Volunteer Curry

It was nice to catch up with old friends and meet a few new faces at this evening’s Greenbelt Volunteer and Angels curry in Manchester.

Of course Stage 2 Venue Manager extraordinaire and organiser of the event was duly mocked for ignoring his own email request to be ‘prompt’ and rolling in a little late.

Still nothing at King Cobra happened in a hurry and the service was as patchy as the food. Some dishes were delicious; others were distinctly average and less than piping hot. Eating burnt naan bread is not my idea of fun. Such a shame when a restaurant that you know can do ‘great’, scrapes in with ‘adequate’.

Most importantly of all, I make sure that my buddies S&K leave at a reasonable time – it’s a big day for them tomorrow.

Late

On the eve of a weekend that will decide the future path and location of the Dog Collar s and Rabbit Corpses household, Stuart is in need of distraction. At least until the lovely K is back in. If there's one thing I can do, it's never-ending meaningless twaddle - a veritable celebration of the distraction exercise.

We talk, we fetch food (hunter gathering in Rusholme - it's what we do best), play Buzz and then pick up K and an excited H fresh from their trip to Starlight Express.

Just after midnight, we finish our latest game of Buzz and oldest Radlet KK, heads for bed. I comment that I ought to be on my way myself, but K persuades me to play her at one last game.

And then we start chatting and Stuart comes in and joins us.

And then K and I start talking about bras...and Stuart leaves us to finish of his sermon for Sunday (we're slightly worried about the subconscious inspiration he may have drawn).

And then, with said sermon complete, we all sit chatting about this that and the other.

And then I look at my watch.

It's 4am.

And you know it's been a late night when, on your way home, you pull up at the traffic lights behind a milk float.

Tickets

I'll spare you the full rant, but grrrrrr...bloody buggery ticketing websites that breakdown at just the wrong moment, and touts that buy up tickets so instantly that shows sell out in 3 minutes and then tickets at inflation rates of 700% appear on scalping sites mere minutes/hours later.

Accordingly whilst we have tickets secured for the Manchester versus Cancer gig (Ian Brown, Echo and the Bunnymen, Charlatans etc), we failed to get any for Arcade Fire.

Grrrrrr...

Catch 22

Not many books achieve the phenomenon of creating a phrase that goes on to enter the lexicon (Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four being unbecomingly greedy on this front). Fewer still achieve that with their title, but Catch 22 captures so many foibles of human nature so perfectly, that it’s no surprise really that the phrase Heller chose to represent the inescapable dilemma, should make it as a widely recognised idiom.

"There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one's own safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Orr was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn't, but if he was sane he had to fly them. If he flew them he was crazy and didn't have to; but if he didn't want to he was sane and had to. Yossarian was moved very deeply by the absolute simplicity of this clause of Catch-22 and let out a respectful whistle."
"That's some catch that catch 22," He observed.
"It's the best there is." Doc Daneeka agreed.

The book was ground-breaking book when published and is no doubt still considered dangerous and subversive in certain circles. After all if we start to pick at the veneer of the illusion of moral imperative in ‘wartime’, where does it lead?

Early in the book there is an exchange between Yossarian and Clevinger:

"They're trying to kill me," Yossarian told him calmly.
"No one's trying to kill you," Clevinger cried.
"Then why are they shooting at me?" Yossarian asked.
"They're shooting at everyone," Clevinger answered. "They're trying to kill everyone."
"And what difference does that make?"

Clevinger really thought he was right, but Yossarian had proof, because strangers he didn't know shot at him with cannons every time he flew up into the air to drops bombs on them, and it wasn't funny at all. And if that wasn't funny, there were lots of things that weren't even funnier."

I guess the last thing any war-effort needs is someone 'taking it personally' and observations like that are as poignant today as they were when the book was first published.

The book is a pleasure to read and unusually for me, it had me laughing out loud in places. The serious message of the book is put across in a non-preachy manner, with the lighter note of the start, gradually giving way to a darker tone, with the absurdities increasingly having serious consequences. Similarly, the use of a company of diverse archetypes gives Heller the perfect framework for exploring different extremes of human madness.

Out of the six of us at Book Group tonight, I'd summarise that four of us enjoyed it and two really struggled. Regular readers of this blog may be able to predict who one of those was. I think we're yet to have a book she actually reports having enjoyed, but to be fair she had at least obtained a copy of this one and read the first few chapters.

Even more positively from my point of view, my resolution to try and rise above the irritation I feel in her presence seems to be working. Still a way to go, but a positive buddha-like achievement already, let me tell you.

Miss Potter

If the film Miss Potter were an illustration in a children’s book, it would be well crafted, endearing and gently tinted in watercolours.

Which is all very fitting and just what you want from a girlie night out flick as K, V, D and I discovered. Engaging, short, sad in places and overall a very sweet tale.

Bless its fluffy little cotton-tail!

iPhone

I heard the news reports; the iPhone combines a music player, a phone, a camera and an internet portal. Ok so it also has a touchscreen, but other than that my existing phone already does the other stuff.

A complete anti-climax thought I. Much as I love iPods, this just doesn’t sound like anything to get excited about.

In a way I was relieved, it sounds like they’ll come with a fairly hefty price-tag, so nice not to want what you can’t afford eh?

But then in an idle moment I clicked and followed a link and saw the details on Apple’s website.



And I have to admit, it looks mighty fine and as you trawl through the details and the specs, there are some drawbacks (at a max of 8GB this is never going to replace my iPod, I positively demand 3+ Megapixels for a camera-phone these days and what the hell do you mean it doesn’t do 3G?), but there are also many, many lovely looking features. Wireless would be handy, touchscreen will be great if it works as well as they suggest and oh my it even has sensors that detect how you’re holding it and switches between passport and landscape view accordingly.

Oh bugger, I think I might be starting to warm to the thing.

Damn you Apple and your beautiful design concepts!

Crack No More

The visual side of me likes to have a small photo on most of these blog posts. Often they are photos I've taken myself in the course of the event being described, but other times they are images found through google.

And oh the things you happen upon on the internet as a result sometimes.

In pursuit of a plumber photo I found: www.cracknomore.com



Yes ladies and gentlemen, someone has invented a T-Shirt with a back flap that covers potential 'builder's cracks'. A fine idea, but wouldn't a longer T-Shirt or a belt work just as well?

Coming soon, no doubt, "Thong-No-More"...

Plumber

Fortunately my morning’s diary consisted of an Environmental Strategy telephone conference for a couple of hours and this was easily enough undertaken at home, whilst the plumber did her thing.

As she suspected a new pillar in the tap and the job was done.

Friendly and efficient and not at all like Barbara. I’m singing her praises and passing her details on to others; for as Fergal Sharkey almost said, a good plumber these days is hard to find.

Working, not working

For many (lightweight skiver types – yes I am jealous), today was the first work day of the year. In my world however, it was a day marked by things not working.

In the usual early morning auto pilot I entered the bathroom turned on the shower feeding mixer-unit's hot tap fully and the cold tap slightly, and having busied myself for the obligatory ‘combi-boilers run hot then cold then hot again and no one can explain why” minute, I stepped into the shower.

Bit chilly thought I and reached down and turned the cold tap down a squidge*.

No change.

I turn it a little more and still no change.

I turn it off.

Still no change.

I try to turn it back on and discover the tap is now jammed.

I turn off the hot tap and discover that despite both taps now being off, ice cold water continues to pour.

I suffer the indignities of a decidedly cool shower and spend the rest of the pre-commute morning running up and down stairs turning the stop-cock on and off every time I need to use water (after all I did commit to turning off the tap whilst brushing my teeth, but this is ridiculous).

I find the number for a local plumber and place the call. They seem very efficient and nice and we arrange for them to call tomorrow morning as I’m not in this evening. As we say our goodbyes, I ask “oh btw, what’s your name?”. The deep, slightly gruff voice replies “It’s Lorraine. Lorraine the lady plumber”. To be fair it’s not the greatest mobile reception in the world and that may have distorted the voice, but I’m slightly expecting the plumbing equivalent of The League Of Gentlemen’s mini-cab driver Barbara to appear on my doorstep tomorrow.

After lunch, I catch the train to London and realise I really need to think about the ‘devotional’ I’m supposed to be giving at the start of this evening’s Greenbelt Management Group Meeting.

Needless to say such activities don’t come naturally to yours truly and I’m rather crapping myself about.

I manage to pull something together and it seems to go ok – not terribly sure if people follow where my mind goes linking the Christmas story, Epiphany, Greenbelt’s theme of Heaven in Ordinary and Sigur Ros’s paean to jumping in puddles, but some of them are good enough to say nice things about it after, so it can’t have been too terrible (or maybe it was and they have charitable over-compensating natures?). After all Hoppipolla is one of the most sublimely beautiful tracks of all time and plenty of compensation for having to sit through a few minutes of my waffling.



For once the meeting is finished in time for me to enjoy a quick post-meeting drink with the ever delightful Jude before heading off to catch a tube to Euston and the train home.

Unfortunately, I reach the Northern line platform at Bank just in time to catch the announcement that the north bound Northern line has just ceased moving due to some technical problem or other. Thankful that my cautious soul hadn’t left it to the very last moment to leave the pub, I just have time to travel further west on the Central line and then pick up the Victoria line and arrive at Euston just in time to catch my train (that’ll be the ‘last’ train) back to Manchester.

All is going well (usual very friendly, helpful staff, who I’ve got to know quite well on these late night journeys), until we get to Wilmslow. The interior lights go off and the train stalls.

Apparently, Network Rail have turned the overhead lines off. I mean I’m all for the energy conservation concept of turning things off overnight, but possibly best waiting until the lat train has passed through, no?

Twenty minutes later, power is restored thankfully and we potter on to Manchester.

* a squidge is the technical term for the distance that lies between “a tiny tad” and “half a gnat’s nadger”.

Epiphany

P&S are up in Manchester this afternoon and evening and appropriately enough for Epiphany, we visit M&G and new baby C.

Then P pops off to do a favour for a friend and S and I settle down to watch This Life +10. Disastrously the recording seems to be slightly corrupted and by the time P returns with food we give up and switch to the Christmas edition of Doctor Who instead.

P has filled the role of hunter gatherer wonderfully and courtesy of Jaffa in Rusholme we have a feast of fresh pitta, baba ghanoush, hummus and more. Followed by some fabulous baclava. The boy done good.

Red

After a visit to my hairdressers, buoyed up by yesterday's successes, I hit the city centre shops for more sales shopping.

Yet more success, some tops and a pair of scarlet pumps. I wanted something like this to go with a particular outfit, but was loath to spend much on a pair of shoes with a single purpose. Ten quid though - can't be bad (after my colourist's sublime work this morning, they even match my hair.

Unfortunately, in between trying them on in Faith and getting home, they seem to have shrunk. Resultantly, I'll be spending my evenings pottering around my house breaking them in. In true Dorothy style I shall occasionally click my heels together and utter those immortal words "there's no place like home, there's no place like home".

Sales and Soirees

There is an upside to a meeting at one of Europe's largest s3wage plants, in that it's just round the corner from a similarly proportioned shopping centre. So when the meeting finishes at lunch time, well it's like a sign telling me it's time to nip there for my lunch break and quickly hit the sales before heading back to the office.

Not that I'm a great sales' shopper normally, but today I seem to strike it lucky.

A couple of tops half price and a jacket that was originally £99 marked down to £31. Bargain.



After an afternoon back in the office, I've just time to head home and change before heading around to the Dog Collars and Rabbit Corpses household for yet another party. This time it's the "we've got too much stuff left from the previous parties and we need you all to eat it up" party.

After a welcome from Millie the 'hound from the pound' that nearly knocks me off my feet, it's another lovely evening. Food, drink, good company and silly quiz games on the PS2 - what more could one wish for?

Back to Work

Well it was a lovely break, but it's back to reality today. Well almost the office is pretty quiet with a lot of people still off.

Back to the gym's swimming pool as well and man are my joints stiff. It takes sheer will power to keep going (especially as the post-Christmas period brings the predictable crowds that get in the way of us regulars).

Ah the etiquette issues of the narrow, busy swimming pool - now that could be a blog in itself.

My Space

I’m generally a social sort, but after all the to-ing and fro-ing of the past few weeks, I decide to take a couple of days to just indulge in blissful solitude before returning to work.

I love you all, but right now all I want is to curl up in front of a warm fire, with a good book.

New Year's Day

By the time I got home last night, around 4am, I was starting with a headache and it’s not gone when I awake this morning. How’s that for irony eh? You spend New Year’s Eve stone cold sober and yet still manage both a headache and to fall on your arse.

The nagging head refuses to lift and so I cancel on my plans to join the non-football going element of the Rabbit Corpses and Dog Collars household for an afternoon walk and only just recover sufficiently in time to decide for the evening curry for 16 at Fusion in Chorlton.

The food varies from the absolutely excellent to the rather disappointing, but with time we reckon you’d learn which dishes to avoid and I suspect this won’t be our last visit. Stuart’s fish starter is particularly wonderful, not to mention large enough for a main.

There’s also nothing like the behaviour of other families’ children and lack of intervention from the respective parents within your party to both cause you intense embarrassment as the waiting staff struggle not to drop sizzling hot plates on their marauding heads and realise how well behaved your adopted nieces are.

Such thoughts continue as we head back to the Rabbit Corpses and Dog Collars household and Singstar is put onto the Playstation. Some kids play nicely with each other and some sulk and refuse to participate when they don’t do well – I guess it was ever thus and it’s easy to stand on the outside and observe which appear to be happiest as a result.

Next it’s Buzz, where a new general knowledge version replaces the music quiz of the past and general frivolity ensues (I may yet forgive K for the ruthless stealing of R and I’s points in the round designed to create maximum rivalry and threats of revenge).

A top night and in the stakes for best hospitality of 2007, Stuart and Karen have entered a strong early bid.