My body comes gradually to its senses. It lies there for a while before realising it has changed state. An arm reaches out and brings life to the radio.
There is something all powerful about bringing life to a radio
Some time later the radio drives me out of bed. Dressing gowned stumble downstairs and stick the coffee.
I wander into the music room
Sitting at the piano my hands rest on the keys. A moment of inspiration awaits. Gradually notes appear and the piano picks the music.
Time dances
The day fades into reverie. Coffee miraculously changes to wine and into brandy. An empty plate lies on top of the piano, evidence of the day.
Bit of a result. Was in Public House 12 over the road from the Brussels office and got chatting to the landlord. About 3 years ago I was in there with Wayne one afternoon for a couple before heading to the Eurostar. When it came to paying the guy (name of Shen) said the credit card system was down across Brussels and it was cash only. I didn’t have any cash so he let me have the beers for nothing.
6 months later I was back and reminded him that I owed him for the beers. He remembered exactly what we had and where we were sitting. I settled my debt. So chatting with him today I recalled the occasion and he said he periodically told that story to customers.
Winding the clock on a minute or two I asked him where I could buy a branded bar sign for the shed. He said you couldn’t buy them but he had a stock of them in his cellar at home and I could have one of them. Wow. Not wow, fantastic. He is going to choose one for me. I just need to figure out how we get it home.
Public House 12 is my fave pub in Brussels. Not because of what I’ve just written. Just because it is a great pub, which is why we go there.
Bloke in the LNER lounge wearing shorts fair play. He is on the phone. ‘Got here at seven thirty but the effin lounge was shut. had to find a coffee shop. it was effin freezing’
he is off up north to his mam’s
train delayed!
Somewhat chaotic boarding. A couple of kids sat at my table in coach L when I arrived. Saving the table for their mum and dad who were putting the cases away (and blocking the doorway for ages whilst they did so). Turns out they were meant to be in coach J not coach L. Stressed parents”will sort cases out later”.
…
A recovery day in prospect having been on the move for the best part of the last week. Woke at 7am and went down to make the tea. A simple breakfast of two slices of buttered sourdough toast with Denise’s homemade orange and lemon marmalade. Yum.
It is minus two outside, an appropriate temperature for the season. The shed however is a toasty (geddit) twenty one degrees and a good place to be on such a morning. The view outside is a crispy white mingled with browns and greens.
Having been busy for the last week or more there is much to do in the house. Pete the decorator has been in and mirrors need replacing on walls, lampshades put back and so on. I also need to get the Christmas tree lights up. Twill be done. On earth. The output from Pete’s labours has of course been good despite my questioning the choice of battleship grey elephant’s breath as the colour.
We are less than a week away from the winter solstice. That feels good. We will no doubt be slaying a wild boar and roasting it on the campfire whilst we all huddle round to stay warm. The solstice also this year coincides with the annual carol singing sesh at the Morning Star. What’s not to like? 🙂
…
Been a busy day and productive. Now it is dark and the mood lighting is on in the shed. Slipping into the evening…
…
The choir of King’s College Cambridge entertains in the kitchen. Feels right. The singing has the correct balance of expression unlike some cardboard renditions that were featured in a Sunday news item earlier.
Onions are being chopped. Tea is brewing. Breakfast options decisions delayed. All is well. Our kitchen is the biggest room in the house which is as it should be. The shed has similar dimensions but that is not in the house and is different.
Going to do a booze run this morning. I ordered the Pol Roger from Majestic Wine Warehouse yesterday. Was quite a bit cheaper than in Waitrose. They were out of stock in Lincoln but had 96 bottles available in Grantham. Wossgoinon Grantham?
I say “booze” run but I have two items on my shopping list: vegetable oil and booze. The former is needed to fry the chips for tomorrow night’s meal. The latter covers a multitude of options. With seven adults in the house for the holidays we will get through significant quantities of sauvignon blanc, shandy, and sherry. Or similar.
On this occasion I am going to take the haute cuisine approach to chips as espoused by highly regarded chefs. This will involve parboiling the chipped potatoes and keeping them overnight in the refrigerator. Tomorrow morning they will receive their first fry and then finished off in the evening shortly prior to serving.
There have been occasions in the past where we’ve had to hang around waiting for the chips to cook. Not this time Raymond. The cognoscenti list beef dripping as the appropriate fat for cooking but that not only isn’t practical but probs quite expensive. You can buy it in small pots in Fosters. I’ll think about it. Trouble is we don’t have chips that often so it wouldn’t really get used after tomorrow. We do have some in for the roasties on Christmas day.
You are in theory supposed to cook the chips at two different temperatures. This feels like a bit of a faff but I have just ordered a cooking thermometer with next day delivery. See how it goes. Wasn’t expensive and it will come in handy for the bbq and to check the beef on Christmas Day.
The choir has moved on to “Joseph Was an Old Man” by Sir David Wilcox. Not heard it before nor of Sir Dave. Heard of Joseph obvs. Can’t say it has stuck in my mind. If I heard it again I probably wouldn’t recognise it. I assume his mates used to call him Dave. I certainly will henceforth. Already have.
Outside, the stark beauty of the frozen back garden has been replaced by the dull soggy brown that is more prevalent at this time of year. It is why people head for a bit of winter sun after Christmas. The UK is usually more miserable than not in the first three months of the year.
Anyway I trust your days will be merry and bright. Not so sure about the White Christmas.
Ma belly is full and I am warm. I feel a cup of tea would go down well. I have started a new book which I am optimistic will be an enjoyable read. We won the cricket in Pakistan with minutes to spare. Test cricket at its best. This morning we had a delivery of logs.
Two days at home this week before heading to London and party time.
…
Through the infinity of night my mind hops from ice cream and espresso martinis in Soho to scuba diving amongst the coral reefs of the Bay of Pigs. Multitude destinations where the edge of the imagination meets reality. There is no boundary. I reach out and touch and reality disappears back into my dreams.
How can you see through the darkness? You know it is there.
…
This morning’s frost and the change to colder weather has given me somewhat of a dilemma. Will be spending much of today in a pub and whilst the dress code is Christmas jumper I have packed a Christmassy Hawaiian shirt. I don’t possess a Christmas jumper because I haven’t come across one that I like. The freezing weather is going to make the Hawaiian shirt a difficult option. I’ll work it out.
Otherwise I’m all packed and ready to go.
It’s a strange feeling having trefbash come around again. This one is trefbash 13. Trefbash 11 was cancelled due to covid but since trefbash 3 it has been held at The Phoenix Arts Club. A fantastic venue. I don’t remember when I started numbering them. Maybe as early as trefbash 2. I don’t have any photos from that bash either. Someone will have some somewhere.
For the last few bashes we have used a professional photographer. It’s the only way I can remember who came. Also a great resource for sharing. Most people like to see photos of themselves. I do anyway. 🙂
I still have some work to do before the bash. Budgeting stuff for next year. I don’t know how I managed to get into this sitch as trefbash normally represents the end of work for the year after which I down tools. I’m off to Brussels next week!!! A one day meeting stretched into three thanks to rail strikes. My body says no thanks. I’ll have to push through the pain barrier 🙂
Today’s cold weather is very reminiscent of this time last year. London was not particularly pleasant to walk around, even with the right gear on. The cold weather also makes finding a late night taxi nigh on impossible.
I recall the night before the first trefbash, Ajax and I were staying in Waterloo and we rolled out of Ronnie Scotts at closing time. It was around minus six. I was wearing an insulated suede jacket and himalayan woolly hat but Ajax was out in party gear – posh shirt and thin jacket. Took us an hour to walk to Waterloo as we had to stop at MacDonalds for a coffee for him to warm up. He nearly died of hypothermia. Bless…Memories… 😀
The snow hit London the next day cancelling lots of trains. In consequence quite a number of attendees failed to make it. In order to get through the kitty we had to drink the place dry of Pol Roger champagne which happened to be the most expensive on the menu and which is now the standard offering at trefbash 🙂
…
The dust has settled on another successful trefbash. We polished off the last of the Pol Roger at around 01.30am seeing as by then it was my birthday. Nat Morris hit the floor for one last solitary dance whilst Will, Stefan and I chewed the cud with Nat’s old school chum talking about something very memorable that I totes can’t remember anything about. Snormal.
This morning son Tom joined us for a birthday breakfast. He has taken the day off. V sensible. I like to think that trefbash is the point after which I down tools for Christmas but on this occasion I had the temerity to accept a conference call invite for 10am. On my birthday!! I made it a short call.
It gets worse. I am in Brussels for meetings Tuesday afternoon and all day Wednesday. Because there is a train strike on Tuesday I have to go to London on Monday and stay in a hotel. The Eurostar back on the Wednesday has been rescheduled to an hour earlier because of the train strike which is a bit of a nuisance.
When I get to London I’m having to stay another night because of the bloomin train strike. Ok it works wonders for my Hilton Honors points and with rollover nights means I’ll already be well on the way to qualifying for Diamond for 2024. I already have 24 rollover nights in the bank for next year before the trefbash stay and next week in London and Brussels.
One of the things I like about trefbash is getting together with like minded folks from the internet industry where you can rely on there being a conversation about BA Tier Point runs and double Hilton points offers 🙂It was really great to see everyone.
On the way back to the hotel one thing stuck in my mind. At 2am after a night on the pop what you really want is a kebab or a burger or simlar. Will and the boys have a place en route to their hotel that sells fried chichen. The only place in and around Trafalgar Square open at that time of night is the McDonalds on the Strand. There was a big very slow moving queue outside that I joined briefly and then gave up because it didn’t look to me as if anyone was coming out having successfully purchased some food. What the place needs is a couple of burger vans.
In other news I note that there are 9,979 unread emails in my trefor.net inbox. None of them is from you obvs.
There are always some statistics that come out of a trefbash that I quite like. The 50 bottles of Pol Roger consumed is one but the 127 espresso martinis that far outsold last year’s performance whereas the 103 pornstar martinis fell short are others. Must have been a slightly different mix of attendees. Also the espresso martinis were being delivered on trays with the ice creams which might have accounted for the trend.
As usual a massive thanks goes to the sponsors without which trefbash could not be the bash that it is. These are Lonap, Fuse2, Magrathea, Fractional Teams, Gamma and Netaxis. It was very pleasing to hear the loud cheering that accompanied each sponsor’s name when I read them out on the night.
Jeff Brown’s band was as usual fantastic. Top professionals, they get everybody dancing. Dancing is an essential part of the mix for a good party. I’m a proud parent on these occasions when one or two offspring get up on stage and join in @John Davies. The food this year was curry. The fact that many people went back for seconds tells it all.
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Awake to a wonderful deep frost blanketing the estate of Davies. Real winter has arrived. Two rings have been fired up on the stovetop to accelerate the kitchen warming. I feel in no rush to prepare breakfast. It is the sabbath after all, somewhere in the world. Cup of tea. A low sun climbs slowly over the allotment fence. My thick woollen hat and scarf adorn the pine table.
The monotone wireless drones bad news. I switch to the cricket in Pakistan, a more acceptable audio backdrop. Parmesan parsnips are prepared for the freezer in advance of an upcoming feast. A jar of spiced pickled shallots stands on the butcher’s bench ready for packaging as a birthday gift.
The sun has set on another successful Christmas Market party. The first batch of weekend visitors dispatched to the train station. Sue has set off for home in her car. The last four have gone for a stroll into town before heading back to London themselves.
The tidying up has largely been done although I still have to put the glasses away and sort out the remaining booze. A cup of tea has appeared.
A steady stream, nay flood, of people moves surely uphill from the town centre. One way traffic until later in the day at which time a switch will be flicked reversing the direction. Still plenty of time to bag that present for auntie Flo.
Does anyone have an auntie Flo? Let me know. Go with the Flo.
…
Four graduates, one mortarboardless, smile down at their proud parents. Good word mortarboardless. Google offered to add it to the dictionary but I declined. If anyone is going to be adding it to a dictionary it needs to be the person at the OED responsible for such acts. Needs that level of credibility.
I shall grow not old as those that frequent the Waitrose caff are old.
Did a bit of a food run this morning. Just some breakfast essentials from Fosters butcher in advance of a busy weekend plus three Portabella mushrooms and one tin of peeled Puglian plum tomatoes from Waitrose. Very specific I know.
I arrived at the Waitrose car park in good spirits and glad to be alive. I must have been smiling because a woman, unknown, going in the opposite direction bid me good morning and suggested that having a nice day would be appropriate. My smile broadened.
My shopping list was short and unusually I stuck to it. Repairing to the cafe and looking around made me realise that this is where people go when they are waiting to die. I didn’t sit there long. Finished my drink and am now home.
I am constantly amazed by life. Everything about it. It isn’t all good but it is all amazing. We are all works of art. The confluence of science and art.
It is my custom and practice to spend train journeys putting words to a page. Today I have alternatives should my creative muse run dry or the lead in my pencil wear out. Before leaving the house I downloaded the first series of the Young Ones on BBC iPlayer. Not watched it since I was of that age, forty years ago, but I remember it as a classic comedy. Let’s hope that it is a timeless classic. I want the memory to remain fond.
This morning as we leave Lincoln there is a pale red glow in the sky and frost on the fields. The first of the season.
It being early I am hungry, a state exacerbated by the smell of bacon wafting from the train galley. Tis only a matter of time.
There are three of us in the carriage. Two bacon rolls and a porridge. Later, the porridge has still not arrived despite the fact that the bacon rolls have already been devoured. Right decision.
Not much moves in the fields around Newark. One solitary blackbird. The train slows as it approaches Northgate station, waiting for a favourable signal.
‘Welcome aboard this LNER Azuma bound for London Kings Cross.’ Two chatty people get on, disturbing the peace. I exhibited an early morning induced mental dullness when leaving Lincoln. A trance like state I was happy to embrace but which has now disappeared. Fortunately having settled into their seats, one behind the other, the noise has abated and they are now buried in their own distractions.
We leave Newark sliding behind, an almost empty station car park fading to the rear of the train. Large pale green fields are surrounded by water filled drainage ditches. Agricultural machinery stands. Pylons tower. Bungalows squat.
There is beauty in nature irrespective of season. In some respects there is more colour in autumn and winter than in spring and summer. Different hues. It is true that spring is more uplifting. A natural requirement of the body after winterlight.
…
Just made the Eurostar and now in France. Accepted a glass of white wine with lunch at 10.45 natch. Will probs regret it. Nivver mind. Life is short. Drink wine at 10.45am. Was 11.45 really. Just depends on your zonal perspective.
The temps est miserable. I’m glad I stuck a fleece on as a last minute thought before leaving maison Davies.
Mentally sluggish again after that glass of wine. I knew it would happen innit 🙂 It’s all about attitude.
Bloke sat in front of me is a musician. There seems to be a band all on the train but mostly sitting separately. Two of them were in our seats when we got on the train and had to move. Our guy has a Pret a Manger bag containing some sort of cream cheese sandwich and something else i can’t quite see. Maybe he doesn’t like French food. Snails and frogs legs in garlic and all that sort of foreign muck. Probs doesn’t want to go down with the Delhi belly before the gig ce soir. Makes a lorra sense to me although we are not in India.
Meanhwile the train races past cars on the adjacent road kicking sand up into their windscreens as we go by.
England about to start playing football and Anne has complained that her connection to the internet has vanished. I said she should have downloaded the game onto her phone before we set off :)) Not interested myself. Rewind got time zone wrong.
The pylons are different in France. As is the electricite. It is unlikely that the difference in electricite has influenced the design of the pylons, n’est pas? What would Volt aire have said. Geddit?
Our restaurant tonight, Procope, is where Voltaire used to hang out, apaz. Published his pamphlets on the top floor. As good a place as any je guess. I have pre-ordered smoked Scottish saumon, fillet of boeuf and profiteroles. Makes a lorrasense to me. Nice drop of wine to go with it. Presumably the boef is French. Somewhere like Limoges or simlar. Hopefully they won’t overcook the boef thinking that because I live in England I don’t like it rare! Huh (contemptuous shrug and nostril twitch).
25 mins to our destination. I half caught an announcement but I happen to have Edith Piaf crooning in my phones at the same time so didn’t really listen or hear properly. Hopefully there will be a fast track for EU passport holders 🙂 Doubt it.
…
Blurry start to the day after yesterday’s long lunch that lasted until 10pm. Slow boat to Lincoln leaves Gare Du Nord at 10.13am. Makes no Seines that sentence. It is all a state of mind. Reality is racing.
There’s an Irish bar next to the Moulin Rouge. O’Sullivans by the Mill. They will be open now. Last night a quickly faded memory.
The food at Au Boin Coin was a lukewarm disappointment. The wine was fine. All things come to pass. We move on. I’m glad I have memories of good times there.
We ended up at a local bar near the hotel. The French were playing the Aussies at Association Football. The home supporters were very animated. Emotional you know, the French.
It is Thanksgiving in the USA tomorrow. I feel as if I can identify with this having recently stayed opposite the beach in Cape Cod where the Mayflower pilgrims first landed and then subsequently visiting Plymouth across the water.
The age of Steven has been left inconspicuously behind us. The borough of Pete lies ahead.
Down the tracks. Wrong side of the tracks. Track twenty nine.
Your left hand doesn’t look right.
Take it easy. Easy on Wednesday afternoon. As the song goes.
Running 15 minutes late into Nuarque due to a near miss at Biggleswade level crossing. The wade of Biggles. Big Les.
Trefbash is two weeks tomorrow. Make sure you bring your dancing shoes.
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Enjoyed hiding under the cosiness of the duvet this morning. Made me think of others less fortunate.
Just two weeks to go until trefbash and registrations have been flooding in. If you plan to come and haven’t yet signed up I wouldn’t leave it too late if I were you.
Orf to the smoke again this afternoon. One of the kids is having a party tomorrow night but of course there is a train strike so we are going down today. Not back until Monday as the trains are pretty non existent at the best of times at weekends at this time of year due to engineering works. At this rate we would be better off buying a flat in London.
I do like little trips to London. The plan this weekend is to use my new Tate membership to visit Tate Britain on Saturday and Tate Modern on Sunday. If anyone wants to tag along I can take guests. Maybs a spot of luncheon. Lemme know.
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Not sure whether any of you knew this but in Middlesborough there is a proud supplier of tuna subs to the London and North Eastern Railway company.
I think everyone should consider only watching weather on the TV. Ok it isn’t always good news but it’s quite pleasant compared with a lot of the crap that gets shoved our way. A bit of rain here and there. Wind etc. It is just as likely to tell you that it will be a nice sunny day, perfect for taking the dog for a walk. Or strolling to the shops.
Mind you shopping doesn’t really do it for me. At least not down yer average chain dominated high street.
The train attendant/food and drink dispensing person didn’t get her stuff together and missed getting off at Grantham. Dashed back as she forgot her bag and the train doors closed and we moved out of the station. Oops. Felt a bit sorry for her tbh.
…
Sunday was a typically wet and miserable late autumn day in London. John and I were walking between Borough Market and the Tate Modern when I saw a homeless person sitting on the floor with his hand out begging. A woman walked up to him and gave him a five pound note. As she walked away the homeless man put his head in his hands and sobbed. It was heart wrenching.
It is dark out. I like the dark early evenings yanow. Cosy. Roast chichen for dinner. Tasty.
The run up to Christmas is fast approaching. Not there yet but plans will have had to be made. Trefbash is planned a year ahead and there are some calendar items that are also regular dates in the diary. Our Christmas party is on the Saturday of the Lincoln Christmas Market. Every year for the last 30 odd years. The Morning Star carol session is on the Wednesday before Christmas. No idea when that started.
Kids travel plans are in place, mostly. Everyone still comes home. It will not always be thus but for the moment it is so. It is good.
When I were a lad it was always the Crosby Hotel on Christmas Eve with the Crosby Silver Band. Then we would head into Douglas to party. Christmas morning, pre kids, could be a bit of a blur. Kids stopped all that, especially when it became physically impossible to transport everyone to the Isle of Man and keep the presents hidden.
By the time Christmas Day arrives we are usually partied out. There is an element of survival involved in making it to New Year. The weather is usually rubbish and we scrabble around for something to keep ourselves occupied.
In recent years the Cooksons and Davieses take it in turns to visit each other for a couple of nights starting on Boxing Day. These are good get-togethers of the Davies clan. Gets expensive when you consider we need four hotel rooms. Who is counting 🙂
I’m not a big New Years Eve fan. I prefer to stay in with a steak and a very decent bottle of red. Don’t really get the Auld Lang Syne thing. A bit artificial in my mind.
I also like the self imposed austerity that January brings. Most of us look at it as an effort to shift the pounds put on during the hedonistic ten days of mid winter feasting, in practice nowadays the month or more of larging it up. Historically it is nothing to do with shifting the pounds. It was more likely due to the need to make sure supplies lasted until the next harvest. Not any more.
Blurry start to the day after yesterday’s long lunch that lasted until 10pm. Slow boat to Lincoln leaves Gare Du Nord at 10.13am. Makes no Seines that sentence. It is all a state of mind. Reality is racing.
There’s an Irish bar next to the Moulin Rouge. O’Sullivans by the Mill. They will be open now. Last night a quickly faded memory.
The food at Au Boin Coin was a lukewarm disappointment. The wine was fine. All things come to pass. We move on. I’m glad I have memories of good times there.
We ended up at a local bar near the hotel. The French were playing the Aussies at Association Football. The home supporters were very animated. Emotional you know, the French.
It is Thanksgiving in the USA tomorrow. I feel as if I can identify with this having recently stayed opposite the beach in Cape Cod where the Mayflower pilgrims first landed and then subsequently visiting Plymouth across the water.
The age of Steven has been left inconspicuously behind us. The borough of Pete lies ahead.
Down the tracks. Wrong side of the tracks. Track twenty nine.
Your left hand doesn’t look right.
Take it easy. Easy on Wednesday afternoon. As the song goes.
Running 15 minutes late into Nuarque due to a near miss at Biggleswade level crossing. The wade of Biggles. Big Les.
Trefbash is two weeks tomorrow. Make sure you bring your dancing shoes.
It is the sabbath. My attention will turn to all things spiritual. To facilitate this I will put on my best suit and not do anything that might be seen as enjoying myself. This afternoon I shall sit in our best room, reserved solely for the purpose and for the occasional receiving of visitors, and drum my fingers in a bored manner on a sideboard.
Dang it I’ve just realised I don’t have a suit. That royally buggers up the plan. Instead I’m now having the usual relaxed start to the day. Slept well, particularly assisted by a certain amount of beer consumed over the course of four games of rugby yesterday. A long day. I didn’t make it beyond the end of the first half of the Ireland game whereupon I withdrew to the TV room to watch the snooker with Anne.
I have breakfasted both well and trendily on crushed avocado on sourdough toast. Didn’t have any avocado left so this was replaced by bacon and mushrooms. I realise that this makes it a completely different dish but just thought I’d have a bit of a play there 🙂
Today I have a number of tasks in mind including the fitting of the new bike carrier to the car and chucking the box as it takes up a lot of room in the hall. Once I’ve done that I’ll need to find somewhere to store the bike rack. A place has been identified in the garage.
This place is currently taken up by a top box that has not been used for many years. In fact I doubt it was used much at all in its day. The top box therefore needs to be disposed of, on Facebook Marketplace along with a number of roof bars that fitted cars long since sold on and likely now recycled into spitfires or tanks or railings or whatever they do with old cars these days.
The useful life of the top box was short because we bought a trailer. The trailer served us well for perhaps ten years of camping and family holidays before being consigned to the corner of the front garden as a storage for old camping gear that would probably now better be consigned to the municipal recycling centre (ie council tip). A trip to the tip also features on the jobs list as we have a number of bits and bobs next to the bins that need taking down there.
I suspect the time is also nearly upon us where I need to flog the trailer. It has a lockable lid and still plenty of useful life in it. Someone will want it. We don’t need it as nowadays we have a large 4×4 that fits two of us and a load of luggage in extreme comfort and which can take an expedition roof rack with side ladder should I ever want the expansion space. I’ll probs buy the expedition roof rack with side ladder anyway as it looks v cool. Would be v good for our expedition to the South of France in September next year.
Anyone else planning a trip to France for the Rugby World Cup?
In the early morning darkness I sit. Nothing to be seen. It is absurd that I am awake. I am totally alone. To all intents and purposes stranded millions of light years from anyone with whom I might be able to communicate. Total isolation.
My laptop provides a surreal connection with the rest of ‘humanity’. Online activity is far away. Cricket in Australia. Doesn’t really matter whether it is a 14 hour flight or a million years at the speed of light. It is elsewhere. Outside the dark space of the room.
I sense that I can hear air molecules vibrating against my inner ear. No noise. No sound. I become very aware of my body. Almost imagine the blood being pumped around it. I feel lucky that my blood is contained within the appropriate arteries and veins. Would be bad news otherwise. The occasional wheeze from a nostril. My little toe. I never give my little toes a thought but I do now. Scratch nose.
Makes you realise that you are in a state of living. The alternative does not exist. There is no state of not being alive.It is fortunate that I am able to give this some thought. A descent into isolation driven despair has not yet started.
…
The day ahead has a sporting nature. Four rugby matches. This is challenging and requires much preparation. I never shave on the day of a game of rugby. Never have. Would always shave after the match. I did shave yesterday. fwiw.
Strange concept: the shave. Without it we would all be very hairy. The blokes anyway. What’s that all about? Why do men have hairy faces and women not? There will be a reason. I’m not so interested as to want to spend time finding out. I just ask the questions.
It is important to have a good breakfast the morning of a game of rugby. The nature of the breakfast will be different depending on whether you plan on running around the pitch for eighty minutes or consuming quantities of beer before settling down to watch the game. Amazes me that I used to run around a rugby pitch for that length of time. Goodness me.
Today’s breakfast will prepare me for the armchair. The full cooked job. May not have tomatoes in but the tomato can be sacrificed. The sacrificial tomato. A new concept. Unlikely that this exists in any other culture.
I sense that the cricket is not going as well as we might like but it is too early to tell. Game of two halves. The option of watching it in the shed is there but I am not confident that it will be a sufficiently rewarding experience to merit heading to the bottom of the garden. I’m settling for the occasional glance at the score.
There is no off season for sport anymore. As a consumer I am ok with this. Cricket season ends. They go on tour. I realise that this is largely motivated by money but I am ok with that. It justifies my subscription to the Sky Sports channel and allows me the luxury of telling myself that the picture is great and wasn’t it well worth spending the dosh 🙂
There is a fair in Hyde Park. It looks like a classic setup with roller coaster, big wheel and one of those tall towers that drop you from a great height. It looks surprisingly as if it belongs to the space, nestled as it is amongst the autumnal trees.
The park itself is an oasis totally surrounded by sprawling concrete. Red London double deckers move effortlessly and silently along Park Lane. There is little to be heard from the nineteenth floor.
Five union jacks briskly demonstrate on high.
I had planned to go for a walk in the park this morning but I am totally stuffed after a very full breakfast with John. My challenge now is to survive the upcoming lunch at the Punjab.
…
Silence of the lounge. Only resident to begin with until, believe it or not, Bill Thomas walked in. Small world. Sat now looking out on the traffic on Park Lane. London black cabs of all colours stream by. My bose phones shut out most of the background noise although I can half hear a conversation.
Hyde Park is a nice spot to stroll around after breakfast of a morning. Really the only reason to stay here other than the prestigious address. I wanted a hotel in Islington but they were playing hard to get.
The kitchen shows the remains of breakfast, as yet uncleared. On the butcher’s block the component ingredients are still in view. The wall has a proud display of four photos of grown up children. Cooker light is on. Clock ticks. Life still.
Off to the smoke for a gig. Pylons are playing the O2 Academy Islington. Staying at the Park Lane Hilton. Not by any means the nearest hotel but the two in Islington were sold out. I will need to change trains in Nuarque. The next direct train doesn’t get me there in time for a conference call.
The murmur of conversation floats over my shoulder. Occasional laughter. Those in front of me sit there quietly. Listening.
On the platform opposite a member of staff lets himself through a door marked “Private”. Goods train trundles through the station.
Easy day ahead. Decision of the day? Tube or cab.
We fly past the Students Union and on through the University of Lincoln, split in half as it is by the railway line. A tale of two campuses.
North Hykeham and Swinder by.
A still day on the Lincolnshire Nottinghamshire borders. Crops remain in some fields whilst others have been put to the plough. Endless countryman toil.
Colling ham and Nuarque.
A man buried in a book. History of Thieves by Ian Cobain. Nags with coats adopt various poses.
Farmer accompanied by two dogs poised with shotgun in middle of large grassy field. Nothing else in sight.
No ticket check on train but we did need to scan QR code at the barrier.
Dunno bout you but I’m sat here letting my breakfast go down before getting some jobs done and heading to Caadiff for the weekend. Paolo Nutini gig tomorrow night followed by Wales v All Blacks on Saturday. A let your hair down weekend in prospect methinks, if ya knowworramean.
Probs get my hair cut whilst I’m there which I realise is somewhat contradictory to the ‘let my hair down’ comment. Unless it means down on the floor. In snippets, so to speak. When I last had my hair cut in Cardiff it was at a Turkish barber around the corner from my sister Sue’s and I wasn’t particularly impressed with it so would need to find somewhere different.
There is a scenario whereby I leave it until London on the 8th December which is the date of the next trefbash. I had a brilliant cut and wet shave before last year’s trefbash60. Barber called Andrea, recommended by my cousin Ken who knows about these things.
Maybs that’s what I’ll do innit. In fact I’ve just checked and their website won’t let me book beyond 2nd December so will sort it out in a week or so.
I’m driving a different car to Caadiff. LandRover have lent me an Evoque as mine is in the garage getting fixed. Quite nippy fair play. I’ll need to be careful though having only yesterday received a speeding notice from the local Bill. First one in perhaps ten years. I try to be a good boy these days.
If you fancy a beer tonight I’ll be in the Crafty Devil at around 5pm and thence to the Corp before hitting a curry.
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Silence. Either I’m getting deaf or Cardiff is quiet at 9am on a Sunday morning. Everyone is at home getting ready to go to chapel. Probably a bit of both. Or recovering from the rugby day out yesterday.
Fairly easy morning in prospect. My only deadline is to pick Anne up at 16.35 from Newark Northgate. Might stroll out to get some more milk in for breakfast. Sue’s place is handy for the shops.
I feel a potato rosti coming along this morning. Why the devil not? Sbeenawhile. See what ingredients are in.
The tree outside the bedroom window is covered with red berries. Not too many leaves left. A mixture of yellow, green and russet. If I watch them long enough I daresay I will see a leaf fall.
I have been inspired to play Les Feuilles Mortes on Spotify. Yves Montand. Not Edith. It’s a great version. Just came across it. Will play both. We are off to Paris in a couple of weeks. Already getting into the mood.
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Later the living room is also silent but for the sound of two keyboards. Interesting to listen to the two different tapping techniques. There is poetry in it. That’s a new concept. The sound of the words being written and the actual poetry.
Outside it still rains. Not biblical. Merely relaxing. This is Wales. From where I am sat I have a picturesque view of the courtyard that is Sue’s garden. It is a good space.
There is an element of calm before the storm to the morning, the storm being my having to jump in the car for an extremely boring drive home. Motorway more or less all the way. Looking forward to seeing Anne 🙂
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The good space. Calming. Shoulderrelaxing. Feel the tensions draining away. That’s a good word, ‘shoulderrelax’. Unlikely to ever make the Oxford English Dictionary but that doesn’t take away the simple fact that it has merit. It is important to keep the double rr as is the true pronunciation which is effectively to speak the two words shoulder and relax in rapid succession. The speaker should not be tempted into saying shoul derrelax which means nothing. Nothing at all. Stupid.
Feels good to have invented a new word. All words vanish into the ether in time but this one should be savoured whilst it lasts. A quick and easy way to demolish a word would be to turn it into an anagram. An act of vandalism.
In one sense you could look at it as an example of creativity in the same sense as a beautiful pot being destroyed and all the pieces glued back together being seen as a work of art in its own right.
In the case of the word and the anagram the end result is unlikely to be appreciated in the same way as the pot. The anagram is unlikely to be able to show the same meaning as the original word. Maybe I’m wrong. No one cares really including me 🙂
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Storm a brewing. Only sensible place to be on a night like this is at home in front of the fire. Metaphorical fire in my case as I am sat in the shed where the heating is provided by the diffused background warmth of a panel heater.
The shed is brightly lit. It has not yet switched to the mood lighting normally prevalent when occupied during the hours of darkness. It is not dark outside although nearly so.
Listening to James Taylor. Feeling v mellow. The shed is a bit of a refuge from the building storm.