Trip

Look out, I’m back again. No longer got nuddin’. I think it’s safe to say that today I have summin’ at least. In a departure from the normal policy of just reading my old blog posts (admit it bloggers, you do it too), I am going to quite literally add to the number of words in the world.

It’s been a busy old time of late. Last weekend, I went to watch the Army V Navy rugby game at Twickenham with all my friends. That sentence hardly does it justice but I thought I’d get the meat out of the way first. The train tickets arrived in the post a few weeks ago with a mysterious set of instructions. On Friday 2nd May, I jumped on a train for the first time in years and headed for Reading. All I knew was that I would be meeting one of the conspirators and that it would definately not be Sean, as I had spoken to him on the phone earlier and he had been given a different set of instructions. I climbed out at Reading after a moment of blind panic concerning an automatically locking door and an almost 40 year old blogger, only to spot Bruce Whitton. Now several hundred of you will have no idea who that is. He is a big cheese in my school Old Boy network and I had not seen him in over a year. Unfortunately, I was only 99% sure it was him and in that terribly british manner, chose not to shout across the station. I now know it was indeed Bruce. Bugger.

Anyway, what to do with myself? Do I wait for the crowds to clear and let my contact find me or do I go hunting until someone recognises me? I tried the former to no avail and headed up the ramp for the exit. At the top of said ramp stood Sean. One of several moments of confusion and mild dishonesty that would greet me over the next few days.

We drove to what turned out to be Farnborough and the home of big and tall Stan. After some very nice (diabetic friendly) food it was off the the pub and a few hours of intense political debate with Mark, Stan’s brother. At about this point, the joy of not drinking was hammered home. Diet Coke sits on you alright until the 2 or 3 pint. After this, you enter a clarity of thought outside your normal frame of experience. Combine this with the lack of energy caused by low blood sugar and you find yourself very, very, very sober. I am beginning to get used to it but as your increasingly slurry, chums slowly slide under the table, its quite difficult (actually pointless) to explain things to them. Diet Coke no.4 is quite literally the last thing on earth you want. What I did want, and quite desperately it has to be said, was some cheese on toast and a cup of tea. Luckily, it was almost evening pill time and time to head back to Stan’s gaff.

You must realise at this point, I was none the wiser as to how the rest of the weekend would play out. I was going to bed without knowing one thing about Saturday.

Saturday came just a few long hours later and time for another wonderful Stan breakfast. Now at this point, I notice that both Sean and Stan are wearing DYRMS OBA rugby shirts.

Clue one.

Then to Farnborough railway station and a short hop (well, a train ride actually) to Clapham Junction. Here I was thrust head first into The Slug & Pellet, whereupon I met some more friends, old and new. Helen (Hx) & mummy Hx, Heidi (HHx) & Si and Amy. There was much taking of photos and hugging. Unfortunately, it was too soon after breakfast so they ate while I had a Diet Coke. Out came the Army V Navy tickets and the secret was out of the bag. I had never been to Twickenham before and it was a really kind idea of theirs to take me.

The game was no classic but once you are sat down listening to the crowd, it doesn’t matter. It was cool and now I have done it.

Thanks guys.

Gravelands

Whilst staying at Stan’s place. I heard this. Now I have a copy and it is the weirdest, strangest thing I have head in ages. It is also a work of genius. I have also ordered a copy of the previous album.

Lazily, I nicked the following review from Amazon…

“The King is James Brown, an Irish postman. He was discovered singing Elvis songs at a karaoke bar. A record producer had the idea to record the Nirvana song “Come As You Are” with an Elvis impersonator, and he was struck by how much Brown sounded like Elvis. Yes, he actually does sound a lot like Elvis. Anyway, after they recorded the Nirvana song, they decided to record a whole album of songs by dead rockers. Yes, it’s an album of songs by dead people sung by an Elvis impersonator. Somewhat surprisingly, the songs are played “straight”. The songs aren’t played for laughs at all. They are somewhat interesting for the most part, with “Come As You Are” being the best of the lot. If that sounds like something you would be interested in, here it is.”

PC

As of this precise moment. This PC is all mine. It’s taken 4 years but I now own it all. What surprises me the most is that it still flys along. Ok, I stuffed it full of memory, almost 2 terabytes of hard disk space and a 512mb Graphics card over the last few years but this morning I played Crysis with all the settings set to medium. The PC savvy amongst you will realise the impressiveness of this. Others can rot in luddite hell.

Hole

I was going to blog about this alone but having typed for an hour or so, my gloom has lifted. A weird, indefinable gloom. I hope it wasn’t too apparant over the weekend but I tend to swerve from happy to not happy quite distinctly lately. Yesterday I was a bit glum and today I am not. Who knows why?

Oh and its hot. I hate that.

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