The day dawns early, too early, though it's amazing how quickly we all become accustomed to the change of hour. Kids to school, home for some intertitillation, then out to get the car all sparkly for T's test, which is in Aylesbury.
New born lambs are in the field, the first I have seen of them this year. Their carefree gambolling reflects the mood of the weather, which has a touch of spring freshness to go with the sunshine.
He is in good form, confident and reasonably calm. He nearly writes the car off twice. Apart from that fine! I have confidence in him though.
3 other instructors in the little hut that passes for the Aylesbury TC. One is told that hs test is cancelled. What a pisser that must be for the pupil. The other two are very friendly and we walk up to the garage together where one of them, Paul, treats us to teas and coffees.
The time passes quickly and soon all three cars re back. T has done well, passing with just 5 minors. I am pleased for him, as I suspect his family are not in the best of financial circumstances and it has been costing him a fortune catching the train to Chalfont each day.
The election is over in Zimbabwe. Everyone agrees the tyrant king ha been walloped,but strangely the results are not announced. Heathrow's new terminal 5 continues to grind to a halt, having accumulated 28,000 misplaced bags, and almost as many cancelled flights in it's first 5 days of operation. A national triumph for sure. Oh and the ex chief exec of Northern Rock, cruelly sacked after he managed to turn a fucking bank into a basket case, is let go with a paltry £700 grand for his troubles.
Pick p J from her home. She is bright and cheerful as ever, and does well. On the way around I see H's car by the park. After the lesson I stop by and find H, Emsy & her friends K and O out walking K's rabbit. It's nice to walk on a spring evening, and again I wonder is this the last time Emsy & I will go to the park together. The light still good at 7:30.
Yeah it's Monday, so TV, Beer Curry Bed. Night night!
Monday, March 31, 2008
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Mar 30th (Sunday)
And closer comes the spring. Robbed of an hour's kip, 1 am became 2. I was up for the hand over and efficiently changed most of the clocks, at least those which still work ocassionally. What seemed like a good idea on Friday, the abandonment of J's lesson, didn't seem so bright today as I had to make good the hour lost, although today was a much more positive affair. Afterwards she sent a text intended for her mum to me, saying that the lesson had been fantastic. Cheering to hear. Picke up Dan from his late night. Turns out his diet of junk food (Popcorn, Doritos, Pizza, Kebab, more Pizza, Cookies) and caffeine laden fizzy drinks had prevented any sleep at all. God he's huge, but still a biy at heart, at least for a little while longer.
Elections in Zimbabwe. Could this be the end of Mugabe? If it is will the next oneup beany better? We won't get fooled again. Or will we?
I get the bunny cage completed,and get the bunny installed. Please God shit in every corner may be athing of the past. Interestingly the rodent has shown himself to hold a literary bent, as he has chewed his way through Steinbeck's "Grapes of Wrath"
Bemoaningthe state of the hovel reawkens a familiar argument. H says she'll be away soon (in another house with Emsy) and I don't hold back from letting her hear me mutter "Thank God"
Sophie leaps to her defence, Ems weighs up which side her bread is buttered before taking sides and the whole thing goes straight over Dan's head.
Happy families.
An exec jet crashes into house near Biggin Hill. Scary stuff, a house totally destroyed. Onlookers saw the terrified faces of the passengers as their doom approached. Nasty stuff.
Elections in Zimbabwe. Could this be the end of Mugabe? If it is will the next oneup beany better? We won't get fooled again. Or will we?
I get the bunny cage completed,and get the bunny installed. Please God shit in every corner may be athing of the past. Interestingly the rodent has shown himself to hold a literary bent, as he has chewed his way through Steinbeck's "Grapes of Wrath"
Bemoaningthe state of the hovel reawkens a familiar argument. H says she'll be away soon (in another house with Emsy) and I don't hold back from letting her hear me mutter "Thank God"
Sophie leaps to her defence, Ems weighs up which side her bread is buttered before taking sides and the whole thing goes straight over Dan's head.
Happy families.
An exec jet crashes into house near Biggin Hill. Scary stuff, a house totally destroyed. Onlookers saw the terrified faces of the passengers as their doom approached. Nasty stuff.
Mar 29th (Sat)
Awake very early and luxuriate in a lie in as A is not due till 10. At 9 I get a text from her. Very short and brusque. Ill can't make it. A bit pissed off. It's my money and an hour's notice is out of order. Suspect a heavy piss up the night before is the probable cause. Pick Emsy up from a netball tournament. She is black and blue with plasters on both knees. She seems so young, helpless and vulnerable. I go to B&Q and buy more timber to complete the rabbit run, and treat myself to quite a posh tool box. Hopefully can tidy up the garage.
Nothing happens during the afternoon, more weekend's wasting away. Dan drifts off to the flics with his mates, and is then going to a gig, which is good to see. Apparently he is staying the night at his mate Any Burnham's place. Sohpie is at work despite her woes. Another sign that spring is not far away. It's boat race day. Once upon a time this was a big Beeb production number. We spent the day befriending the crews and briefly learning strange boating jargon. ITV have to cram it into a shorter time frame, and without the intimate getting to know you proccess, it's revealed for what it is. Crap. There was some effort to convince us that one or both of the boats sinking was a possibility, but sadly all stayed afloat. Somewhere between Putney and Mortlake my minimal interest vanished altogether.
The rain beats down and Ems is restless, not even getting dressed till well gone six. She rings K and invites her round.
We go out for a drink. A pub, the Falcon (no, not that one) I spotted one day whilst delivering for DHL. It is parked right under a massive concrete flyover section of the M40. Were that not there, the spot would be idyllic, nestled by a babbling brook. Inside it is wonderful. Low ceilinged, log fires, snug nooks and not a fag or a rip off machine in sight.
We stay there an hour or so, struggling forsomething to say to each other. I flip 21 bar mats and catch them. Possibly a record, possibly a sign that it really is getting hard to take one another's company.
Nothing happens during the afternoon, more weekend's wasting away. Dan drifts off to the flics with his mates, and is then going to a gig, which is good to see. Apparently he is staying the night at his mate Any Burnham's place. Sohpie is at work despite her woes. Another sign that spring is not far away. It's boat race day. Once upon a time this was a big Beeb production number. We spent the day befriending the crews and briefly learning strange boating jargon. ITV have to cram it into a shorter time frame, and without the intimate getting to know you proccess, it's revealed for what it is. Crap. There was some effort to convince us that one or both of the boats sinking was a possibility, but sadly all stayed afloat. Somewhere between Putney and Mortlake my minimal interest vanished altogether.
The rain beats down and Ems is restless, not even getting dressed till well gone six. She rings K and invites her round.
We go out for a drink. A pub, the Falcon (no, not that one) I spotted one day whilst delivering for DHL. It is parked right under a massive concrete flyover section of the M40. Were that not there, the spot would be idyllic, nestled by a babbling brook. Inside it is wonderful. Low ceilinged, log fires, snug nooks and not a fag or a rip off machine in sight.
We stay there an hour or so, struggling forsomething to say to each other. I flip 21 bar mats and catch them. Possibly a record, possibly a sign that it really is getting hard to take one another's company.
Mar 28th (Fri)
Spring is just around the corner, and as if to remind us the rain hurtles down upon us for at least three hours. Relentless, unremitting rain cascades from a sombre reay sky as little T has his last effort prior to his test. As he's decided to switch his test venue to Aylesbury, we tour around the tricky spots there before heading over to Amersham to try his manoeuvres. Nice lad, hope he does well.
A long interlude follows, spent in web passed titillation, frequently interrupted by phone calls from Sophie requiring transport here there and everywhere. I snap at her, unfairly. The poor love. She is neck deep in her studies, is gallantly working away at her Pumpkin Patch duties, and at the same time has a hideous cold which is bringing her down badly.
I drop Sophie into town anf then off to pick up J. She is a bright and bubbly, very pretty chocolate skinned girl, who struggles to control the car. she's had lessons before and says she was better then and gets a bit dispirited. The weather starts to close in on us and the light fails quickly so I suggest abandoning and doing the second hour on Sunday.
Back home to the Friday night ritual. H offers to get takeaway from the Elaichi, but I am in the mood for my duck so I hang on and go down to town. Wetherspoons has a beer festival at the moment so my favourite beers are not available,thus reducing the reasons for going there form 1 to zero. I go to the Goblin instead and the price of a pint there reminds me of another reason for using the Falcon.
Curry home and bed. Not a lot to tell really.
sarko has headed home. He may as well have stayed there. All the press cars about is his missus. He gets a brief mention but only by virtue of the fact that he's about a foot shorter thsan she is.
A long interlude follows, spent in web passed titillation, frequently interrupted by phone calls from Sophie requiring transport here there and everywhere. I snap at her, unfairly. The poor love. She is neck deep in her studies, is gallantly working away at her Pumpkin Patch duties, and at the same time has a hideous cold which is bringing her down badly.
I drop Sophie into town anf then off to pick up J. She is a bright and bubbly, very pretty chocolate skinned girl, who struggles to control the car. she's had lessons before and says she was better then and gets a bit dispirited. The weather starts to close in on us and the light fails quickly so I suggest abandoning and doing the second hour on Sunday.
Back home to the Friday night ritual. H offers to get takeaway from the Elaichi, but I am in the mood for my duck so I hang on and go down to town. Wetherspoons has a beer festival at the moment so my favourite beers are not available,thus reducing the reasons for going there form 1 to zero. I go to the Goblin instead and the price of a pint there reminds me of another reason for using the Falcon.
Curry home and bed. Not a lot to tell really.
sarko has headed home. He may as well have stayed there. All the press cars about is his missus. He gets a brief mention but only by virtue of the fact that he's about a foot shorter thsan she is.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Mar 27th (Thurs)
The dismal weather relents a bit. the currant bun peeps from behind fluffy ones in a bright blue sky. Jolly J is on form. A nice giy. I'll genuinely miss him when he passes and goes on his way.
As we were driving around, I saw S, who I had taught before Christmas, waiting at the lights. Oddly it's the first time I have ever come across an ex pupil. And she the only one to have given me a thank you present!
The summit enters it's second and final day. I must pick up a paper more often I really am losing touch with the world I live in. Gordon and Nicolas are now on first name terms. Brown drivels on worthily about sending 16 million Africans to school and expects similar oratory from his oppo.
"I agree wiz Gordon" is the best Sarko can manage in reply. Bizarrely the MC is Arsene Wenger and the venue is Arsenal FC. Trivia may explain......Arsenal is one of only 4 (I think) station names common to the London Underground and the Paris Metro. Do I know the others? Sad I may be.........
Beeb news has been running an expo on pollution from Middway Island in the Pacific. It is quite astounding how much of our discarded plastic washes up on the beaches there. A team collects a pile of the crap 10 foot square by ten foot tall in half an hour. It looks like our bloody kitchen.
The local albatross population dine out on it daily, unable to distinguish it fro whatever it is that the gourmet albatross usually goes for, and it's killing them.
We're running out of places to bury the crap (our house now reaching bursting point) so it seems there's money t be made by loading it onto a boat and heaving it overboard into the ocean. I'll write a song one day.
"When will they ever learn".
As we were driving around, I saw S, who I had taught before Christmas, waiting at the lights. Oddly it's the first time I have ever come across an ex pupil. And she the only one to have given me a thank you present!
The summit enters it's second and final day. I must pick up a paper more often I really am losing touch with the world I live in. Gordon and Nicolas are now on first name terms. Brown drivels on worthily about sending 16 million Africans to school and expects similar oratory from his oppo.
"I agree wiz Gordon" is the best Sarko can manage in reply. Bizarrely the MC is Arsene Wenger and the venue is Arsenal FC. Trivia may explain......Arsenal is one of only 4 (I think) station names common to the London Underground and the Paris Metro. Do I know the others? Sad I may be.........
Beeb news has been running an expo on pollution from Middway Island in the Pacific. It is quite astounding how much of our discarded plastic washes up on the beaches there. A team collects a pile of the crap 10 foot square by ten foot tall in half an hour. It looks like our bloody kitchen.
The local albatross population dine out on it daily, unable to distinguish it fro whatever it is that the gourmet albatross usually goes for, and it's killing them.
We're running out of places to bury the crap (our house now reaching bursting point) so it seems there's money t be made by loading it onto a boat and heaving it overboard into the ocean. I'll write a song one day.
"When will they ever learn".
Mar 26th
A morning off and I had decided that it was timeto hit the woods again. Been that busy recently that have not got any exercise done. My weight lingers sullenly around 13/9 to 13/12, there's been no significant downward trend for months now. And someone keeps bringing treats into the house. Hot Cross bloody buns are unmissable, and my no butter policy, for so long the mainstay of the weight loss programme is in tatters.
On the way to the kids' schools I note I have left my wallet behind. It's a good enough excuse to abandon the ramble. A few spots of rain twists the knife on it.
Scarcely caring for all this, the strains of La Marseillaise hang on the Windsor wind. Sarkozy has decided that the entente must move past cordiale, and onto variously amicale or formidable. the British red tops decide for once not to mount blitzkrieg on brother frog, and start a bit of a love in. The reason: A a rapprochment on Ango Franco defence/european/agricultural policy? Yeah of course. Sarko has ditched La Patronne, hitched up with some model bint who's previously graced their pages it would seem and now they want a part of her. Fraternite and Egalite can wait. It's time to take libertes!
The evening rifts into a lethargic mulch, until no better idea than bed can be thought of. In between times the Anglo French summit is replayed at the Stade de France, where England, after a magnificent one game unbeaten run under new Messaih Capello, get back to losing ways. A year before they're caling for his head and he wals off with a £10 million quid pay off?
On the way to the kids' schools I note I have left my wallet behind. It's a good enough excuse to abandon the ramble. A few spots of rain twists the knife on it.
Scarcely caring for all this, the strains of La Marseillaise hang on the Windsor wind. Sarkozy has decided that the entente must move past cordiale, and onto variously amicale or formidable. the British red tops decide for once not to mount blitzkrieg on brother frog, and start a bit of a love in. The reason: A a rapprochment on Ango Franco defence/european/agricultural policy? Yeah of course. Sarko has ditched La Patronne, hitched up with some model bint who's previously graced their pages it would seem and now they want a part of her. Fraternite and Egalite can wait. It's time to take libertes!
The evening rifts into a lethargic mulch, until no better idea than bed can be thought of. In between times the Anglo French summit is replayed at the Stade de France, where England, after a magnificent one game unbeaten run under new Messaih Capello, get back to losing ways. A year before they're caling for his head and he wals off with a £10 million quid pay off?
Mar 25th
And only 9 months till Christmas day!!
Although I had never been away today felt like "back to work". Jolly J was first up, as jolly as ever, and really he could take his test tomorrow. A trek over to Aylesbury for another painful lesson with S. He tries so hard, is so positive, yet nothing happens remotely naturally for him. There are kids more proficient than him after two or three lessons. Despite his lack of elan though, he can obey most of the rules most of the time, and on that basis may have some hope of passsing the test. Maybe just hours and hours of driving will do it for him thereafter.
Back to Wycombe, and pick up Sophie from school. She is not terribly well, yet won’t hear of skipping work in the evening.
Spend the evening gawping at the box, not a lot going on. Quite a funny Clinton incident. At a recent rally Hill recounted arriving in Bosnia, getting off the plane, dodging sniper fire and leaping into a bunker for safety. The CBS journo who was with her though remembered it slightly differently, and found the film to prove it. A neat and orderly welcoming party. Whoops! Hill confesses she "mis spoke????"
Nothing really much on the box. Needless to say the Lt gets a look in, if only to annoy Dan with the song from the Johnny Cash episode which is drving him demented.
Last day of the test series in NZ. England should wrap it up whilst I sleep. A pretty mediocre affair if truth be told. The team will be soon back on the plane , and it won’t be long before the lawn mowers are chuntering across the damp outfields of the English county grounds. Meanwhile it is hidiously cold and sun drenched summer cricketing days seem a long way off.
Although I had never been away today felt like "back to work". Jolly J was first up, as jolly as ever, and really he could take his test tomorrow. A trek over to Aylesbury for another painful lesson with S. He tries so hard, is so positive, yet nothing happens remotely naturally for him. There are kids more proficient than him after two or three lessons. Despite his lack of elan though, he can obey most of the rules most of the time, and on that basis may have some hope of passsing the test. Maybe just hours and hours of driving will do it for him thereafter.
Back to Wycombe, and pick up Sophie from school. She is not terribly well, yet won’t hear of skipping work in the evening.
Spend the evening gawping at the box, not a lot going on. Quite a funny Clinton incident. At a recent rally Hill recounted arriving in Bosnia, getting off the plane, dodging sniper fire and leaping into a bunker for safety. The CBS journo who was with her though remembered it slightly differently, and found the film to prove it. A neat and orderly welcoming party. Whoops! Hill confesses she "mis spoke????"
Nothing really much on the box. Needless to say the Lt gets a look in, if only to annoy Dan with the song from the Johnny Cash episode which is drving him demented.
Last day of the test series in NZ. England should wrap it up whilst I sleep. A pretty mediocre affair if truth be told. The team will be soon back on the plane , and it won’t be long before the lawn mowers are chuntering across the damp outfields of the English county grounds. Meanwhile it is hidiously cold and sun drenched summer cricketing days seem a long way off.
Mar 24th
It’s bank holiday Monday. Easter! SPRINGTIME! The weather outside alternates from rain to sleet to hail to snow, whilst indoors holiday lethargy descends upon us. No one does anything. I stare blankly at the weekend’s 140th Columbo, Emma complains, Dan does battle in the make believe World of Warcraft. Cats pop in an out and the bunny goes about it’s mission to piss and shit on every square inch of the house. One can excuse the little bundle of fluff for mistaking the yard for a bloody toilet mind. Nothing is happening to improve it. The rubbish mounts higher and higher and as it does all ambition for the place disssipates.
In the afternoon I am out on my first pass plus, with S from maidenhead. She learned with me, failed her test, then moved to London,had one more lesson and passed. Sweetly she wanted to do her pass plus with me.
I take her up to London, through the town, over to Tunbridge Wells and back around the M25. En passant she lets slip quite cooly that she is living with (and I mean living with) a girl called Sarah. It’s funny I had had some suspicions in that direction. She is a good laugh, but now she has her licence she is not going to fall into the safety at all costs driving method. Still, £150 is a hundred and fifty quid.
Got home about half nine and visited the Curry Centre. M is in charge and he has bad news about A. The lens transplants he had last year are showing signs of rejection and threatening the success of the operation to save his sight. The poor lad. I hope it works out, it must be horribly frightening for him.
In the afternoon I am out on my first pass plus, with S from maidenhead. She learned with me, failed her test, then moved to London,had one more lesson and passed. Sweetly she wanted to do her pass plus with me.
I take her up to London, through the town, over to Tunbridge Wells and back around the M25. En passant she lets slip quite cooly that she is living with (and I mean living with) a girl called Sarah. It’s funny I had had some suspicions in that direction. She is a good laugh, but now she has her licence she is not going to fall into the safety at all costs driving method. Still, £150 is a hundred and fifty quid.
Got home about half nine and visited the Curry Centre. M is in charge and he has bad news about A. The lens transplants he had last year are showing signs of rejection and threatening the success of the operation to save his sight. The poor lad. I hope it works out, it must be horribly frightening for him.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Mar 23rd
There are Sundays when you get up and get going, finally start on those things that have been lieing undone for the past three years. There are Sundays when you get up and get going, pull on the boots and head for the woods and the embrace of the elements. Very, very rarely there are Sundays when you get up and say "Let's drive to the Cotswolds/ Isle ofWight/ Devon/ Dover and onto France"
Today is one of the others, the waste of life which have been 98% of all my adult Sundays. Missed opportunities sacrificed to the God of sloth, thinking of what I might, should or could be doing,what I might start doing in a few minutes, and almost always, never, ever gets done. Being part of a growing, minorly disfunctional family, whereby any positive idea is almost certain to be vetoed by at least one member, reduces the odds of anything memorable happening to the infintesimal. So we all watch telly.
The day is brightened up in mid afternoon with the return of Dan from Barcelona. He is genuinely excited by his trip, and it's great to see his enthusiasm. It takes him less than 5 minutes to settle down at the pc in his customary position, and from which he scarcely moves until it is time for bed.
I cook dinner, a nice turkey joint, and then it's back to yet more telly. I wonder what I'd have found to waste my life on had I been born before the telly and the internet came along.
Today is one of the others, the waste of life which have been 98% of all my adult Sundays. Missed opportunities sacrificed to the God of sloth, thinking of what I might, should or could be doing,what I might start doing in a few minutes, and almost always, never, ever gets done. Being part of a growing, minorly disfunctional family, whereby any positive idea is almost certain to be vetoed by at least one member, reduces the odds of anything memorable happening to the infintesimal. So we all watch telly.
The day is brightened up in mid afternoon with the return of Dan from Barcelona. He is genuinely excited by his trip, and it's great to see his enthusiasm. It takes him less than 5 minutes to settle down at the pc in his customary position, and from which he scarcely moves until it is time for bed.
I cook dinner, a nice turkey joint, and then it's back to yet more telly. I wonder what I'd have found to waste my life on had I been born before the telly and the internet came along.
Mar 22nd
For some reason (quite probably the absence on anything exciting the previous evening) I am wide awake at 7. I have alesson at 10,but this leaves me time to spend in bed with Lt Columbo. We have reconciled our differences at just the right time as one of the channels (as far as I can tell it only came into existence today) is launching a Columbo weekend, showing precious else but the mumbling fumbling one eyed dick.
A is recovered from her maladies of last week, and looks 1000% better, all pretty and tres francaise again. It's impossible not to laugh and mess around with her, which is maybe not the most professional approach, but sure beats two hours in the car with someone like say, H in Watford.
Halfway through the rain turns to hail, pirouettes and becomes sleet,and eventually snow. Great inch square thick blotches of the stuff fill the leaden grey skies. The kind of snow that descends gently onto your cheekbones, and then spends a full five seconds melting before dripping away to extinction. For a while it settles and the tantalising hope of the first real snow for at least a year is allowed to surface, the kind where you dress up warm for it and trudge through a field dragging your sledge with the kids pelting each other with poorly formed snowballs as you urge them to the slopes. The dream last less than an hour, the hoped for pristine carpet never evolving beyond a messy sludge, which turns out to have a life expectancy of a new recruit in the Bagdhad old bill.
Come home with good intentions, but the lure of the couch, the telly,and more particularly Lt. C puts paid to all of that.
I think it might be nice to go out and actually have more to drink than is wise,and get a taxi home. By the time kids are fed though it is the best part of 10 and a dreary two pints sat on our own away from the buzz of the pub is as close to fun as it ever gets. Fuck being fifty,and with the year galloping away out of control, I won't even be that for more than another four months.
We sit together over our pints. The only point of contact is discussing tactics for getting Emma into a decent school. For fuck's sake.Saturday night, and all we can find to do is ask questions of each other about catchment areas and the likeliehood of a housing slump two minutes after we put pen to paper on a second bloody house we neither want nor can afford.
Saturday night's alraight for fighting. A smack in the teeth from Mick the Murderer (decd) would be more fun than this.
A is recovered from her maladies of last week, and looks 1000% better, all pretty and tres francaise again. It's impossible not to laugh and mess around with her, which is maybe not the most professional approach, but sure beats two hours in the car with someone like say, H in Watford.
Halfway through the rain turns to hail, pirouettes and becomes sleet,and eventually snow. Great inch square thick blotches of the stuff fill the leaden grey skies. The kind of snow that descends gently onto your cheekbones, and then spends a full five seconds melting before dripping away to extinction. For a while it settles and the tantalising hope of the first real snow for at least a year is allowed to surface, the kind where you dress up warm for it and trudge through a field dragging your sledge with the kids pelting each other with poorly formed snowballs as you urge them to the slopes. The dream last less than an hour, the hoped for pristine carpet never evolving beyond a messy sludge, which turns out to have a life expectancy of a new recruit in the Bagdhad old bill.
Come home with good intentions, but the lure of the couch, the telly,and more particularly Lt. C puts paid to all of that.
I think it might be nice to go out and actually have more to drink than is wise,and get a taxi home. By the time kids are fed though it is the best part of 10 and a dreary two pints sat on our own away from the buzz of the pub is as close to fun as it ever gets. Fuck being fifty,and with the year galloping away out of control, I won't even be that for more than another four months.
We sit together over our pints. The only point of contact is discussing tactics for getting Emma into a decent school. For fuck's sake.Saturday night, and all we can find to do is ask questions of each other about catchment areas and the likeliehood of a housing slump two minutes after we put pen to paper on a second bloody house we neither want nor can afford.
Saturday night's alraight for fighting. A smack in the teeth from Mick the Murderer (decd) would be more fun than this.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Mar 21st
Good friday, though for the life of me I can't imagine how it ever got such a name. At least we are not in Ireland. I remember the shock and dismay when I found myself there a few years back to discover every pub shut on a Friday night. Even if you are a Jesus lovin christian it's hard to see how you'd view the day as a success. What the hell is Easter doing at this time of year anyway. I wish they'd just leave things alone. Come to think of it. when did the budget change back to March. For years and years it was there, then all of a sudden it moved to November. Now it's back where it should e and I have only just noticed the changed. The likely onset of Alzheimer's
can only be hastened by such messing around with my mind.
Winds battered at the windows all night and they showed no signs of relenting as I bit the M40.Magnificent blue skies and pale yellow sunshine were the order of the morning, but woe betide I step from the car. The gale tears through my clothing, ignores the skin and heads straight for the bone.
S is remarkably chipper, having had a rare early night. I see the inside of the house, and it is in the true tradition of an all male student "bordelle".
another good morning with S. It really is gratifying. On Monday he'd never turned a wheel in a car. Today we are hareing alond the dual carriageways at 70mph.
Next up it is so different. I have been teaching S for nearly a year now (I didn't want to mention that to him, but he brought it up) and frankly he is not at the level of his Ocfordian initialsake, who has been driving for some 5 days and 23 hours. A shame, as he is a really nice chap. To be honest i am not sure he'll ever be ready to take a test with confidence. I suspect he'll take three or four of them until he just about learns what to do to scrape through on one of them. But it could just as easily be five or six, and I can say with some confidence that even when he finally passes, I won't be waiting for him in the test centre with any raised degree of expectation.
Friday night follows the usual tedious routine. Wouldn't it be great to be 20 and go out, excited at what lay ahead. That glow as the alcohol starts to take control of the brain, moving from pub to pub (usually driving and usually pissed) and bumping into new acquaintances, expected and unexpected at each one. The faint hope of sexual intrigue refusing to die entirely, despite experience suggesting everything to the contrary. Throwing up, trying to avoid being beaten up, illicit drugs, scary drives home convinced the police are behind.
But what now? A single pint, alone in the dismal Wetherspoons joint, surrounded by oafish louts ane trollops teetering around on heels without any inkling of how to do so with the arrogance and aplomb which might make them so appealing. The bar staff seemed to have been through a charm class at Auschwitz, this being their break from a hard week at the Bucks "New Uni", loafing around between irregular lectures on meeja studies, or something still more arcane and less useful. A module on relative horseradish perhaps.
Again I play fast and loose with my wife the Curry Centre and dally with my Mistress the Bombay Nights.I know I'll always go back to the wife, but the Mistress knows how to get to me, the Bombay Duck the equivalent of seamed stockings and steel heelled stilletos. Mmmmmmm!!!
can only be hastened by such messing around with my mind.
Winds battered at the windows all night and they showed no signs of relenting as I bit the M40.Magnificent blue skies and pale yellow sunshine were the order of the morning, but woe betide I step from the car. The gale tears through my clothing, ignores the skin and heads straight for the bone.
S is remarkably chipper, having had a rare early night. I see the inside of the house, and it is in the true tradition of an all male student "bordelle".
another good morning with S. It really is gratifying. On Monday he'd never turned a wheel in a car. Today we are hareing alond the dual carriageways at 70mph.
Next up it is so different. I have been teaching S for nearly a year now (I didn't want to mention that to him, but he brought it up) and frankly he is not at the level of his Ocfordian initialsake, who has been driving for some 5 days and 23 hours. A shame, as he is a really nice chap. To be honest i am not sure he'll ever be ready to take a test with confidence. I suspect he'll take three or four of them until he just about learns what to do to scrape through on one of them. But it could just as easily be five or six, and I can say with some confidence that even when he finally passes, I won't be waiting for him in the test centre with any raised degree of expectation.
Friday night follows the usual tedious routine. Wouldn't it be great to be 20 and go out, excited at what lay ahead. That glow as the alcohol starts to take control of the brain, moving from pub to pub (usually driving and usually pissed) and bumping into new acquaintances, expected and unexpected at each one. The faint hope of sexual intrigue refusing to die entirely, despite experience suggesting everything to the contrary. Throwing up, trying to avoid being beaten up, illicit drugs, scary drives home convinced the police are behind.
But what now? A single pint, alone in the dismal Wetherspoons joint, surrounded by oafish louts ane trollops teetering around on heels without any inkling of how to do so with the arrogance and aplomb which might make them so appealing. The bar staff seemed to have been through a charm class at Auschwitz, this being their break from a hard week at the Bucks "New Uni", loafing around between irregular lectures on meeja studies, or something still more arcane and less useful. A module on relative horseradish perhaps.
Again I play fast and loose with my wife the Curry Centre and dally with my Mistress the Bombay Nights.I know I'll always go back to the wife, but the Mistress knows how to get to me, the Bombay Duck the equivalent of seamed stockings and steel heelled stilletos. Mmmmmmm!!!
Mar 20th
Am awoken with the information that it was ten to eight. Bad news for one who should be in Oxford for nine! Actuallly manage to get my act together, tiptoe through the bunny shit, get breakfasted and get to S by 9:15.
He looks as though he hasn't slept, and I wonder how safe we will be, but he rises to the ocassion. He is half Italian, and I imagine a bit of a crumpet magnet. He has a lazy English drawl, tousled hair. He reminds me of a film star. Is it Jean Paul Belmondo? Maybe. He is quite an engaging guy, and manages to supress his natural self confidence, which I am sure must brook the boundary with arrogance at times.
Aaron rings to cancel the following appointment. I shall have to lay the law down.
I make great resolutions on the way home. Tidy the garage, then the annexe and the bedroom. Needless to say I sit down at the laptop and nothing happens. What a hypocrite I am to go on at Dan, who by the way has headed off to Barcelona until Sunday. In return we get Sophie back from Loughborough, much inspired with her trip. It's getting confusing, we'll have to start a role call.
The state of the pit goes from bad to worse, and I am not pleasant company all evening. I try to watch the telly and wake up at 2am, a trick I haven't pulled for a while. I go to the bathroom to clean my teeth and recoil in horror at the shitefest.
He looks as though he hasn't slept, and I wonder how safe we will be, but he rises to the ocassion. He is half Italian, and I imagine a bit of a crumpet magnet. He has a lazy English drawl, tousled hair. He reminds me of a film star. Is it Jean Paul Belmondo? Maybe. He is quite an engaging guy, and manages to supress his natural self confidence, which I am sure must brook the boundary with arrogance at times.
Aaron rings to cancel the following appointment. I shall have to lay the law down.
I make great resolutions on the way home. Tidy the garage, then the annexe and the bedroom. Needless to say I sit down at the laptop and nothing happens. What a hypocrite I am to go on at Dan, who by the way has headed off to Barcelona until Sunday. In return we get Sophie back from Loughborough, much inspired with her trip. It's getting confusing, we'll have to start a role call.
The state of the pit goes from bad to worse, and I am not pleasant company all evening. I try to watch the telly and wake up at 2am, a trick I haven't pulled for a while. I go to the bathroom to clean my teeth and recoil in horror at the shitefest.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Mrch 19th
Get up and weave a path through the general detritus to reach the bathroom where I pick my way unsuccesfully through rabbit shit before breakfast.
Watch a bit more of last night's Columbo before heading into a razor sharp blue skied morning. A blissful drive the slow way to Oxford, the bare, brittle brown trees like fleshless fingers scraping across the bright blue sky. A sign by the roadside announces "lambing days" a sign that the world will soon be waking up from winter. I think the clocks may go back (or is it forward) this weekend.
S is on form, and I am much encouraged by his progress. Learn more about him. His dad used to manage Raymond Blanc's restaurant in Oxford. Apparently they own a hotel in Milan and a string of cafes. S has got the entrepreneurial bug and arranges parties and events in Oxford, for which he takes a cut. It enables him to pay alll his uni fees, his rent, and sundries such as driving lessons. Fair play. His bloody phone never stops ringing!
T next in Lt Kingshill. I was worried about him last week, but today he makes excellent progress.
I finish off last night's Columbo, a great episode with Dick van Dyke. Who's have thought Bert could be such a bastard! The next episode though is a dissapointment. The usual format is abandoned (as with the Billy Connilly one last week) This time we don't get tofind out who is the killer until the very end. Now for me the whole joy of the Lt is the torture he puts the murderer through, we and he knowing precisely where guilt lies. It's the only way, and I am not interested in exploring any other possibilities.
Watch a bit more of last night's Columbo before heading into a razor sharp blue skied morning. A blissful drive the slow way to Oxford, the bare, brittle brown trees like fleshless fingers scraping across the bright blue sky. A sign by the roadside announces "lambing days" a sign that the world will soon be waking up from winter. I think the clocks may go back (or is it forward) this weekend.
S is on form, and I am much encouraged by his progress. Learn more about him. His dad used to manage Raymond Blanc's restaurant in Oxford. Apparently they own a hotel in Milan and a string of cafes. S has got the entrepreneurial bug and arranges parties and events in Oxford, for which he takes a cut. It enables him to pay alll his uni fees, his rent, and sundries such as driving lessons. Fair play. His bloody phone never stops ringing!
T next in Lt Kingshill. I was worried about him last week, but today he makes excellent progress.
I finish off last night's Columbo, a great episode with Dick van Dyke. Who's have thought Bert could be such a bastard! The next episode though is a dissapointment. The usual format is abandoned (as with the Billy Connilly one last week) This time we don't get tofind out who is the killer until the very end. Now for me the whole joy of the Lt is the torture he puts the murderer through, we and he knowing precisely where guilt lies. It's the only way, and I am not interested in exploring any other possibilities.
Mar 18th
Jolly J today.There are some I look forward to and he is one of them. He's really got the hang of this game, and he is a genuine and likeable fellow.
Next off to the city of the dreaming spires for another marathon with S. We venture out onto the crowded streets and I have to breathe in deeply several times as we scrape perilously close to parked cars. he's notbad,but we make little progress addressing this and it's more than a little worrying.
Yesterday Heather Macartney got her mitts on 25 of hubby Paul's 800 and something millions.Apparently the poor has to skip aroundon her one remaining leg with only 185 grand a year availableto spend on clothing, whilst her holiday allowance isa mere half a million. I'dstay at home!
Monday, March 17, 2008
Mar 17th
Whilst we all slept the world imploded. A US investment bank went tits up and all followed from there. All pretence about "if" there's a recession on the way was abandoned. Now the battle was waged between those who felt the catastrophe was manageable, and others who drew dreadful comparisons with the great depression ("even in the great depression of the 1930's" was a much touted prelude to some latest news of meltdown.)
Despite all this the traffic in Oxford managed to keep flowing, and I met S right on time. At least, I was there on time. He was still in bed. Good lad! He is a cocky shite far too talented for his own good, far too self confident, and I have to say I liked him straight away. A good learner too, should be an interesting week.
Apre S, to J in Hazlemere. An attractive and happy black girl, who had had ten hours of lessons, but was very erratic worryingly so at times. She has booked 20 hours and wants a test at the end. I sensed her attitude changed as I didn't offer to book a test straight away. Will have to talk her through that next time.
Got home and H and Emsy had been out visiting schools, unbenownst to me. Full credit to H,a greatperformance. She had visited "Becky Secky" and met the HM, and was dead impressed, as was Emsy. Snag is, we need to be in catchment which means.
Buy ourselves a pace there and move into it, or rent somewhere for six months until Emsy is established in school. A tricky decision with the housing market set to implode.
Off for the usual in the evening, the Falcon as depressing as ever.Oddly on my way out a column of schoolchildren, perfectly behaved with a hubub of subdued excitement, at least 100 strong, were making theirway along the High Street. They seemed far too young to be up.They were shephereded by a woman carrying half a dozen helium balloons bearing the legend "Hapy Birthday"
No financial crisis for Paul Macartney or his estranged missus. Paul gets to cling onto 800 million quid of his nest egg, whilst Lady Macca (is she still "Lady?) has to slum it with only £25m to tide her over. Oh fuck!
Despite all this the traffic in Oxford managed to keep flowing, and I met S right on time. At least, I was there on time. He was still in bed. Good lad! He is a cocky shite far too talented for his own good, far too self confident, and I have to say I liked him straight away. A good learner too, should be an interesting week.
Apre S, to J in Hazlemere. An attractive and happy black girl, who had had ten hours of lessons, but was very erratic worryingly so at times. She has booked 20 hours and wants a test at the end. I sensed her attitude changed as I didn't offer to book a test straight away. Will have to talk her through that next time.
Got home and H and Emsy had been out visiting schools, unbenownst to me. Full credit to H,a greatperformance. She had visited "Becky Secky" and met the HM, and was dead impressed, as was Emsy. Snag is, we need to be in catchment which means.
Buy ourselves a pace there and move into it, or rent somewhere for six months until Emsy is established in school. A tricky decision with the housing market set to implode.
Off for the usual in the evening, the Falcon as depressing as ever.Oddly on my way out a column of schoolchildren, perfectly behaved with a hubub of subdued excitement, at least 100 strong, were making theirway along the High Street. They seemed far too young to be up.They were shephereded by a woman carrying half a dozen helium balloons bearing the legend "Hapy Birthday"
No financial crisis for Paul Macartney or his estranged missus. Paul gets to cling onto 800 million quid of his nest egg, whilst Lady Macca (is she still "Lady?) has to slum it with only £25m to tide her over. Oh fuck!
Sunday, March 16, 2008
March 16th
The rain is hammering down this morning and the first good news is that Dan's football match is called off as a result of it, though to be fair, H usually takes care of that one. I'd had the Berlingo battery on charge all night, as that car has sat inert now for the best part of a year and needs to be sparked into life, but alas, when I turn the key there is nought but a click.
The rest of the day is spent wasting my time as only the internet can do it, then feeling guilty at the lack of action.
Today's first Columbo episode is the first ever,and clearly differs in style from the series which grew from it.The Lieutenant looks about 12, and is far too neat and tidy for my likeing.
I decide it's time to revive the video transfer project.
Whereas in the early years every moment is captured in the minutest detail, now a couple of minutes suffice to trace the passage of whole years. Children grow at an alarming rate, pets appear and vanish, and the actual dates of the events becomes a matter for conjecture. Spens a wholehour watching poor Pilchard prodcuing her litter, and wondering what ever became of her. Cook the dinner, a nice piece of beef and do the usual Sunday trick of too much sherry, too much wine, and then fall asleep on the floor, meaning I a up till gone one writing all this.
Time for bed said Zebedee!
The rest of the day is spent wasting my time as only the internet can do it, then feeling guilty at the lack of action.
Today's first Columbo episode is the first ever,and clearly differs in style from the series which grew from it.The Lieutenant looks about 12, and is far too neat and tidy for my likeing.
I decide it's time to revive the video transfer project.
Whereas in the early years every moment is captured in the minutest detail, now a couple of minutes suffice to trace the passage of whole years. Children grow at an alarming rate, pets appear and vanish, and the actual dates of the events becomes a matter for conjecture. Spens a wholehour watching poor Pilchard prodcuing her litter, and wondering what ever became of her. Cook the dinner, a nice piece of beef and do the usual Sunday trick of too much sherry, too much wine, and then fall asleep on the floor, meaning I a up till gone one writing all this.
Time for bed said Zebedee!
Saturday, March 15, 2008
15th March
An early Saturday start. I have the car cleaned and delivered to L by 10:15, which has me feeling all virtuous. she is full of beans and confidence, goes out and is back quickly, and it transpires that she manage to reverse all over the pavement. A shame for her,and really for me as I don't want to be travelling back and forth to Watford for lessons. She texts back straight away and has booked a new test. Just wants me for the test. Hope she can sort out the reverse!
Next up is A who has not been well and does not look it either. She's really come on in recent weeks, but her concentration is awol today. Not being well, she is less bubbly today, and all in all feel a bit down at the end of the day's events.
Back home the rugby is on and the two dullest teams, England and Ireland are slugging it out. England win convincingly in the end, then Wales do the same to France to win the grand slam, and reignite a nation's capacity to bore the world to death with tales of their rugger derring do as if anyone else really gave a toss.
Emsy has the bright idea to watch Holy Grail, and four of us (Sophes is out at a gig, my how's she's grown!) We all have a good laugh.Later when all have crept to bed I watch "Kill Bill". Stylised violence, or mindless dross? The latter I feel. It concerns some blonde bint with a sword on a round the world trail of mass slaughter with a sword. Coming after the Grail it's hard not to compare the removal of limbs, and frankly it's as silly in both films.
Next up is A who has not been well and does not look it either. She's really come on in recent weeks, but her concentration is awol today. Not being well, she is less bubbly today, and all in all feel a bit down at the end of the day's events.
Back home the rugby is on and the two dullest teams, England and Ireland are slugging it out. England win convincingly in the end, then Wales do the same to France to win the grand slam, and reignite a nation's capacity to bore the world to death with tales of their rugger derring do as if anyone else really gave a toss.
Emsy has the bright idea to watch Holy Grail, and four of us (Sophes is out at a gig, my how's she's grown!) We all have a good laugh.Later when all have crept to bed I watch "Kill Bill". Stylised violence, or mindless dross? The latter I feel. It concerns some blonde bint with a sword on a round the world trail of mass slaughter with a sword. Coming after the Grail it's hard not to compare the removal of limbs, and frankly it's as silly in both films.
Friday, March 14, 2008
14th March
Final day of training for L, who should be ready for tomorrow without a problem. It has been quite entertaining. She possesses a degree of wit and a good degree of intelligence, which is pleasing to say theleast.
I leave my phone at home today, and co-incidentally Sophie has left her phone in my car, so I am interrupted every five minutes by her irritating text message chimes. Neither I nor L can silence the racket.
Drive back to Wycombe and wait for A who fails to appear. I go inside the building to find him. Apparently he tried to text me to cancel the lesson. Well frankly, no. Not again. If work want him to attend a meeting when he has booked a lesson, then let work pay for it. He's a nice lad though, and pays me for ten hours up front.
Then over to Chalfont (why did I agree to do this?) to pick up T. Again he can drive but every time he makes a potentially serious error, this time near the end at a mini roundabout.
I am tired when I return to the shithole and manage to make an enemy of everyone in the place, growling and roaring about the state of it. H has spent all day on the phone trying to sort something about Emsy's schooling, and got absolutely bloody nowhere. This is becoming a serious worry.
Decide to continue my dalliance with Bombay Dreams. The Bombay duck are delicious and the vindaloo isn't bad, stinging hot but a little light on chicken, which in turn is dry and stringy. Still, the CC are often guilty of the same. Maybe I'll make this my Friday option.
Tiaan
Rabbit shit
Shit
I leave my phone at home today, and co-incidentally Sophie has left her phone in my car, so I am interrupted every five minutes by her irritating text message chimes. Neither I nor L can silence the racket.
Drive back to Wycombe and wait for A who fails to appear. I go inside the building to find him. Apparently he tried to text me to cancel the lesson. Well frankly, no. Not again. If work want him to attend a meeting when he has booked a lesson, then let work pay for it. He's a nice lad though, and pays me for ten hours up front.
Then over to Chalfont (why did I agree to do this?) to pick up T. Again he can drive but every time he makes a potentially serious error, this time near the end at a mini roundabout.
I am tired when I return to the shithole and manage to make an enemy of everyone in the place, growling and roaring about the state of it. H has spent all day on the phone trying to sort something about Emsy's schooling, and got absolutely bloody nowhere. This is becoming a serious worry.
Decide to continue my dalliance with Bombay Dreams. The Bombay duck are delicious and the vindaloo isn't bad, stinging hot but a little light on chicken, which in turn is dry and stringy. Still, the CC are often guilty of the same. Maybe I'll make this my Friday option.
Tiaan
Rabbit shit
Shit
13th March
Another long sesh with L, painfully spent going backwards around corners and feeling my neck creak badly by the end. She seems convinced that this will be her downfall. A break then over to S in Maidenhead, who bumbles along pleasantly without ever inspiring.
In the evening H is out on a bank dinner with "a firm of solicitors". Interesting one this, and when she gets home she tells me how boring it was, in the company of a bunch of suits.
Only this is the same firm of solicitors she was with that night sometime ago. Remember,when she told me on her return that there had been three or four of them, but in fact I knew (I didn't guess, or surmise, or deduce, I knew, please don't ask me how) that she was actually in the company of a single guy. And that this is the same guy who she was once out with until nearly 3 am when she claims to have missed the train in Marylebone, caught a tube to Cockfosters where he picked her up and drove her home here. A cockfosters and bull story worthy of my own dear brother, if ever I did hear one.
Slept through QT and woke up late into the night.
In the evening H is out on a bank dinner with "a firm of solicitors". Interesting one this, and when she gets home she tells me how boring it was, in the company of a bunch of suits.
Only this is the same firm of solicitors she was with that night sometime ago. Remember,when she told me on her return that there had been three or four of them, but in fact I knew (I didn't guess, or surmise, or deduce, I knew, please don't ask me how) that she was actually in the company of a single guy. And that this is the same guy who she was once out with until nearly 3 am when she claims to have missed the train in Marylebone, caught a tube to Cockfosters where he picked her up and drove her home here. A cockfosters and bull story worthy of my own dear brother, if ever I did hear one.
Slept through QT and woke up late into the night.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
12th March
Up early and dropped Sophie off to school. She's not well, has lost her voice, but she battles on gamely. She is an inspiration. Off to Watford to pick up L. She is more modestly dressed today, and less pretty with her hair tied back. We deal mainly with reversing manoeuvres. She's not brilliant, but should get by.
Then a drive to Aylesbury for S, and a repeat dose! More bloody reversing. On the way over I listen to the start of the budget day broadcasts.I only actually discovered that it was budget day yesterday, which shows the extent to which the kids' monopoly on the telly has divorced me from the world of current affairs. Being busy also means Radio4 time is drastically reduced.
The budget show is a far remove from the days of the seventies, when each time the chancellor rose the nation quaked. Petrol prices would fly through the roof. Beer wine and baccy costs would soar, taxes would rise. There never seemed to be good news. Queues would form outside petrol stations with punters trying to grab the last few litres st the old price before the hike came into effect, usually at 5 o'clock. The budget always used to be in November, and the grim news seemed well in tune with the dark shortening nights of gloomy winter.
Today it's bright, and very, very breezy. In keeping with most serious outbreaks of weather we miss the worst of it, but there are a few gusts which have the car bouncing on it's springs. Darling's speech attracts only token derision from the opposition. it appears almost totally neutral. Why bother getting to your feet in the first place?
Next up it's to Lt K to pick up T for a first lesson. He is a friend of Sophie, and she is very friendly with him. He recently lost his dad, and I find it painful as he recalls the only other time he drove a car, with his father trying to teach him, without it seems, much success. I really feel for him Apparently his dad's loss has left some financial uncertainty, and I admire his honesty as he tells me of his worries for the family. At 17 he seems to be accepting a heavy burden with much good grace. His lesson goes ok. He seems to get the hang of things, but it is too early to make any sensible judgment.
Back home. Bought a couple of birthday cards for my dad, and hope will have occasion to do so many more times.
Heather has a PTA meeting and we meet afterwards in Wetherspoons. A filthy table, filthy menus and mediocre food delivered rather than served. It's only virtue is it's low price. I can think of no other reason to be there.
Then a drive to Aylesbury for S, and a repeat dose! More bloody reversing. On the way over I listen to the start of the budget day broadcasts.I only actually discovered that it was budget day yesterday, which shows the extent to which the kids' monopoly on the telly has divorced me from the world of current affairs. Being busy also means Radio4 time is drastically reduced.
The budget show is a far remove from the days of the seventies, when each time the chancellor rose the nation quaked. Petrol prices would fly through the roof. Beer wine and baccy costs would soar, taxes would rise. There never seemed to be good news. Queues would form outside petrol stations with punters trying to grab the last few litres st the old price before the hike came into effect, usually at 5 o'clock. The budget always used to be in November, and the grim news seemed well in tune with the dark shortening nights of gloomy winter.
Today it's bright, and very, very breezy. In keeping with most serious outbreaks of weather we miss the worst of it, but there are a few gusts which have the car bouncing on it's springs. Darling's speech attracts only token derision from the opposition. it appears almost totally neutral. Why bother getting to your feet in the first place?
Next up it's to Lt K to pick up T for a first lesson. He is a friend of Sophie, and she is very friendly with him. He recently lost his dad, and I find it painful as he recalls the only other time he drove a car, with his father trying to teach him, without it seems, much success. I really feel for him Apparently his dad's loss has left some financial uncertainty, and I admire his honesty as he tells me of his worries for the family. At 17 he seems to be accepting a heavy burden with much good grace. His lesson goes ok. He seems to get the hang of things, but it is too early to make any sensible judgment.
Back home. Bought a couple of birthday cards for my dad, and hope will have occasion to do so many more times.
Heather has a PTA meeting and we meet afterwards in Wetherspoons. A filthy table, filthy menus and mediocre food delivered rather than served. It's only virtue is it's low price. I can think of no other reason to be there.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
March 11th
Up early and down to Worley's with the car. I wait for an hour, and share the waiting room with a pretty young girl wearing the sexiest pair of granny boots. The job is done, and there is no paperwork, or in fact anything to be done other than drive the car away with a new exhausts. Top marks from a garage which hasn't always earned them in the past.
Over to Watford to meet L, another semi intensive course. After last week's debacle, I approach with some trepidation. First impressions are good. She is prettyish (though it turns out she thinks she's very pretty), and well built, and I mean well built. within five minutes she is talking about wearing a low cut top on her test, and half an hour later suggesting we stop in the pub for a drink. I only think she is joking! She is a very blokish driver, doing everything in a hurry, and I have to slow her down, but she responds well and sensibly. Apparently her dad is a premiership ref, so presmuably full of shit!!!!!! She is fun though, and it should be a good week.
Back to Wycombe to pick up S for his second test. At first he drives like a bag of cats, but he settles down, and really he should be capable of passing the test.
He goes out with F again, and I stay and chat to B and J, though she is strangely uncommunicative. the time drags by until the little red car hoves once more into view.
It doesn't look good, but the debrief is very rapid.
F gets out of the car. "Give him a smack" he says
A review of the form explains why. He drove really well, 5 silly minors, BUT......and it's a big but.
One dangerous. he fucked up the traffic lights at the Pastures. Silly lad, and he is kicking himself. I feel for him. He's a nice guy with a little lad who is not all that well, and he really needs this licence. Third time lucky?
I run Sophie down to town. She is working in Pumpkin Patch every day this week. I worry that she will burn out, but one can't help but admire her.
I arrive home and discover that the bunny has been roaming free through the house all day, shitting everywhere, and at the mercy of two killer moggies. The odd thing is that the eternal scaredy cat Elsa, keeps trying to beat him up, whilst the serial rodent killer Kip runs a mile every time he meets him.
The gale keeps threatening but never really sustains itself for very long. A shame in a way. There is something comforting about being indoors in the teeth of the storm.
Ask D if he fancies Wycombe Wanderers, and to my surprise he says yes, the proviso (of course) being that Jamie can come along. This is soon arranged, and we troop down to Adams Park for the encounter with Wrexham. It's a dire game enlivened by one very good goal. Chairboys go two up, and then in the second half fWrexham pull one back, we get a guy sent off, and it's back to the wall from then on. They somehow survive, meaning the play offs now look good, with an outside chance of automatic promotion.
I chat to Alan, who of course is there. There doesn't seem to be the sense of excitement that there was in the days of the conference and the early seasons in the league. The crowds have dwindled. If the three of us hadn't have gone tonight, they wouldn't have cracked 4000. The quoted crowd was 4002! The game was drab, the crowd spread thinly. A young guy on a drum gets some enthusiasm from the faithful, but there is none of the "crest of a wave" feeling that I remember from what is now far to long ago for comfort.
Leeds lose at home to Cheltenham, so I can taunt my text friend Richard. The ideal set of results. Leeds could still make their play offs, but their form is poor and I just sense a loss of momentum. Accordingly the meeting with which I have been taunting him, that of Leeds and Wycombe as equals, seems more thanm just a possibility.
Over to Watford to meet L, another semi intensive course. After last week's debacle, I approach with some trepidation. First impressions are good. She is prettyish (though it turns out she thinks she's very pretty), and well built, and I mean well built. within five minutes she is talking about wearing a low cut top on her test, and half an hour later suggesting we stop in the pub for a drink. I only think she is joking! She is a very blokish driver, doing everything in a hurry, and I have to slow her down, but she responds well and sensibly. Apparently her dad is a premiership ref, so presmuably full of shit!!!!!! She is fun though, and it should be a good week.
Back to Wycombe to pick up S for his second test. At first he drives like a bag of cats, but he settles down, and really he should be capable of passing the test.
He goes out with F again, and I stay and chat to B and J, though she is strangely uncommunicative. the time drags by until the little red car hoves once more into view.
It doesn't look good, but the debrief is very rapid.
F gets out of the car. "Give him a smack" he says
A review of the form explains why. He drove really well, 5 silly minors, BUT......and it's a big but.
One dangerous. he fucked up the traffic lights at the Pastures. Silly lad, and he is kicking himself. I feel for him. He's a nice guy with a little lad who is not all that well, and he really needs this licence. Third time lucky?
I run Sophie down to town. She is working in Pumpkin Patch every day this week. I worry that she will burn out, but one can't help but admire her.
I arrive home and discover that the bunny has been roaming free through the house all day, shitting everywhere, and at the mercy of two killer moggies. The odd thing is that the eternal scaredy cat Elsa, keeps trying to beat him up, whilst the serial rodent killer Kip runs a mile every time he meets him.
The gale keeps threatening but never really sustains itself for very long. A shame in a way. There is something comforting about being indoors in the teeth of the storm.
Ask D if he fancies Wycombe Wanderers, and to my surprise he says yes, the proviso (of course) being that Jamie can come along. This is soon arranged, and we troop down to Adams Park for the encounter with Wrexham. It's a dire game enlivened by one very good goal. Chairboys go two up, and then in the second half fWrexham pull one back, we get a guy sent off, and it's back to the wall from then on. They somehow survive, meaning the play offs now look good, with an outside chance of automatic promotion.
I chat to Alan, who of course is there. There doesn't seem to be the sense of excitement that there was in the days of the conference and the early seasons in the league. The crowds have dwindled. If the three of us hadn't have gone tonight, they wouldn't have cracked 4000. The quoted crowd was 4002! The game was drab, the crowd spread thinly. A young guy on a drum gets some enthusiasm from the faithful, but there is none of the "crest of a wave" feeling that I remember from what is now far to long ago for comfort.
Leeds lose at home to Cheltenham, so I can taunt my text friend Richard. The ideal set of results. Leeds could still make their play offs, but their form is poor and I just sense a loss of momentum. Accordingly the meeting with which I have been taunting him, that of Leeds and Wycombe as equals, seems more thanm just a possibility.
March 10th
Another Monday,a new week, and I have to say it is nice not to face it with dread or depression.I hope that lasts.
Pick up Jolly J in the pelting rain. A storm is heading our way by all accounts, and we should brace for it. J is driving fine and at the end of the lesson I suggest he books up a test. He seems genuinely pleased with this vote of confidence,but I am sure it is not misplaced.
Next up is A. We head up to Flackwell and I demonstrate the emergency stop. Then I hear a noise from the tyre. It sounds as though there is a stone or a nail in it. I get out and look but can see nothing. I get back in and two minutes later the exhaust, which hs been rattly and horrible for weeks, roars like a racing motor bike. Lesson abandoned, and I ring T who is next up, as there is no way I will get to him.
I take the car to the Citroen garage, and after a bit of umming and erring thay agree to do it under warranty. In fact it is the service manager who makes the decision, and he was the one I was worried about. They'll order the part and have it ready for tomorrow first thing.
We didn't get hit by much of a storm, but at home on the news the west country has taken a bit of a battering, with a promise of more to come,
Pick up Jolly J in the pelting rain. A storm is heading our way by all accounts, and we should brace for it. J is driving fine and at the end of the lesson I suggest he books up a test. He seems genuinely pleased with this vote of confidence,but I am sure it is not misplaced.
Next up is A. We head up to Flackwell and I demonstrate the emergency stop. Then I hear a noise from the tyre. It sounds as though there is a stone or a nail in it. I get out and look but can see nothing. I get back in and two minutes later the exhaust, which hs been rattly and horrible for weeks, roars like a racing motor bike. Lesson abandoned, and I ring T who is next up, as there is no way I will get to him.
I take the car to the Citroen garage, and after a bit of umming and erring thay agree to do it under warranty. In fact it is the service manager who makes the decision, and he was the one I was worried about. They'll order the part and have it ready for tomorrow first thing.
We didn't get hit by much of a storm, but at home on the news the west country has taken a bit of a battering, with a promise of more to come,
Monday, March 10, 2008
March 9th
Sunday & a big day for Sherbert as his run is finally to be built. Emma needs little persuasion to get out into the bracing day, and we are soon sawing, hammering, snipping and painting. It's a bit stop start, with tris in to look at the rugby, where the french beat Italy easily nough, and the footie where Cardiff spring another surprise by turfing out Boro.
I cook the dinner once a half decent run has ben constructed, and at the end of the meal we discuss the future regarding Emma's schooling. Options aren't great, but there is some thinking outside of the box, and H reveals that there are some endowments maturing which should net in the region of £90k!!!!
So there is a possibility of buying a second home, with me & Emsy going to live there during the week. Interesting.
WBA,, of div II fail to provide a further shock by wopping 3rd div Bristol Rovers, but all the same the semi final line up has a refreshingly different look to it.
Try to watch Columbo send down Johnny Cash, but the eelids are closed before he's lost his first pencil.
I cook the dinner once a half decent run has ben constructed, and at the end of the meal we discuss the future regarding Emma's schooling. Options aren't great, but there is some thinking outside of the box, and H reveals that there are some endowments maturing which should net in the region of £90k!!!!
So there is a possibility of buying a second home, with me & Emsy going to live there during the week. Interesting.
WBA,, of div II fail to provide a further shock by wopping 3rd div Bristol Rovers, but all the same the semi final line up has a refreshingly different look to it.
Try to watch Columbo send down Johnny Cash, but the eelids are closed before he's lost his first pencil.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
March 8th
So the text from A duly arrived informing me of her illness, and thereby granting me my morning in bed. Spent it with my rediscovered friend Lt Columbo who thwarted a very dodgy dentists dasatardly doings.
Up then, and the challenge for the day is to get a run built for the newest addition to the family, who if I haven't mentioned it before is names Sherbert. He has taken up residence in the shower room for the past week, and as a result I am finding cleaning myself up for the day less than easy. In fact the first thing I usually feel as I enter the room is my right foot squashing flatone or more rabbit turds. Sometimes the ensuing paste will even lodge itself between my toes, which is even more pleasant. Anyway, enough of this, the endearing little rodent must move out to the garden asap. Just after Columbo I switched over to a very tasty rabbit recipe on Beeb One, and for a while he was at risk from others than the feline murder squad in the house.
After paying out nearly £50 for timber and chicken wire, I went with Emsy to town so she could buy herself her first mobile. Felt ofit as something of a right of passage, further evidence of her childhood slipping from her grasp. She was of course thrilled. I made sure we held hands every time we crossed the roads. It won't be allowed for much longer. At one stage we actually skipped together along the pavement and I just wished we'd done such things thousand times more in the past.
We are into March now, and the year is starting to take it's course. Jan and Feb are rather devoid of landmarks. I don't do Valentines, there's pancake day I suppose, but it's always just an addendum to the day. Feb 29th ahas been and gone for another few years. The international rugby is a sign of the late winter, but I was never that keen on it and suspected it may have shifted around in time. In fact I feel fairly sure it used to be on before Christmas. But today it's quarter finals day.
I remember once, long, long ago, sitting sdown to Grandstand in black and white and watching the day's events unfold. On one glorious day of sport came the Boat Race, the Grand National and the 6th round of the FA Cup. All four ties completed between 3pm and twenty to five. It was a gray and misty day, no doubt made greyer an mistier by the feeble black and white image. I was enthralled as the variou dramas played out before us. It was a perfect sporting day.
Today's fare is more watered down. The rugby matches take place one after the other for the benefit of us couch potatoes, and the FA Cup matches are spread out over two days so not a ball kicked will be missed by the obsessed. All the mystery though of something unfolding out of our view is lost. Everything is there for the tele viewer on demand. I remember waiting that day for endless hours for the flickering highlights on "Match of the Day" late at night. How much sweeter they seemed for the wait.
The happy news is that he Scumbags got mighty comeuppance. They dominated the game against Portsmouth, like a ramoaging army beating at the walls of a city. But by a combination of sheer good fortune, plucky defending, and dismal finishong, Pompey held them at bay before being awarded a late penalty themselves, which sunk the Red Scum. Needless to say defeat was not taken in good grace, the management whining and whingeing about the referee who actually had the balls to awarded a penalty against them at Old Trafford. Must have been about the third in history!
Later in the day Barnsley turn over Chelsea. Now let's go back to that day oin 19 sixty whenever. If I had been told then that I would be quite happy to see the Blues dumped out of the cup quarter finals by a second divison outfit, I'd have had you committed. Now Chelsea are just a bunch of mercenaries from four continents who care as much about the club as I now do, but who stuff their pockets full of four years of my hard earned cash every single week. Good for Barnsley, and if Cardiff can beat Middlesburgh tomorrow there will only be one "premiership" team in the semi finals.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
March 7th
I'll try this for the second time, the hated blogmachine having destroyed my original effort. Up early to take the kids to school. and still much xercised by the thughts of Emsy's future education. Originally I wasn't scheduled to be up this morning, last night being Ped night, which I had looked forward to for a while, but just couldn't be arsed when the evening came along.
So over to Oxford for the ritual slaughter of E. She arrived feeling positive and confident, which I confess was a fuck sight more than I was. We drove gently around for a whil, tried her emergency stop, and then headed to the place of education. I had already bottled out from my plan of sitting in on this one, due mainly to posssible embarrassment.
I sat down in the waiting room and chatted to a couple of the local instructors whilst she was out, and was surprised to see E as the first car back. I sauntered over and she opened the door, exclaiming that "things had gone a bit pear shaped" Quelle surprise!
Among other things she had managed to attempt both reversing manoeuvres with the handbrake fully engaged. That for me was the highlight, but the overall result of the attempt was a stunning 13 minors and SEVEN serious.
I had no wish to continue teaching E, not from any reason of personal conflict, but simply because it would just make no sense to travel all th eway to Oxford for single lessons. So I caalled L, the Oxford insstructor and related the problems to her. She aree to call E and see what could be arranged. I hope she does not give up. She was a vey nice lady, and FFS she is knocking on the door of 50, has had no 1110 hours of lessons, and is way short of test standard, as the examiner wasted no time in pointing out to me.
In the evening out for a few beers wit B & N. Swapped stories, most of which I had heard (or told) before, but it was fun, and followed with the obligatory beer and ruby. When I got home found a text from T cancelling tomorrow's lesson. I also know A to be sick (Pascale says she and A were both struck down) so may have a lie in in the morning. Still, that's the best part of £100 gone west. Watch the cricket. England struggling out in New Zealand. It's not the same as an Ashes series though, there's none of the intensity, none of the huge stadium atmosphere.
So over to Oxford for the ritual slaughter of E. She arrived feeling positive and confident, which I confess was a fuck sight more than I was. We drove gently around for a whil, tried her emergency stop, and then headed to the place of education. I had already bottled out from my plan of sitting in on this one, due mainly to posssible embarrassment.
I sat down in the waiting room and chatted to a couple of the local instructors whilst she was out, and was surprised to see E as the first car back. I sauntered over and she opened the door, exclaiming that "things had gone a bit pear shaped" Quelle surprise!
Among other things she had managed to attempt both reversing manoeuvres with the handbrake fully engaged. That for me was the highlight, but the overall result of the attempt was a stunning 13 minors and SEVEN serious.
I had no wish to continue teaching E, not from any reason of personal conflict, but simply because it would just make no sense to travel all th eway to Oxford for single lessons. So I caalled L, the Oxford insstructor and related the problems to her. She aree to call E and see what could be arranged. I hope she does not give up. She was a vey nice lady, and FFS she is knocking on the door of 50, has had no 1110 hours of lessons, and is way short of test standard, as the examiner wasted no time in pointing out to me.
In the evening out for a few beers wit B & N. Swapped stories, most of which I had heard (or told) before, but it was fun, and followed with the obligatory beer and ruby. When I got home found a text from T cancelling tomorrow's lesson. I also know A to be sick (Pascale says she and A were both struck down) so may have a lie in in the morning. Still, that's the best part of £100 gone west. Watch the cricket. England struggling out in New Zealand. It's not the same as an Ashes series though, there's none of the intensity, none of the huge stadium atmosphere.
Friday, March 7, 2008
March 6th
After a couple of weeks with the nose to the grindstone, two very quiet days beckon, and although I must say that appeals, I am getting used to having a chunk in the bank account, and thus have mixed feelings about this.
I decide to be virtuous and take advantage of the time to plunge back into the woods for my two hours of exercise. It's an unlovely morning an I have to stay I start out on my trek because I ought to rather than because I want to. I don't know if the two are related, but I don't feel nearly as fit on this walk, and in fact stop several times, even on the less challenging stretches. Maybe that' what two weeks of indolence does to you at this age!
Nearing the end the sun is poking out of the clouds, and I make the bg climb up from the Harrow without stopping, which is pleasing. it's also nice that there is no mud to contend with, none at all. Nice for me, but if the fields aren't soggy in early March i suspect the farmers can't be best pleased.
I am absolutely knackered on my return and have a fitful sooze. I get a few more tapes onto DVD. Yes! the camera has miraculously cured itself, just as oddly as when it broke down the other day. I take no chances though, and if it's on it's last leags I eed everything onto disk asap.
I look at a couple of wedding videos and wonder would I have done something more if I had stuck with that as an ambition. And then wonder is it too late to do so.
The evening's events convince me that it's time to look round for an extra income for sure. G, the headmaster from HG rings Heather to discuss Emma's case, and can offer very litle hope. It is totally outside of his control, but the school is full, and he can see no way that even an acceptable appeal will see Emma with a place. It is deeply worrying, and extreme measures must be considered. They include.
Moving to within catchment (expensive, we will end up with a smaller house, and no guarantee nyway)
Moving elsewhere (Aylesbury, MK; nicer house, but disruption to S&D and a hell of a trek to work for H)
Sending Emma to private school for a year and hope she gets through a 12 plus test (hideously expensive, and of course no guarantee that she would)
No easy answers. I even wonder about the possibility of a move to Ireland, but am not sure it's a place I'd be terribly happy in. But then again, H has spent twenty plus years over here without really liking it so maybe it's my turn now.
E has her test tomorrow. I have never felt so reluctant to present anyone at the test centre. To make matters worse, on Monday when all seemed fine, I stupidly mentioned that I would sit in the back for the test. OMG!!!!!
I decide to be virtuous and take advantage of the time to plunge back into the woods for my two hours of exercise. It's an unlovely morning an I have to stay I start out on my trek because I ought to rather than because I want to. I don't know if the two are related, but I don't feel nearly as fit on this walk, and in fact stop several times, even on the less challenging stretches. Maybe that' what two weeks of indolence does to you at this age!
Nearing the end the sun is poking out of the clouds, and I make the bg climb up from the Harrow without stopping, which is pleasing. it's also nice that there is no mud to contend with, none at all. Nice for me, but if the fields aren't soggy in early March i suspect the farmers can't be best pleased.
I am absolutely knackered on my return and have a fitful sooze. I get a few more tapes onto DVD. Yes! the camera has miraculously cured itself, just as oddly as when it broke down the other day. I take no chances though, and if it's on it's last leags I eed everything onto disk asap.
I look at a couple of wedding videos and wonder would I have done something more if I had stuck with that as an ambition. And then wonder is it too late to do so.
The evening's events convince me that it's time to look round for an extra income for sure. G, the headmaster from HG rings Heather to discuss Emma's case, and can offer very litle hope. It is totally outside of his control, but the school is full, and he can see no way that even an acceptable appeal will see Emma with a place. It is deeply worrying, and extreme measures must be considered. They include.
Moving to within catchment (expensive, we will end up with a smaller house, and no guarantee nyway)
Moving elsewhere (Aylesbury, MK; nicer house, but disruption to S&D and a hell of a trek to work for H)
Sending Emma to private school for a year and hope she gets through a 12 plus test (hideously expensive, and of course no guarantee that she would)
No easy answers. I even wonder about the possibility of a move to Ireland, but am not sure it's a place I'd be terribly happy in. But then again, H has spent twenty plus years over here without really liking it so maybe it's my turn now.
E has her test tomorrow. I have never felt so reluctant to present anyone at the test centre. To make matters worse, on Monday when all seemed fine, I stupidly mentioned that I would sit in the back for the test. OMG!!!!!
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
March 5th
Shattered! 6 hours in Oxford with E have just about done for me today. She can actually drive a car, control the clutch, steer it, brake it, use her mirrors at junctions, emerge safely. So what's wrong? She can just do the most incredibly, fantastically stupid things that you can imagine.
We approach a roundabout. The first time she was all ove the place, so this is a repeat effort. I point out the sign.
"We want to go to Cowley, do you see it on the sign?"
"Yes"
So we arrive at the roundabout.
"Ok we are going to follow the signs for the A4142, so long for the road markings"
"ok"
Now last time she had tried following the markings, but had somehow taken us across three lanes and back again across two, so I decide she needs to orientate herself.
"So which is the road we are taking?" I ask her
"The A 4241"
Ok, not the right number but that'll do.
"Yes, but which road is that...off the roads leading off the roundabout"
"I don't know, I've never been here from this direction"
"But what did the sign say?"
"I don't understand"
"On the sign, where was the A4142?"
"Back there" she says, turning around.
"No, but the sign showed us which direction our road was in"
"I don't understand"
"Ok, look at the roundabout. There are four roads, yes?"
"I think so, I'm not sure"
(Can you count to fucvking four??")
"Well count them then!!"
We'll have to get round th roundabout soon as the lights are changing. She seems to genuinely have no idea of how to translate the diagram on the road sign to the real life roundabout.
"Ok, we need to take the fourth exit"
She counts backwards anti clockwise.
"No, Eileen, which way are we going around the roundabout?"
"Erm. A44221"
Oh my God.
"I'll guide you."
She stalls the car. A forty ton lorry with QE2 surplus foghorns let's us knowwhat he thinks.
She does nothing.
"Start the car Eileen" Sheputs it into first gear.
You haven't started it. What do we need to do?
She gets it and turns the key before I can stop her. We are of course in first gear and we lurch forward. Another blast from the foghorn.
"What happened?"
"You were in gear"
"Oh"
She starts the enging, then tries to put the car in first gear without the irritating business of depressing the clutch first.
"I think it's broken"
I am reminded of Basil Fawlty's line to Mrs Richards
"No, it works................ you don't"
The lorry is now cautiously edging around us as we finally get moving. Needless to say she doen't even glance in the mirrors, and I have to jump on the brakes before she consigns us and the car to compressed flesh and metal.
Eventually, by pointing , and taking over the steering wheel every time we are about to collide with another road vehicle, we make it around te roundabout. A few moments later I pull hr up on the side o the road.
"I think it's going a lot better today, don't you?" she asks, in all sincerity.
Later we are on a quiet estate. A BSM learner is reversing around the corner. A parked car is on the opposite side of the road. The parked car driver opens his door, thus totally blocking the road. We are approaching the blockage.
"What are we going to do here then Eileen?"
"Check our mirrors," she asserts confidently, as she continues to head straight for the impasse
"Very good, and then?"
"I am not sure"
"Do you think we should stop the car?"
"What for?" We still have a few metres to go.
I stop the car.
"Eileen. I have stopped the car because there is a learner driver reversing towards us. On the other side of the road is a parked car with it's door open. There is no room for us to go anywhere. What, seriously was you plan"
And of course there was none. She just seems incapable of recognising any problems until she is three inches away from them. The day continues in a similar vein. Attempts at reversing are astonishing in their ineptitude, and yet at times she drives as if she has been doing so for a lifetime.
We stop and talk. t transpires she has had "about" 96 hours of lessons. She has her test on Friday. All I can do is sincerely hope and pray that the DSA examiners go on strike again next Friday and cancel her test. It realy would be the fairest thing that could happen, at least give us some time for disaster recovery.
Back to Wycombe completely frazzled to meet A, who has driven for just 12 hours. It is so different. He is cool, calm, and so sorted in his head it is untrue.
In the world outside, Hill is back from the dead in the US primaries, though Obama's fans say he's done enough already. They seema little twitchy thoug. Something pretty calculated about that gal. Ped tomorrow. Shall I, shan't I? Not today's decision I feel.
We approach a roundabout. The first time she was all ove the place, so this is a repeat effort. I point out the sign.
"We want to go to Cowley, do you see it on the sign?"
"Yes"
So we arrive at the roundabout.
"Ok we are going to follow the signs for the A4142, so long for the road markings"
"ok"
Now last time she had tried following the markings, but had somehow taken us across three lanes and back again across two, so I decide she needs to orientate herself.
"So which is the road we are taking?" I ask her
"The A 4241"
Ok, not the right number but that'll do.
"Yes, but which road is that...off the roads leading off the roundabout"
"I don't know, I've never been here from this direction"
"But what did the sign say?"
"I don't understand"
"On the sign, where was the A4142?"
"Back there" she says, turning around.
"No, but the sign showed us which direction our road was in"
"I don't understand"
"Ok, look at the roundabout. There are four roads, yes?"
"I think so, I'm not sure"
(Can you count to fucvking four??")
"Well count them then!!"
We'll have to get round th roundabout soon as the lights are changing. She seems to genuinely have no idea of how to translate the diagram on the road sign to the real life roundabout.
"Ok, we need to take the fourth exit"
She counts backwards anti clockwise.
"No, Eileen, which way are we going around the roundabout?"
"Erm. A44221"
Oh my God.
"I'll guide you."
She stalls the car. A forty ton lorry with QE2 surplus foghorns let's us knowwhat he thinks.
She does nothing.
"Start the car Eileen" Sheputs it into first gear.
You haven't started it. What do we need to do?
She gets it and turns the key before I can stop her. We are of course in first gear and we lurch forward. Another blast from the foghorn.
"What happened?"
"You were in gear"
"Oh"
She starts the enging, then tries to put the car in first gear without the irritating business of depressing the clutch first.
"I think it's broken"
I am reminded of Basil Fawlty's line to Mrs Richards
"No, it works................ you don't"
The lorry is now cautiously edging around us as we finally get moving. Needless to say she doen't even glance in the mirrors, and I have to jump on the brakes before she consigns us and the car to compressed flesh and metal.
Eventually, by pointing , and taking over the steering wheel every time we are about to collide with another road vehicle, we make it around te roundabout. A few moments later I pull hr up on the side o the road.
"I think it's going a lot better today, don't you?" she asks, in all sincerity.
Later we are on a quiet estate. A BSM learner is reversing around the corner. A parked car is on the opposite side of the road. The parked car driver opens his door, thus totally blocking the road. We are approaching the blockage.
"What are we going to do here then Eileen?"
"Check our mirrors," she asserts confidently, as she continues to head straight for the impasse
"Very good, and then?"
"I am not sure"
"Do you think we should stop the car?"
"What for?" We still have a few metres to go.
I stop the car.
"Eileen. I have stopped the car because there is a learner driver reversing towards us. On the other side of the road is a parked car with it's door open. There is no room for us to go anywhere. What, seriously was you plan"
And of course there was none. She just seems incapable of recognising any problems until she is three inches away from them. The day continues in a similar vein. Attempts at reversing are astonishing in their ineptitude, and yet at times she drives as if she has been doing so for a lifetime.
We stop and talk. t transpires she has had "about" 96 hours of lessons. She has her test on Friday. All I can do is sincerely hope and pray that the DSA examiners go on strike again next Friday and cancel her test. It realy would be the fairest thing that could happen, at least give us some time for disaster recovery.
Back to Wycombe completely frazzled to meet A, who has driven for just 12 hours. It is so different. He is cool, calm, and so sorted in his head it is untrue.
In the world outside, Hill is back from the dead in the US primaries, though Obama's fans say he's done enough already. They seema little twitchy thoug. Something pretty calculated about that gal. Ped tomorrow. Shall I, shan't I? Not today's decision I feel.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
March 4th
They come around every now and again. That's to say, one of those days you wish had never happened. It all started well enough, with all thoughts of an early start to spring firmly laid to rest with a sharp shower of snow. It settled on the rooves, though never the road, but the sight of the white stuff filling the skies has, and I think always will cheer me up.
Jolly J was waiting in the car park. The snow had settled on him ok, and the lesson ran really soothly, He says he is much more comfortable with me than his previous guy, which is comforting.
An hour's break then off to Aylesbury. I have run out of ideas with S so though I'd put him through his paces in a mock test. It ws as expected, pretty messy, though not a disgrace, with the exception of the reverse park. The bloody car was all over the place. When we got back he had a go at the bay park, which was even more dire. We agreed a couple more lessons and then we'll book for the real thing. I can hardly express confidence.
So over to Oxford with some confidence after yesterday to meet with E. She's been busy. Shooping, cleaning the house and taking the dog for a walk. Doesn't sound too stressful, but apparently it has turned her brain to mush. After yesterday when all looked fine, now I clearly see why she has failed 5 tests. I feel myself losing patience a little bit with some of the idiot thing she says and does. At one stage a land rover comes onto our side f the road to pass parked cars. Naughty, bit as I always say, "we have to deal with it." E deals with it by banging her foot to the deck and heading straight for him. Overnight she has los the ability to cotrol the car with the clutch, an we are stalling every two minutes. A mini roundabout is totally beyond her comprehension, and I spend a full fifteen minutes explaining to her. Fucking nightmare. I can only hope the reccommended good night's sleepp has the desired effect.
I drive home and when I arrive all is gloom. Emma had applied for entry to HG school on the basis of havinghad 2 siblings there already. It worded for Daniel, but now we have a bombshell dropped on us. Application for HG is unsuccesful, but they are delighted to offer us a place at Cressex Community school. The fuck will she go there. My liberal credentials take a knock as I think of sending that sweet young girl into a fucking mix between a madrassa and a borstal. That's the plavce a brick came flying from and into the windscreen of an AA car whilst N took it out on test. But what to do? Appeal obviously, but if no good? We'd have to move, or somehw acquire an address within the HG catchment.
Disheartened I go to the Instructor's meeting. The entire first half is devoted to the YDE, which affects about 5 people and brings no benefit at all to the rest of us. Bomb Lewis reveals new triumphs. He has the DSA's permission to use some quote or other in the next press release. The town clerk of Chsham Bois Parish council has URGENTLY demanded posters to bung up in the village hall. Encouraged, he proposes and increase to three days of he YDE. Eyebros are raised. He has clearly gone bonkers. I am losing the will to live.
At half time I discover that K, who I had not really spoken to before, has also applied for HG for his granddaughter, who lives in Totteridge. She has also been sent to Cressex. If someone living in Totteridge is refused, I dread to think what Emmsy's chances might be.
I return home and scur the net for property prices in HG. It's not encouraging. Anything near the price we would sll for is tiny and pokey. I look at Aylesbury. Nicer houses to be had for the price there. Then Milton Keynes... nicer still. very nicein fact. How the hell can we ask H to travel from MK every day though.
She'll get on to the HM, Gilbert tomorrow. She'll do all she can for Emsy. We have to do something, that's for sure.
What a dismal situation though, and a discredit to the education system that has developed post war. Why should there be bad schools, where no one wants to send their kids? Why o we accept it as the norm, and just hope our kids don't end up in them? And what about the mums and dads who want something better for their offspring, but have no idea what strings there are to tug, and how to pull them, or who, in extremis, don't have the chance to change address. It's shit. That's what it is.
Jolly J was waiting in the car park. The snow had settled on him ok, and the lesson ran really soothly, He says he is much more comfortable with me than his previous guy, which is comforting.
An hour's break then off to Aylesbury. I have run out of ideas with S so though I'd put him through his paces in a mock test. It ws as expected, pretty messy, though not a disgrace, with the exception of the reverse park. The bloody car was all over the place. When we got back he had a go at the bay park, which was even more dire. We agreed a couple more lessons and then we'll book for the real thing. I can hardly express confidence.
So over to Oxford with some confidence after yesterday to meet with E. She's been busy. Shooping, cleaning the house and taking the dog for a walk. Doesn't sound too stressful, but apparently it has turned her brain to mush. After yesterday when all looked fine, now I clearly see why she has failed 5 tests. I feel myself losing patience a little bit with some of the idiot thing she says and does. At one stage a land rover comes onto our side f the road to pass parked cars. Naughty, bit as I always say, "we have to deal with it." E deals with it by banging her foot to the deck and heading straight for him. Overnight she has los the ability to cotrol the car with the clutch, an we are stalling every two minutes. A mini roundabout is totally beyond her comprehension, and I spend a full fifteen minutes explaining to her. Fucking nightmare. I can only hope the reccommended good night's sleepp has the desired effect.
I drive home and when I arrive all is gloom. Emma had applied for entry to HG school on the basis of havinghad 2 siblings there already. It worded for Daniel, but now we have a bombshell dropped on us. Application for HG is unsuccesful, but they are delighted to offer us a place at Cressex Community school. The fuck will she go there. My liberal credentials take a knock as I think of sending that sweet young girl into a fucking mix between a madrassa and a borstal. That's the plavce a brick came flying from and into the windscreen of an AA car whilst N took it out on test. But what to do? Appeal obviously, but if no good? We'd have to move, or somehw acquire an address within the HG catchment.
Disheartened I go to the Instructor's meeting. The entire first half is devoted to the YDE, which affects about 5 people and brings no benefit at all to the rest of us. Bomb Lewis reveals new triumphs. He has the DSA's permission to use some quote or other in the next press release. The town clerk of Chsham Bois Parish council has URGENTLY demanded posters to bung up in the village hall. Encouraged, he proposes and increase to three days of he YDE. Eyebros are raised. He has clearly gone bonkers. I am losing the will to live.
At half time I discover that K, who I had not really spoken to before, has also applied for HG for his granddaughter, who lives in Totteridge. She has also been sent to Cressex. If someone living in Totteridge is refused, I dread to think what Emmsy's chances might be.
I return home and scur the net for property prices in HG. It's not encouraging. Anything near the price we would sll for is tiny and pokey. I look at Aylesbury. Nicer houses to be had for the price there. Then Milton Keynes... nicer still. very nicein fact. How the hell can we ask H to travel from MK every day though.
She'll get on to the HM, Gilbert tomorrow. She'll do all she can for Emsy. We have to do something, that's for sure.
What a dismal situation though, and a discredit to the education system that has developed post war. Why should there be bad schools, where no one wants to send their kids? Why o we accept it as the norm, and just hope our kids don't end up in them? And what about the mums and dads who want something better for their offspring, but have no idea what strings there are to tug, and how to pull them, or who, in extremis, don't have the chance to change address. It's shit. That's what it is.
Monday, March 3, 2008
March 3rd
Due in Oxford today for E. Supposed to be there for ten, but fart about and don't roll up until quarter to eleven. Pretty poor performance really. E is nearly fifty, though doesn't look it. She's taken five tests already and has another booked on Friday. she isn't bad at all and with a bit of luck could make it we'll see. A trek afterwards from Oxford to Amersham for T, who is late. I am tired so I put my foot down and say I have to be finished by 6. He doesn't seem unduly concerned. He is quite a capable driver, but still keeps doing ridiculous things from time to time. I certainly wouldn't put money on him in a test. He is unfailingly polite, and a pleasant young fellow though, and I hope he can pull it together.
Decided to get down to finishing off the vids to dvd project and was alarmed to see the camera has had some kind of epeleptic fit. It now produces strange skewed pictures. Remember what the Flinstones got avery time they switched on their telly? Something like that. So now I have a problem, again!! I have about ten tapes left to transfer and no means to do it with. Such a shame. That was the semi pro camera that Sony gave me when my original conked out. A nice piece of kit.
The usual Monda routine of beer and curry kicked in. Back to the CC this time. Missed the bombay duck desperately, but the grub so much better.
You can't always get what you want......
Followed the Monday ritual of beer and curry
Decided to get down to finishing off the vids to dvd project and was alarmed to see the camera has had some kind of epeleptic fit. It now produces strange skewed pictures. Remember what the Flinstones got avery time they switched on their telly? Something like that. So now I have a problem, again!! I have about ten tapes left to transfer and no means to do it with. Such a shame. That was the semi pro camera that Sony gave me when my original conked out. A nice piece of kit.
The usual Monda routine of beer and curry kicked in. Back to the CC this time. Missed the bombay duck desperately, but the grub so much better.
You can't always get what you want......
Followed the Monday ritual of beer and curry
March 2nd
The house in Helpringham is lovely. It is incredibly thermally efficient, so much so that I am always far too hot there. The big problem with it is the noises it makes. Every time we sleep in the huge guest bedroom, a room I love, it proves almost impossible to sleep due to the wheezing of the room. Every movement of air outside is funelled thorugh some vents causing the room to sound like an ill tuned mouth organ. It’s almost like the room breathing, but with a bad case of asthma. This morning there is a gale blowing, one which doesn’t relent, and the noise just gets louder and louder as the night goes by,making it impossible to sleep for more than a few fitful minutes. Add to this Dad’s collection of clocks chiming every 15 minutes, each one waiting for the last to finish before it starts, and with the church clock in the distance clanging away three minutes in arrears, and by nine am I am totally shagged, and it is only now that I sink into two hours blissful kip.
Had planned some exercise. Have been too busy recently to get out into the Chilterns, and I consider a walk around the Fen, as does my dear lady wife. However I start playing the newly transfered dvds back and this takes precedence.
Poor Mum is a mess. She is still hobbling around on a stick and getting very depressed. It take her a month to get from one room to the next, and a trip up the stairs requires years of planning.
It's dreadful to see her, and after I suppose three years or more of this, it is becoming hard to see that her decline might be reversible. One step forward, three steps back, every new visit to the doc brings more bad news. The latest is that she is anaemic. She was always such a fast moving, never still person, and now she is looking more and more like her own mother, though in her case not having the solace of resignation to her condition. I feel very sorry for her, but there is a selfish worry also as I see my next twenty years presumably heading in a similar direction. Gum disease is upon me already, the docs warnings about diabetes ring in my ears. I wonder is my sex life, meagre as it ever was, now a footnote in history, and if it's not, then is a dodgy pituartary the next cloud on the horizon. Oh fuck where did my youth go? Oh fuck can I still even make a claim to be middle aged?
I cook the dinner. It is lovely to do so in a kitchen where all is neat and tidy,, cupboards are full simply of the requisite implements, and not a million heaps of rubbish that will never be used. Doors open without avalanches of surplus vitals, drawers shut neatly, not being stuffed to the gills with things we'll never use. Everything's to hand, there's space to work, and cooking is a real joy. I can easily believe that if I had these conditions I could easily cook daily and become a bit more adventurous.
The dinner is brilliant. A super piece of beef, so, so much better than the kind of joint that comes off the shelf at Asda. the bottle of Barola, which I haven't imbibed for some time, is s dissapointment, not as deep and warming as I had recalled.
We pile into the car, are blackmailed into stopping at the services on the way back, and arrive home about 9. Just entering the pit again is deeply distressing. The place strewn with rubbish as usual, in a state of disrepair in some cases unattended for ten years.
I skulk downstairs and watch Columbo. Faye Dunaway falls for him. The fucking idiot could have spent a weekend in Mexico with him, bit no, he has her in cuffs instead. Old perve!
Had planned some exercise. Have been too busy recently to get out into the Chilterns, and I consider a walk around the Fen, as does my dear lady wife. However I start playing the newly transfered dvds back and this takes precedence.
Poor Mum is a mess. She is still hobbling around on a stick and getting very depressed. It take her a month to get from one room to the next, and a trip up the stairs requires years of planning.
It's dreadful to see her, and after I suppose three years or more of this, it is becoming hard to see that her decline might be reversible. One step forward, three steps back, every new visit to the doc brings more bad news. The latest is that she is anaemic. She was always such a fast moving, never still person, and now she is looking more and more like her own mother, though in her case not having the solace of resignation to her condition. I feel very sorry for her, but there is a selfish worry also as I see my next twenty years presumably heading in a similar direction. Gum disease is upon me already, the docs warnings about diabetes ring in my ears. I wonder is my sex life, meagre as it ever was, now a footnote in history, and if it's not, then is a dodgy pituartary the next cloud on the horizon. Oh fuck where did my youth go? Oh fuck can I still even make a claim to be middle aged?
I cook the dinner. It is lovely to do so in a kitchen where all is neat and tidy,, cupboards are full simply of the requisite implements, and not a million heaps of rubbish that will never be used. Doors open without avalanches of surplus vitals, drawers shut neatly, not being stuffed to the gills with things we'll never use. Everything's to hand, there's space to work, and cooking is a real joy. I can easily believe that if I had these conditions I could easily cook daily and become a bit more adventurous.
The dinner is brilliant. A super piece of beef, so, so much better than the kind of joint that comes off the shelf at Asda. the bottle of Barola, which I haven't imbibed for some time, is s dissapointment, not as deep and warming as I had recalled.
We pile into the car, are blackmailed into stopping at the services on the way back, and arrive home about 9. Just entering the pit again is deeply distressing. The place strewn with rubbish as usual, in a state of disrepair in some cases unattended for ten years.
I skulk downstairs and watch Columbo. Faye Dunaway falls for him. The fucking idiot could have spent a weekend in Mexico with him, bit no, he has her in cuffs instead. Old perve!
March 1st
Up by 7:30, and H is frantically wrapping up presents in advance of the awakening of the bithday girl. I only have ten minutes of her opening her pressies. Next time she does this she’ll be a secondary school girl, and no doubt a very different person to the lovely, still innocent child who eagerly devours her littl pile of gifts.
I have to go out for a lesson with T. He is pretty good but does some really dopey things from time to time, then gets very apologetic. But it’s quite hard to stop him from doing them again.
After dropping him off it’s round to A. She has been on the piss till late the night before but swears s he is fine now. Her last couple of drives have been pretty good, and she’s generally ok today as we head for the Asda roundabouts. A couple of hairy moments, but she deals with them ok until!! She’s looking right at the roundabout and stays looking right as we pull away and crash over the kerb. I lurch over to grab the wheel to get us back on track, and A dissolves into fits of laughet and for five minutes cannot be brought under control. It’s very funny.
She pulls up about 3 inches behind another car.
"Did I tell you what we should be able to see between us and the next car?" I ask (Tyre and tarmac the anticipated answer. She ponders for a minute. Then replies "Everything?"
"Yep that’s right, the whole universe" I respond, and she starts laughing again.. A little later she sees a yellow car, takes both hands off the wheel and hits me. FFS!!! Apparently the "voiture jaune" game is as popular in France as here. I suggest she needs a bit more concerntration on her driving, She considers deeply, and comes to the conclusion that next week we should have pain aux chocolates for breakfast. Completement bonkers!
I get home expecting to leap into the car and head for Helpringham. PD is there wanting to see our bathroom, as she is thinking of getting T to do hers. I give vent to my feelings about T’s workmanship, and in a way wish I had been more diplomatic. I wouldn’t like the comments to get back too him, cos whilst he can be a bit cantankerous, he’s a good hearted chap, and always willing to drop everything to help us out, as was proved the other morning when the mobile skip refused to start, and he was out in a flash with his jump leads.
I point out a few bits and Pat decides to call in the pros.
I find it hard to concerntrate fully as prior to escorting Pat upstairs, the door has been opened bu the birthday girl who is carrying a fluffy bunny in her arms. The little brown and white fluffball looks so cute, and I think how kind it is of one of her friends to have let her have him round on her birthday. Then the obvious truth dawns. I am escorted downstairs where a rabbit hutch the size of London Zoo waits on the decking. Apparently all this has been arranged for weeks behind my back. The rodent apparently goes by the name of "Sherbert", and is quite the sweetest thing I have seen..
Had hoped to head straight to Helpringham, but as ever H dissapears at the cruciall mometn, buying school supplies for Dan which could well have been done during half term when he didn’t move from the computer screen.
We leave late, but to be fair to H she gets the car moving at such a rate that we quickly make up time. I feel a bit nostalgic for the times when I had a fast car and could drive at 95 or 100 mph. The drive is uneventful, and spoiled only by the result from Lincoln where the Chairboys have gone down to a single goal.
Get to Helpringham and bump into P straight away. Jump into the shower and meet him for a quick beer. He is thriving with people working for him all over. Try to arrange a beer for tomorrow, but he has committments.
Then we head off by taxi to Sleaford for Emma’s bithday dinner in the local curry house. It’s a fun evening, everyone is happy with the grub, including Grandpa who has an exotic "lamb surprise" which is flabed in Sanbucca, and is rather tasty. We order piles of food, and I fear we may never eat it all, but it dissapears, and is followed by birthday cake, and ice creams. The whole bill comes o £121 and I feel happy to be able to pay my half of it. On the way home conversation turns to recent events, and of course it dawns on me that I am in now in earthquake country. Dad and the taxi driver swop quake tales, and I begin to feel quite excluded. Normally would look to go for a beer afterwards, but the thought of an empty Nag’s Head fails to inspire me, and once again it’s an early night.
I have to go out for a lesson with T. He is pretty good but does some really dopey things from time to time, then gets very apologetic. But it’s quite hard to stop him from doing them again.
After dropping him off it’s round to A. She has been on the piss till late the night before but swears s he is fine now. Her last couple of drives have been pretty good, and she’s generally ok today as we head for the Asda roundabouts. A couple of hairy moments, but she deals with them ok until!! She’s looking right at the roundabout and stays looking right as we pull away and crash over the kerb. I lurch over to grab the wheel to get us back on track, and A dissolves into fits of laughet and for five minutes cannot be brought under control. It’s very funny.
She pulls up about 3 inches behind another car.
"Did I tell you what we should be able to see between us and the next car?" I ask (Tyre and tarmac the anticipated answer. She ponders for a minute. Then replies "Everything?"
"Yep that’s right, the whole universe" I respond, and she starts laughing again.. A little later she sees a yellow car, takes both hands off the wheel and hits me. FFS!!! Apparently the "voiture jaune" game is as popular in France as here. I suggest she needs a bit more concerntration on her driving, She considers deeply, and comes to the conclusion that next week we should have pain aux chocolates for breakfast. Completement bonkers!
I get home expecting to leap into the car and head for Helpringham. PD is there wanting to see our bathroom, as she is thinking of getting T to do hers. I give vent to my feelings about T’s workmanship, and in a way wish I had been more diplomatic. I wouldn’t like the comments to get back too him, cos whilst he can be a bit cantankerous, he’s a good hearted chap, and always willing to drop everything to help us out, as was proved the other morning when the mobile skip refused to start, and he was out in a flash with his jump leads.
I point out a few bits and Pat decides to call in the pros.
I find it hard to concerntrate fully as prior to escorting Pat upstairs, the door has been opened bu the birthday girl who is carrying a fluffy bunny in her arms. The little brown and white fluffball looks so cute, and I think how kind it is of one of her friends to have let her have him round on her birthday. Then the obvious truth dawns. I am escorted downstairs where a rabbit hutch the size of London Zoo waits on the decking. Apparently all this has been arranged for weeks behind my back. The rodent apparently goes by the name of "Sherbert", and is quite the sweetest thing I have seen..
Had hoped to head straight to Helpringham, but as ever H dissapears at the cruciall mometn, buying school supplies for Dan which could well have been done during half term when he didn’t move from the computer screen.
We leave late, but to be fair to H she gets the car moving at such a rate that we quickly make up time. I feel a bit nostalgic for the times when I had a fast car and could drive at 95 or 100 mph. The drive is uneventful, and spoiled only by the result from Lincoln where the Chairboys have gone down to a single goal.
Get to Helpringham and bump into P straight away. Jump into the shower and meet him for a quick beer. He is thriving with people working for him all over. Try to arrange a beer for tomorrow, but he has committments.
Then we head off by taxi to Sleaford for Emma’s bithday dinner in the local curry house. It’s a fun evening, everyone is happy with the grub, including Grandpa who has an exotic "lamb surprise" which is flabed in Sanbucca, and is rather tasty. We order piles of food, and I fear we may never eat it all, but it dissapears, and is followed by birthday cake, and ice creams. The whole bill comes o £121 and I feel happy to be able to pay my half of it. On the way home conversation turns to recent events, and of course it dawns on me that I am in now in earthquake country. Dad and the taxi driver swop quake tales, and I begin to feel quite excluded. Normally would look to go for a beer afterwards, but the thought of an empty Nag’s Head fails to inspire me, and once again it’s an early night.
Feb 29th
Harry Harry Harry. It goes on and o"n. Apparenltly now it’s known he is out in Afghanland, and some of the enemy might find out he’s there, it’s time to come home. Wonder how many others get that option?
Took young S out for a two hour run, and went round to the Test centre to try a rev park. Noticed there were only two examiners’ cars there which seemed odd, and whilst we were there, N came out, smiled oddly and got into her car to drive away, leaving but one.
A while later got a text from N telling me the examiners, with the exception of the great Mr P, were out on strike.
Had a cancellation from A which was a pain, but gave me a few hours off on a Friday, then over to Maidenhead to pick up SP. It was a bit of a fraught lesson. Hard to say a lot of progress was made.
The evening was something of a non event. For the second time this week I turned my back on the CC and headed to BD, lured there by the Bombay Duck. I am now on the horns of a dilema. The ducks are delicious (though a wee bit on the tiny side), but I can’t say I am over enamoured with the actually grub itself. And then again, there’s no free beer from them. What to do, what to do.?
Early night as up for early lessons tomorrow.
Feb 29th. Only comes round once every four yers so would have been nice to have something momentous to report. Oh well, roll on 2012
Took young S out for a two hour run, and went round to the Test centre to try a rev park. Noticed there were only two examiners’ cars there which seemed odd, and whilst we were there, N came out, smiled oddly and got into her car to drive away, leaving but one.
A while later got a text from N telling me the examiners, with the exception of the great Mr P, were out on strike.
Had a cancellation from A which was a pain, but gave me a few hours off on a Friday, then over to Maidenhead to pick up SP. It was a bit of a fraught lesson. Hard to say a lot of progress was made.
The evening was something of a non event. For the second time this week I turned my back on the CC and headed to BD, lured there by the Bombay Duck. I am now on the horns of a dilema. The ducks are delicious (though a wee bit on the tiny side), but I can’t say I am over enamoured with the actually grub itself. And then again, there’s no free beer from them. What to do, what to do.?
Early night as up for early lessons tomorrow.
Feb 29th. Only comes round once every four yers so would have been nice to have something momentous to report. Oh well, roll on 2012
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)