Car pound?

Another day, another stolen car dumped on my property...

This time however, the car is pretty much in one piece, has all it’s wheels intact and if it weren’t for the evidence of hot-wiring, the missing tax disc and the fact that it’s dumped on the parking space next to my garage one might never guess.

Within an hour of two of ringing the police, it disappears. Hopefully its owners reclaimed it and were pleased to have it back. So all ends well. Especially as this time there doesn’t appear to have been any damage to my fence or garage.

Real Music?

News from Stuart today, that he has a new mobile phone (Sony K700 - same as mine) and he has his main ringtone as the Crazy Frog.

I don’t get this fashion for ringtone gimmicks at all. Though clearly the companies selling Crazy Frog, Dancing Hippo, Sweety Chick or whatever is the fashion this week are making an absolute mint (I fear at the expense of those who are unaware quite what a simply text is signing them up for).

Surely with the more and more phones (including the K700) including MP3 players and hence allowing the users to add their own real music clips, the days of such services are numbered?

I raise this query with Stuart:

L: “But you can have real music as your ringtone”
S: “I know, my other ringtone is Natasha Beddingfield.”
L: “But you can have real music as your ringtone”

I suppose Sally would have Will Young…

24

I've never been greatly tempted to pay out for satelite telly (it's painfully obvious I can watch quite enough crap without that helping hand!), but the one thing that could get me to reconsider would be 24.

I treated myself recently to the box-set of the first three series and having been sort of housebound of late I finally managed to watch series three, which never made it to terrestrial telly. A total return to form in my opinion.

However, no sooner am I basking in the pleasure of having caught up, then adverts for series 4 on Sky One start appearing everywhere. Also not helping on the covetting front is a work colleague who has downloaded episodes as they come out in the US (he's up to episode 7 now I think - bastard!).

And tonight, presumably in an attempt to hook in new customers, Sky are showing the opening episodes on a Freeview channel as well as Sky One.

Oh the dilemma. Do I watch and then suffer the pain of waiting months for the DVD to come out, or do I refuse to let myself get sucked in by this marketing ploy in any way, shape or form (and I'm adamantly not about to sign up for Sky)?

Ali rings at just the right moment; I set the VCR to record; I'll decide another day.

I Predict a Riot

Well today’s blog entry should have been a glowing review of the NME Tour gig featuring the absolutely stunning line-up of Kaiser Chiefs, Bloc Party, Futureheads and The Killers.

It’s hard to imagine a line-up I would be more looking forward to seeing and reviews from the early dates of the tour suggest it will be an absolute riot of a night.

There’s one very large fly in the ointment though – I’m supposed to be going with Stewart.

After stressing all day and some very sage advice from Ali, I ring him to say I don’t think I can do this ‘friends’ thing. I’m too angry with him for what he’s done and every text, email or phone call just winds me up and gets me upset again.

Maybe I should be a better person and be able to make this easy for him, but I just can’t. Maybe if I was feeling physically well, I’d have more strength to deal with it all, but right now I can’t stand the thought of being in the same space as him. I can’t manage the fake smile and small talk that will be needed to get through the night.

The last thing I want is to ruin the night for him by getting upset at him and right now I can’t see a way that that is not going to happen.

He offers to not go, so that I can, but however much I want to go to the gig, I know Stewart wants to go as much if not more. I need to think about what I need, but I don’t want to be a complete cow in the process.

After talking it over with Phil, I come to a decision. I can’t do this ‘friends’ thing. Not yet at least.

I text Stewart to ask him to sell my ticket (shouldn’t be a problem they were apparently changing hands for £200 in Newcastle the other night!) and to stop contacting me in any way.

1 hour later he replies trying to persuade me into a different course of action. Part of me wants to scream “what bit of don’t text me ever again, was so hard to understand” and part of me knows he’s feeling guilty and trying to be ‘nice’. But enough. This ends now. It has to.

Back to work

Back in work today, but between the hacking cough and still feeling decidedly unwell, I’m not sure it's entirely a good idea.

Ah well at the very least I manage to do a first trawl through the 170+ emails that have accumulated in my few day’s absence, which will be one less thing to face on Monday.

Going Stir Crazy

Thankfully I'm starting to feel better at last. I’m at least managing to read and do some emails. I hate being ill so much, it’s good to be feeling on the mend.

Back to work tomorrow hopefully.

Paul’s so right about your world contracting when you’re unwell.

Beaten by the cap

There are days when the thin illusion of being an independent, functioning, human being gets shattered by the smallest of things.

Today I’m brought to my knees by the child-proof cap on my cough syrup.

Look I’m ill, I’m weak from hacking my lungs up…normally I have no problems with these things…but…this one…this sodding cap…it’s not like the usual ones…it mocks me.

I am not defeated however. I do eventually triumph. I just maybe cry a little in the process.

About a cough

Sadly after feeling better on Saturday, I seemed to relapse on Sunday and the hacking cough prevents any meaningful sleep.

Accordingly and very frustratingly I’m off work (I so don’t need this right now).

Tired. Aching. Miserable.

No Book Group for me tonight therefore. Up for discussion was Nick Hornby’s About a Boy, which I read again to refresh my memory. It might not be the greastest novel ever written, but it’s a very enjoyable read and will I’m sure have stimulated a good discussion.

It was supposed to be so simple

I made it through the week (just), but whereas the cough and temperature are demanding a weekend in bed, first I must get the car through the MOT.

Fortunately I wake feeling considerably better and set off for the garage at 8am. The MOT and service shouldn’t have been much of an issue, but 5hrs and £450 later…

It seemed if anything could go wrong it did. I even got home to realise that the box containing my locking wheel nut key and spares had not been returned to the car; cue yet another trip to the other side of Stockport...

Worse still although the precious MOT certificate has been issued (albeit with the ‘wrong' date on – don’t ask) there are still things to be sorted and service items carried over to next time due to time constraints. Not what I needed.

After an afternoon recovering I made it out for a quick, early curry with Phil and Sarah who I haven’t seen so much of recently and then home to bed.

New Bloggers

Over the last few weeks I’ve added/updated links (see right) to a handful more Blogs that I check regularly.

These include some notable new additions to the growing family of Greenbelt bloggers. I’m particularly looking forward to following Chronicles Volume 2 (aka Oliver’s Travels).

The Aviator

Based on the fascinating life of Howard Hughes, The Aviator is more captivating than your average biopic.

It's also a pretty long film, but there were only a couple of parts that felt like they needed a bit of tighter editing.

Most of the performances are noteworthy (with the odd exception) and although this is a fairly biased account of his life it does spotlight Hughes' genius as well as his now more legendary eccentricities.

On the subject of the latter though, I'm not sure the 'it's all his mother's fault' isn't just a little bit lazy.

Phil, Sarah and myself all agreed that the film is far better than the trailers suggested.

Whereas watching the trailer for Star Wars III - Return of the Sith, I can't help but feel that in this case the final product will no doubt fail to live up to the promise of the preview.

Shall we?

Well it seems like some festivals do ask the question!

Girlie-Night-In.com

I take M's advice and make a phone call first thing this morning. I'm dreading it, but it goes fantastically well. I get the result I need right now. Right now I can't deal with anything more and now I don't have to, it can wait until I'm ready.

I'm so relieved and can now put it out of my mind and try and start to sort out the huge pile of drawings that seem to have been reproducing on my desk since I was last in the office.

After a busy day at work I decide I’m too tired to cope with the supermarket, so I head home to an empty fridge with thoughts of getting some Chinese food delivered.

Before I can make the phone call, there is a ring at the doorbell and I find Sainsbury’s To You on my doorstep with a pile of bags for me that have been ordered by my dear and lovely old friend Ali.

As I unpack the various bags I discover bottles of wine, some Caffeine Free Diet Coke (she knows me so well) a Chinese Meal (incl Crispy Duck yum!), a Viennetta (in-joke…), a DVD, a face pack, some bubble bath and a bouquet of flowers.

All the ingredients for a girlie night in!

I’m straight on the phone to her, hardly able to talk for laughing and smiling. Ali has ME and lives in Hampshire with her Mum at the moment. She tells me she was frustrated she couldn’t be in Manchester to cheer me up and was thinking what she would have done if we were still living in the same city – if she can’t turn up on my doorstep, then internet ordering is the next best thing.

Of course one vital ingredient is missing, but apparently even Sainsbury’s can’t arrange for her to be delivered in a bag alongside everything else.

Back to Reality

The weekend seems to have flown past, but it was good being able to spend time with the folks and give Dad a bit of a hand looking after Mum.

Much as I adore Manchester, sometimes I wish I lived closer to London (the feeling usually passes after a few days there though!).

At Manchester Piccadilly I bump into an old acquaintance who I’ve lost touch with. It’s strained and awkward and I make my excuses and head for the taxi rank.

I get home to find a letter I’ve been dreading. It's more than I can deal with on top of everything else at the moment. A series of phone calls help me out - first the wonderful Caroline calms me down and cheers me up, then my Mum rings and adds further sympathetic, supportive stuff and then M rings with her typical no-nonsense 'this is how you deal with it' advice.

The result I go to bed completely calm and fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

Birthday Meal

It’s Dad’s birthday this week, so we go out for lunch at the Rubbing House overlooking Epsom racecourse to toast his health.

Outside of trips to the medical centre, it’s the first time Mum has been out of the house since her fall the other week (her leg is the most amazing range of colours from bright red to purple and black). Getting her in and out the car and house is a struggle (more so than usual, which is saying something), but she’s determined to make it and she does.

As we eat looking out over rolling downs bathed in beautiful sunshine, thoughts of "that hollow would make a good amphitheatre style stage", "I wonder how close the nearest houses are" and "nightmare perimeter to secure mind" run through my head. Most people think of horses when they look at a racecourse, these days I think of festivals.

But we all see the world in our own way anyway as is very obvious when my father holds forth on what the latest fashions in female hairstyles is. When queried as to the source of this 'what’s hot, what’s not' knowledge, it becomes apparent that my father’s barometer for contemporary fashion trends is the various female news readers he sees on TV.

Some read Vogue, others consult iD magazine...my Dad checks out the News at Ten