than running for the sake/enjoyment of it. Let's just hope my knee does the right thing and sorts itself out before then.

Also occupying my mind at the moment is the constant nagging feeling that I need to sort my shit out and find somewhere to live, properly. Since I joined the military, I have only really lived in service accomodation (apart from my brief stint in that shared house I moaned about last year). Whilst this is perfactly fine, I really need to acquire my own actual abode. Somewhere I can go to when I am not at work, for example. As it is at the moment, I live and work within the same barbed wire-topped fence, and I'm beginning to go a little stir crazy. So the hunt for a dwelling has resumed at full pace. Wish me luck.

I'm Outta Here!

Wahey! Only 3 days till I move now! The excitement levels, as you have probably guessed, are approaching something resembling happiness. Not true happiness you understand. No, more like the faux happiness people working in offices display in the run-up to Christmas. You, know - like when someone who has never previously acknowledged your existence suddenly starts speaking to you as you make a cup of tea in the kitchen...simply because it's nearly Christmas?

I'm straying from the point though. Let me explain my situation. As you will probably see from looking at my profile, I'm currently in the Royal Navy and as such live at a shore base. It's really not that bad and I'm sure some people currently serving onboard a ship would kill to live here...but there are a few things that really get up my nose and as such I've decided to eschew the cheap rent and relative security of the base and move into a shared house nearby.

You may think I'm a bit stupid considering the recent onset of a recession, but paying rent to a landlord is small fry when you consider the absence of things you might take for granted living in 'civvy street':

1. On the base, there are minimal kitchen facilities. Granted, there is a 'galley' that provides meals at certain times of the day, but if you'd rather not eat chips and mashed spuds for every meal (washed down with warm coloured water falsely advertised as chilled cordial), you're pretty screwed. That's because the kitchen areas provided only contain a fridge and a microwave and there are no proper cookers or ovens, so healthy eating isn't a viable option.


2. The aforementioned fridge. Because the kitchen areas are communal, everyone has to share a fridge. Put anything - anything - other than milk or margarine into this fridge and you can rest assured that it WILL be gone the next time you go to the kitchen. Once, I put a bag of shopping in the fridge and tied the handles together in a misguided attempt to deter any would-be thief. Silly me. The thief simply untied the handles, went through the food and took the items he/she wanted. Then had the fucking audacity to cook this food in the microwave (it was a microwave lasagne, just in case you were wondering), take one fork-full, decide he/she didn't actually want the whole thing and then tossed it into the goddamned bin!!! What a fucking cunt!


3. I have bought two toasters for the communal kitchen - both of which have been stolen.


4. The security staff on the gate insist that you show your ID card entering the site. Fair enough - it is a military base after all. You also have to show it going out of the gate. Why?! This means groups of people fishing around in bags/pockets/wallets etc looking for ID cards hanging around...when all they want to do is go out! I remember one occasion where I entered the site, got a phone call from a mate asking me to meet him outside, turned around literally in front of the guard...and was ordered to show my ID again before I left! I'd shown it to the guy literally TEN SECONDS beforehand!


5. The shop on the base is about 3 times as expensive as the ones just outside the gates. And the staff all have faces longer than Ruud Van Nistelrooy.

Don't get me wrong - it's not all bad, but after several months these little annoyances start to grate...so It's time to go. And like I said - only four days and counting!