Monday, May 26, 2008

May 25th (Sun)

So 7 months to Christmas. Or, on a more cheerful note, about 6 weeks until the nights start to shorten. The glorious weather of a few weeks back is but a memory. The rain pounds down from a leaden sky, bashing on the wooden patio.
If Wimbledon marks the start of high summer, then the start of the French open tennis is a sign that this is not so far away. The ghastly Andre Murray scrapes through against an unknown Frenchman.
The test match amazingly escapes the weather, though it looks pretty nippy up there. Vettori rips through England and the Kiwis look to have the match in the bag, though when they bat, Monty does an even more comprehensive job on them. A good start by England leaves the match delicately poised.
The parents arrive for dinner. I cook chicken and pork, with more stinging nettles. I drain them better this time and they are well received. It's a lovely meal, and they are in cheerful form. Malcolm leaves for a while, and fails to return for dinner.
Last August we went to Florida. Billed as the holiday of a lifetime to celebrate my 50th birthday, the daily jaunts to the Wonderful World of Walt left me struggling to disguise that I was underwhelmed, and in general I failed miserably, to the growling annoyance of my dear spouse.
The highlight for me was to watch the launch of a space shuttle mission, though even this was a slight anti climax. You really don't get very close at all, but I loved the space center(sic) tour. Unfortunately due to the 24 hour delay we suffered, we missed another launch, that of the Mars Phoenix lander.
Every day since though, forgotten by most of the world's population, this little craft has been hurtling towards the red (actually brown) planet at some extraordinary rate of knots, covering over 400 million miles in the process. It is heading for the martian arctic, where it hopes to dig into a layer of subsurface ice. Less than one in two such craft reach their destination, and I tune in excitedly to watch the NASA coverage.
7 minutes of fear is the billing, as the craft has to decelerate from 12500 mph to 5mph in that time. Everything has to work perfectly, there are no second chances, and of course, due to the distance involved, no chance to correct anything should it be seen to have gone wrong. In fact, by the time we are ready too observe the 7 crucial minutes, it's fate is already decided. It's either landed or crashed, and all we can do is follow it's fate fifteen minutes after it has happened. Dan watches with me.
The craft separates on time. The parachutes open. The parachutes detach, sending it into freefall towards the surface. Then the rockets fire. It slows down. Mission control are announcing 1200 metres, 1000 metres. Then it's in the hundreds, then 80, 50, and then 10 8, 5, and finally contact. Fantastic! What an achievement.
Phoenix sends back a message to say it's where it should be and then so bravely turns itself off. It's deliberate. It communicates with earth via three satellites orbiting the planet, and they are due to move out of range. So to save battery it switches off until one of them reappears, whence the signal can be sent to start unpacking all of it's boxes of tricks.
H is still awake when I go downstairs at two and her first question is for the fate of the little lander. Well done everyone.

May 24th (Sat)

Get up early as A is playing netball and wants an early lesson. I leave home with H to pick up my cay, and when I get there realise my phone is at home. I still don't know which house A lives in, I always call her from outside, which of course I can't do. Second time this has happened. I decide to ring home.I have two 20ps, which is what a bloody phone box call costs these days.
I dread someone being on the phone and me going through to call minder, which of course will involve the 40p going down the metaphorical BT drain.
Fortunately I get through to Dan, and even more fortunately H has just walked through the door. She rings A and we eventually meet. She's pretty upbeat about her theory test and is confident about next time.
The footie season is finally relinquishing it's grip. Hull City will be in the premiership next season. Hard not to think it will be a brief visit prior to a return to mediocrity and obscurity.
The test match goes in fits and starts,, with New Zealand generally on top. Considering England were supposed to brush them aside 3-0 before getting on to the important business of South Africa, things can hardly be said to be going to plan.
If it's fine (though cold) in Manchester, here, all pretence of summer has been abandoned. It's cold, and grey with the sun but an occasional visitor.
In the evening we watch the scoring bit of the Eurovision song contest. It's hard not to admire Wogan. His manner has changed in recent years from gentle mockery to open scorn, but he does come out with some prize lines.
We sit around and eat a Chinese takeaway en famille and watch the Russians storm to triumph.

May 23rd (Fri)

Pick up T after dropping off Dan at school. He is another speed merchant and I decide I have to let him no fair and square hat he is not going anywhere until he calms down. Amazingly he responds and drives like an angel. One of the best improvements I have seen in a single lesson. Apparently he is pretty depressed with life. He has split with his girlfriend and is still very upset by the loss of his dad. Poor lad.
L, another racer, also drives nicely and sensibly, and A does as he always does.
Sophie has a problem. She has an abcess on her chin, very similar to those suffered by her and myself and H in the recent past. I drop her to A & E and H takes over.
I am out with B & N in the evening. It is a good evening, but is truncated by H's arrival. Apparently S is in pain. We decide that we'll pick up mine and Dan's takeaway and then H will drop her back to A&E.
When I get to the Indian I look at my texts and she is begging for pain relief. H goes up the hill and I wait for the ruby and get a taxi. I gobble down my grub and then jump on my bike to go down to the hospital.
When I get there she has gone. I ride up the hill (on top of beer and curry I don't do it in one go)
and she is st home and very distressed. Basically the hospital have told her to stop wasting their time.I know just how much pain these things cause, and it is despicable to treat her this way.

May 22nd Thurs

A trip to Maidenhead to begin with. S is one of my favourites, one of the first I feel I have converted from a no hoper into a half decent driver. Today I reflect on this as she hurtles confidently along the dual carriageways at 70mph.
Next up is L, daughter of a friend of P. She's a happy go lucky girl who has been learning with the AA (she won £500 of free lessons from them) but feels she is just repeating the same old things. An interesting girl. She's at Misbourne school but did work experience at Sky TV and now works there at weekends and in school hols. To my mind she has not been well taught. doesn't look in her mirrors and seems quite surprised when I mention it might be a good idea.
We part on very good terms, but I get the impression she wasn't hearing what she wanted to here and that i won't be hearing from her again, which would be a shame.
Afterwards J, and a mock test, ridiculously premature, but is necessary to show her how far away from test standard she is. She is!
J mark 2 at 6 pm. She thinks she is Louis Hamilton, and seems far more interested in planning a three day bank holiday piss up than actually concentrating on her driving, which is not good. I suspect a racing driver dad is to blame for this. She has been brought up tearing around wherever she goes, and thinks this is the natural way to drive, despite having none of the skills to deal with it.
In the evening I am up to Prestwood with Malcolm with his bloody car for the second night running. Tonight I am spared his rebuke for my wold views. Last night I was not so lucky.
Treat myself to a Thai takeaway in the evening. Delicious.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

May 21st (Wed)

I finally meet Kenneth. He has been plaguing me with requests for lessons, but always at impossible times. I collect him from Thame and realise how far it is to get to Wycombe. His two hour lesson is only going to get him about half an hour in town. A problem, as is his driving, which after 40 hours of lessons is a million miles from test standard.
Simon cheers me up,but surprises me with the news that Lambert, the wycombe manager has quit. Imagine hearing that from a Peterborough fan. I remember the time when if Westie sneezed I would be amongst the first 6 people in the world to hear about it.
The evening is a sickener. European Cup Final. Chelsea v Scum. The scum are all over Chelsea in the first half, but a late equaliser perks up Chelsea and they dominate the second. It goes to extra time.Chelsea rattle the woodwork twice, but as so often the match runs out of steam and goes to pens.
Twat Ronaldo completely fucks up and it requires just for Terry to tuck the ball away and the scum are dead. He hits the post, and from then things unravel with a horrible inevitability. Vomit

May 20th (Tues)

Nothing much to comment on in the day's lessons. J has taken a break to do some driving with her Mum. It appears to have done her no good at all, and the chances of her being ready for her test are minimal. In talking to her I referred to a couple of things from her theory test.The reply is quite illuminating. It was a long time ago,
"I can't be expected to remember that", suggesting that the knowledge therein is purely garnered to enable her to pass the test as a stepping stone to her driving test, of of no conceivable use to her as she actually goes about the business of driving.
Oysters from Asda. They are small and pretty disappointing.

May 19th (Mon)

As the sun shone yesterday, some play was possible at Lords. I have only one lesson today, and the thought occurs that a day at Lords mightn't be the worst thing to do. After a bit of cajoling, I persuade R, my perve friend from AOL, of the value of the idea, and so I make my excuses to J, the pupil, and head off on the train to London.
I used to get to the test match their at least once a year, but at £65 a throw it's only the last day giveaways (ha! £20) that I can afford.
I wait for R in the Edrich stand. Sophie rings. As I talk an ultra polite Somali steward points out that, regrettably, mobile phones are not permitted. He goes away, and R rings to ask where I am. another admonition. I spot him. He has brought two cups of tea. They are stone cold. We go to sit down in an empty area of the ground. Apparently we cannot. that is reserved for season ticket holders.He puts his bag on the steps. Our Somali friend is back. He is terribly sorry but R's bag is in the gangway and must be moved. Five minutes later he is back. The bag is still slightly in the gangway.
"Who is going to trip over it? The ground is empty"
"I am so sorry sir. We must prepare for worst case scenario"
This utter nonsense continues throughout the day. During the tea interval I put my radio to my ear to garner some statistics. He is there in a flash. Radios must be listened to with earphones only.
"Who can hear it?"
The neighbours are laughing by now. They cannot believe it.
"I am sorry sir, the rules are very strict"
Incredible.
It's a lovely day's cricket. For much of the day there is the prospect of a result, were there to be a clatter of wickerts, but when Oram strides to the crease, he puts things well beyond England's reach with a maginificent 100, the seconf 50 coming in no time at all.
I watch much of the game through my £11 Aldi binoculars. They are superb, and incredibly, there seem to be no rules against their use.
We chat about our perversions, and do so louder than I would have wished. I am sure the guy in the seat in front is craning his neck for the lurid details.
We head for the pub afterwards.It is packed to the brim, and a very nice looking pub. But all drink is served in plastic beakers at the request of the police. FFS.
A lovely Kiwi girl places her hand on my shoulder and laughs at one of my quips. Ah! physical female contact. It is the sexual highlight of my year!
Yes, home curry bed!!

May 18th (Sun)

In the wider world the twin catastrophes in Asia dominate. In Burma the military junta strut on TV screens handing out lovingly wrapped parcels to hopelessly grateful citizens. At least a dozen people are thus helped. Meanwhile, cut off by the self same junta from the western navies queueing up to help, and by their own refusal to get their shiny general's boots dirty, the death toll mounts daily as nothing is done to prevent the onset of disease and hunger to add to the catastrophe brought about by hurricane Nargis.
If this is awful, then it has incredibly been trumped by the calmity in China. A whole region seems to have dissapeared from the map. Tens of thousands are dead, and God only knows how many poor souls lie crushed under tons and tons of concrete which nobody has the means to move.
After the debacle of thge Olympic torch, the Chinese government seems to have employed spin doctors and they are presenting a humane and caring face to the world. The massive Chinese army is heavily mobilised, and they make genuine and heart rending efforts to ride to the rescue. It all seems more effort than result, but it is hard not to feel admiration for their efforts.
After two dreadful days, the sun peeps back out from behind the clouds. After a grey start it's seen again.
H has taken Dan off to football, and it falls for me to take Emsy to the Kinshill school fete. It's so early in the year that I don't even realise until near the end that this is THE summer fete. It's always a good afternoon, and I always feel guilty that I have to be dragged there so reluctantly, and that I have succesfully escaped on a few ocassions.
But what a happy time it is. So much work, so much fun. The kids running around their school and so proud for their parents to see it. The teachers all there happy to help. The tombolas, the beat a goalie, the stocks, which Emsy mans for a while, where you can through wet sponges at the captive.
This year there are old fashioned swing boats, a steam roller and a barrel organ. The weather relents and shines down a warm, if not hot light on the whole event. The clouds are high and fluffy, if ever present.
And it dawns on me that I will never do this again. I'll never have to be coerced or cajoled. I'll never dream up a lethargic excuse to escape. I'm ashamed for ever having done so,and dearly wish I'd have a small child at this lovely school for the rest of my days. But of course it cannot be, and this makes me truly, truly sad.
I walk away hand in hand with my lovely younger daughter and know that this time next year she will have changed without recognition. She'll be as lovely, just as lovely, but wholly different. I'll have no children left. And I regret everything that I couldn't and often wouldn't do for each of them to make their childhood as magical as they deserved it to be.
M comes for lunch. I can only imagine his list of regrets, but that makes my own no less bittersweet.

May 17th (Sat)

No A today, as P has taken her off to Oxford to sit her theory test. It's at 8:30, so when the phone hasn't rung by 9:30 I fear the worst. I text P. The worst i confirmed.She passed the hard bit, the hp, but flunked the theory.
Try to watch cricket, but every time it looks as though the newly reinstated winter is ready to relent, the clouds roll over or the drizzle returns. There's almost no play.
D day for the Wanderers. Play off semi second leg at Stockport. I forget about it and when I turn on we're 6 minutes in. By seven minutes we're 1 down. Just the time to remember that this is the ground we went down 6-0 in December. After a dismal first half, the Blues (in red) come storming back, piling on the pressure and creating a few half decent chances. No one is sharp enough to bury one though, and the prospect of a day out at Wembley is denied us.
Off to P's in the evening. Much cruel ribbing of A's test attempt (in her absence) and the usual barrage of unsolicited info from B. A good evening, but on reflection I made no effort at all to converse with anyone new, and there were a sprinkling of new faces there amongst the predictable regulars.

May 16th (Fri)

Two appointments! seems like a busy day. A couple hours of trying to calm down L. I must tell him he's breaking the limit a dozen times. A nice lad when you can break through the crust of monosyllabic semi responses, and I suspect a few of his elders and betters have faced a wall of dumb insolence in the past. He's scarcely the sharpest pencil in the box, but there is some cheeky charm buried deep.
A couple of hours respite and then A. There's something hidden here too. He's bright enough, but I suspect he has a few secrets hidden. He gives little away in his slow easy drawl, but for a beginner he does drive rather well.
A Friday evening is a Friday evening and there can be no change from the predetermined order of things. It's got more expensive recently though, as Dan has cottoned on to the regular curry thing, and has taken to placing his order. Not only that, but it's lamb tikka massala, which I ain't likely to get a share of. Smart lad.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

May 15th (Thurs)

I dream of being in an earthquake. It's frightening but strangely exciting.
It seems incredible but the cricket season, that's to say the real cricket season, the test matches, starts today. as if on cue the glorious summer weather has gone and the rain is cascading down, bouncing like frozen peas on the decking. All predicted a week ago too. When I was a kid the weather forecast was hardly ever accurate for the following day. Now they hit the nail on the head 7 days away.
The rain relents and a new feature becomes evident. Within fifteen minutes of the rains stopping the covers are off and the toss is made. More rain,but we all get going after lunch. with so much morning rain, in my youth I am sure the whole day would have been lost.
New Zealand appear to have blown it, but the fabulous Macullum rescues them and they finish on 260 odd for 6.
England have abandoned one of cricket's finest traditions, the cable knit sweater, in favour of a brilliant day glow white cardie. It looks smart,but I did like those sweaters.
50,000 is the latest estimate from China. Awful scenes of devastation, truly dreadful, and the poor folk of Burma now left even more in isolation as the world turns to a later tragedy.

May 14th (Weds)

The one reasonably busy day of the week! Nothing too stressful mind, starting with S at 12:30. Decided to give him a mock test and seewhat he could find to mess up this time. To my astonishment he drove like a dream and managed only four minors, though he did pull out at a roundabout in a very tight situation. Maybe there is hope. He has been learning for 13 months after all!
I pick up S in Aylesbury and we drive back to Wycombe. He is so brutal with the car it's untrue. And he thinks he is really good. His driving shows absolutely no foresight or planning. he just charges from one near disaster to another, whilst trying to destroy clutch and gearbox simaltaneously.
What a relief then to have A for the last lesson. So smooth, so gentle, so polished. he has about six weeks to go till his test and should walk it.
I take him for a drive out on the road from missenden to Chequers. the sun is shining on the rolling landscape, which has exploded into luxuriance. Fields have become meadows covered with a froth of buttercups and daisies. The cow parsley is running wild and giving the landscape a soft, welcoming look, which almost begs you to roll and frolic in the grass. It all looks so wonderful. I think back wistfully to when I was learning to drive and follwed these same paths in the blistering summer of 75. Bloody hell, 33 years ago.
After this I go to watch Dan play cricket. Or rather to field. He doesn't bat or bowl. We go for a drink afterwards and he is sulking. Decide to go for someething to eat in the Sushi bar. Dan doesn't want to come and stays in the car. Emsy decides she's too tired and demands H takes her home. So I sit like a plonker with two plates of food and two beersin front of me for half an hour.
The full scale of thecatastrophe in China is becoming clear, leaving the Burmese bastards to run for cover for the moment. Still hardly any foreign aid is getting to that disaster.
The Chinese government has actually responded very positively and vast battalions of soldiers are tackling the horrific task of trying to dig people out from under tons of concrete. Whole schools have been lost, and all their pupils with them. It's so desperate.

May 13th (Tues)

Still the sun pounds down, and I don't really take advantage of it. To my credit though I don't waste the day perving on the net, and actually get some jobs done in town. I pop into the bike dealer with details of the Piaggio I went to look at. Leave well alone came the advice.
Messed up and felt the car running out of petrol on the way home. Decided to cycle to the garage to get a gallon.
By 20 to 4 it was time to get in the car to go and collect A for her lesson, and of course I had forgotten all about it. Hell, in panic I rushed to get a can, which surprisingly had fuel in it. I sniffed. It was definitely petrol. shoved it in the car and then realised it was probably leaded fuel for the lawnmower.
Got to the garage, but a couple of minutes later the car was knocking horribly,and sounded as though it was only running on one of it's three cylinders. I waited and it got no better. Had to stop in the middle of the road, while a fellow instructor looked on as though I was mad.
Gave it one more go, risked blowing the engine to pieces, and eventually got going again. it sorted itself out.
A, who has been making brilliant progress, drove like a cat on acid and made me wonder if we are doing as well as I had thought. she has her theory test on Saturday. Hope she passes as I don't want her giving up.
The sunshine is due to end on Thursday. I really should be enjoying it more whilst I have the chance.

May 12th (Mon)

Another week with not enough to do, and consequently a shortfall inthe dosh inwards column looms. Start the day and week with S, and we drive to town in glorious sunshine. She is really coming along nicely now, and it is gratifying as at one time things did not look good at all.
As the Burmese government does it's level best to ensure that as many of it's people as possible die of neglect, news starts to come in from China of an earthquake with possibly 1000 dead.
Hilary still keeps battling on in the democratic primaries, despite everyone agreeing she hasn't a cat's chance in hell of winning. Now one school of thought says she is already starting the 2012 campaign. By making the fight with Obama as fractious as possible she hands the presidency to Mccain. The dems then face another 4 years in the wilderness, Barak is a busted flush. Mccain fucks the job up totally, and the nation turns to Hill, guilty that she didn't get a chance this time.
On this side of the pond, and fucking things up wonderfully himself, Lab mps are coming out from under cover and starting to squeak that maybe Gordon wasn't the one after all.
As for the rest. Yeah I had a curry, no I didn't do any exercise. No I haven't lost any weight since we got back from Glasgow.

Monday, May 12, 2008

May 11th (Sun)

Woke up early, and thought about getting up early to take advantage of another stunning day. It didn't quite happen, and by the time I had drifted inand out of sleep a few times it was nigh on midday when I finally stirred. Spent an hour or two gawping at nothing much on the box and getting bits and pieces done on the laptop. Incidentally, apre l'accident the thing is gradually deteriorating, the big blobs spreading ever further over the screen and the spider's web cracks creeping ever outwards. Have been considering the idea of getting a scooter for a while and decided today I'd finally do something about it, so myself, H and Emsy take a very pleasant drive through some glorious sun soaked scenery over to Didcot. Ok the massed ranks of cooling towers don't prove the perfect complement to the rural idyl, but I have always found them rather impressive, and today they steam happily along with the rest of us.
The bike is owned by a very robust Pole whose command of English is limited. He does manage to confide that he doesn't bother too much with niceities such as tax or MOTs (I presume insurance can be added to this list)
The bike is a bit smashed up, but, if the speedo is to be believed has only done 3000 miles. He wants just over £600 for it. I gge to have a short ride. It's more cumbersome than I had imagined it would be, and less nippy, though Emsy is terrified whn she has a pillion ride.
One to think about, though if the weather were to stay as it is the attraction would increase!
Realise I won't be able to get a roast dinner enabling bill through the democratic proccess so resort to the remainder of the sardines fromlast night.
Devastating news on the football front. A combination of a crap team such as Wigan and the usual Utd compliant referee haands the scumbags the title. Chelsea contrived not to beat Bolton so they even had the satisfaction of winning by two points rather than goal difference. For god's sake Chelsea, do the fuckers in Moscow!
Footie action continues in the evening, with the Chairboys in action in the play offs. It's another lacklustre game. The Blues manage a goal with one of their ever so rare chances, but a Stockport equaliser always looks on the cards and duly arrives ten minutes from time. A tough task to win the second leg where we have already gone down 6-0 this season.

Sunday, May 11, 2008

May 10th (Sat)

Saturday is A day, and her driving is getting better and better. I take her onto the dual carriageway so there is much concentration and not so much chat today. Still an enjoyable lesson as ever, which is punctuated by the traditional stop at the Spar shop for pain aux chocolates. Malheureusement, today there are only croissants, but these are delicious all the same.
The afternoon is spent kipping, and getting on with the lesson plans, and then it is announced that we are going for a barbecue in the park. a lovely idea.
We meet up with A& G, P and kids, and a host of other friends of Dan, Sophie and Emma. Most of the food is burned on the outside and raw in the middle, but it is a pleasant couple of hours. The kids go off in all directions and ever changing groupings, and the soiree culminates in a riotously disorganised game of rounders.
JB is there. He has had the capacity to annoy me intensely from a very early age, and even without exchanging words, has lost none of his ability to do so. He is now apparently a Vegan, and mopes hopelessly around, eventually slumping to the ground and seeking solace in his mobile phone whilst all around are merrymaking. Apparently, his mother, the horrifically opinionated K, has brought him up with the ethos that he must never apologise for anything he says or does. Presumably by extension this means he can do or say no wrong. He's a little git. Always has been, always will be.
Dan is going home with J. Has he brought his duvet or pillows? No of course not, so again I spoil a good evening by going off on one. I think he should be told he can't go if he can't be bothered to make a little effort, but H says she will go home and then deliver them to him. It angers me, because it's the path to a lifetime of dependency. How do I know? It happened to me dear reader, it happened to me.
A white van trundles across the green sward. It belongs to what would once have been known as the Parks department, but now of course has some implausible name as the outsourced replacement for this august body.
The guy has just come to nicely ask that we take away all our rubbish. Apparently the masses have descended on the other park, The Rye and have left such an infestation of rubbish that it will take 3 men to clear it tomorrow. What an indictment of the "leave it for some other bastard to do" attitude that runs though the bloody world we live in.
I start carrying bags back to the car, as do H, A & G. Not one of the kids there offers to help or even asks if help is needed. I don't go off on one,but nearly.
I ride off into town for a pint. The Goblin is deserted, they'll all be in th garden, so I head for the Falcon. I sit with a pint and a group of yoovs bash into my table disturbing my pint about for pints. They can't even mouth the word sorry. The KB doctrine, and how we are better for it.

May 9th (Fri)

It's baking again and I drop the kids to school then take out L. He is a nice lad when you can finally get him to talk. Everything about him says "I'm trouble" but he is really as sweet as a lamb.
Another void in the middle of the day, but is mainly used getting my lesson plans together rather than idly gloating at dommes on the net.
A new lad in the evening. He's not done much driving but is a biker so has got the basics pretty quickly. He's a nice lad to boot.
And so to the evening.Last year as a birthday surprise I took Dan to London to see Spamalot, and this year I am doing it again. The difference is that last time we were nine miles high in the gods, whereas now we have seats in the very front row.
It's great, so much more intimate despite two hours of craning neck. I am not sure it totally captures the spirit of Python, but gets half way their, and with it's lavish, silly song and dance numbers manages to provide a fabulous night's entertainment. Dan is thrilled, and begs for a t shirt at the end.
Expensive evening. A bargain £40 for the 2 tickets, then £17 for the train fares, £20 for taxis, a tenner for drinks and £15 for a t shirt.
We walk back though Soho to get a cab in Oxford Street. The place is buzzing. The air is balmy and the crowds are spilling out from the pubs and bars onto the streets. Not the binge drinking vomiting, tart clad and neanderthal thugs you'd encounter in most British towns, but a Bohemian, cosmopolitan sophisticated bunch decorating the air with the happy hubub of excitement and contentment. Restaurants have set out their tables on the pavement and the heady smell of good food floats on the air to complement the chatter of bonhomie. I'd like to stay and become part of it, but of course Dan now needs feeding.
We head for Marylebone en taxi and he drops us with no more than 5 minutes to spare for the train, which whisks us home.
Dan picks up on the difference between the grungy street atmosphere of Wycombe after the capital, but we are soon back to the comfortable and familiar surroundings of the curry centre.
We eat well, but lightly. H, our taxi driver joins us, and we drive her mad by repeating snippets of the Spamalot script. His powers of retention are impressive. a good, good evening.

Thursday, May 8, 2008

May (08) Thurs

Still the sun beats down, and yes, we are of course told that it's hotter here than in Spain, Greece and Turkey. It's 25 or 77 in old money an it' bloody lovely. I drive S around Aylesbury for what seems the nine millionth time, but the place looks entirely different basking in this glorious sunshine. Previously tatty buildings take on a sandy glow and revealed a hitherto unsuspected grandeur, girls with short skirts and long legs amble aimlessly in the heat. Who could be unhappy?
T was supposed to be immediately after S, but for the second time he rings up with a couple of hour's notice to cancel. I am getting pissed off. It shows a total disrespect, and you start to question what value they put on you if they think you can be pissed around in this way. Non confrontational soul that I am, I shall have words with T next time.
New pupil in the evening. A disaster. Takes me an hour an half to get to Harefield. Supposedly she is on the brink of her test and just needs to brush up. In fact she is a disaster! A pretty disaster mind, that is some compensation.
Another row with Sophie today. She came in from school and I had the cricket on the box. She just turned it over. I pulled her up. She told me that she was doing revision tonight and that she needed to watch TV for half an hour to relax, the implication being that I could take it or leave it.
Shouting ensued, and further bad feeling. I hope this isn't going to become a habit. Sophie is fantastic, she does work really hard, and is a great role mode for her younger siblings. I do sometimes feel though that she feels the whole world revolves around her, her needs and her wishes and that we exist to execute her wishes at the drop of a hat. All the same don't want to fall out with her.

Decide to rie into town to get something to eat. Get to a set of traffic lights. They are red. Ahead of me an old banger. He's stopped way passed the line to facilitate a chat with his mate who is working in the chips shop. His mate is S, who I know well from the time I delivered those vile lumps of chicken to him. A nice bloke.

The lights turn to green. He doesn't immediately set off, but finishes his chat. So fucking rude. The times I have sat behind in my car at these guys' convenience. so I start to overtake him and he pulls away. I get deilberately close. He stops. I get very high and mighty and tell him he can't drive. He responds. The situation deteriorates. I call him a twat. He leaps from his car. He's bigger than me and I don't do violence anyway. I am on bike and he'son foot. He swears at me and Imutter something that's certainly get me on the Fatwa list. He drives off and I seethe.

Over a pint I think about what I have done. A silly bit of self righteousness leading to a potentially explosive situaton. Where could it have endd up? In court? In hospital? Me without a job? It rankles and worries me how easily I was drawn into it, and equally how I coul have dealt with it so much more adeptly. Two rows in a day. Something's wrong.

On the way home a car roars up behind me as I struggle up the hill. He blasts his horn. I think it's the same guy. In a way I hope so, taking this to mean that his honour is satisfied with blast of the hooter rather than a knife in the stomach. All very silly.

May 07 (Weds)

Off to Oxford under a blistering sun, the king of a deep blue sky. It's heavenly. Get there on time, S is striding in the road cutting deals on his mobile. His driving test seems like a mere interruption. He is so cool, everything appears easy for him and I am certain he'll pass without trying even though we haven't really had time to go through his manoeuvres one more time.
I take him to the test centre and chat to a few Oxfordian instructors. A wave of fear is passing through them. A new Se has just failed 4 instructors in one day, and busted a grade six down to a grade III. Horrific. Hope he doesn't get near to Wycombe.
Our charges return and S turns to produce his documents. He's passed of course. 8 minors, surprisingly high, but considering how fragmented his training was a pretty good effort. He is very happy and invites me in for a drink on the way home. Much as I'd like to, it's not really the done thing, so I bid him a warm farewell. Shame leaving them like this. You build up quite a close relationship with these pupils, and then at the moment of triumph it is severed irrevocably.
Watched the "Apprentice" together in the evening. Not a fan of reality TV, I have to confess to being very fond of this series. This episode particularly as the oiks were sent off to Marakesh. It is nice to see such a bunch of driven self opinionated gits show themselves to be pig ignorant and more often than not incapable of running a piss up in a brewery. Having worked for a couple of meglamaniac jews in the past, I can only imagine what sort of bastard Sugar must be as a boss, but I have to confess to finding his "don't give me that bollocks" attitude rather endearing. If for nothing else it's nice to see the contestants squirm.
The catastrophe continues to unfold in Burma. The military that run their country, who can mobilise in an hour at any part of the country to crack the skulls of anyone who criticises them, now find themselves confined to barracks when the dreadful prospect of saving the lives of their countrymen is suggested.

Tuesday, May 6, 2008

May 06 (Tues)

Up for work, and a decent work load this week, and into the delicious warmmorning sunshine. Drive over to Oxford to pick up S, after a hiatus oabout a month. He is fine, still reeling in the dosh with his kids parties. Drive back from a five hour marathon and out with M for a couple of hours. Both of them are cool and stress free. M is a revelation He was a disaster to start with but now shows a lot of competence.
At home, H is tired and rabid, and makes a comment about being sick on looking at babies on TV:- a reference to my dvd project, to which I take great offence and lt her know about it. A frost descends on a perfect summer's evening. I had planned another bike ride but am very tired and keep pushing it backwards until it is too late. Think about an early ride tomorrow am. We shall see!
The cyclone toll in Burma grows. Foreign aid workers are denied access due to lack of visas for fuck's sake. In the states the final two democrat primaries beckon, and against all odds Hilary has muscled her way back into contention. It's going to the wire. The only worry is that the one man certain to gain from the contest is John McCain, who originally was cast as a non hoper but is now reckoned to be in with a chance against whichever.
Boris has now been in charge for 3 days and London still seems to be there. Long odds against that! Cazza meanwhile turns his attention to Crewe. As we now all Etonians have a place in their heart for the collections of sidings and marshalling yards of Cheshire, and no one can think for a moment that his arrival there has anything to do with the imminent by election.

May 5th (Mon)

Bank holiday Monday, adn it's hot!! Not warm, not mild but lovely dozey summery hot. I don't exactly revel in the sunshine, but do get ome work done today. I get the garage looking pretty spick and span and get Dan to move the pile of tiles for the kitchen floor, which have stood in the hallway for four months (maybe more) into the garage.
Then I was the car. I have a test on Wednesday. After that I coax Dan away from WoW,where he has spent the entire three days of the bank holiday weekend, and we go for a quick bike ride. As always seems to happen to Dan, catastrophe overtakes him. Someone kicks a ball at him, his foot tangles with the spokes of the wheels and his ankle is sprained. I ride up the hill in one go, then go back to find him laboriously pushing his bike up with a limp. I wonder if he needs to learn that these thins happen. he's a massive lad, and ought to be a bit tougher.
I also manage to continue the DVD project, which now involves transfering the DVDs I have recorded onto further discs for the parents to enjoy.
Bank holiday or no bank holiday, Monday is curry day. I toy with the idea of riding down for that but surely enough is enough.
Who'd want to live in Burma. A brutal mlitary regime, and now the place is hit by a cyclone. The death toll rises with every news bulletin viewd from our cmfy couches. 500, 1000, 10,000, and now 10,000 in one town alone.

May 4th(Sun)

Thankfully the ears have stopped chiming and I am up reasonably early, again feeling fairly human.
I look at the place. What a dump we live in, and here goes another weekend in which we will do nothing about it. I spend two hours getting the kitchen reasonably tidy, and listen to Zep on the disfigured laptop. H joins in and clears out the cupboard.
I look aroundTheir are nine drawers and four of them eother have no front, or it is hanging off at an angle. The ceiling is full of holes where we have removed the horrible old Hester lights but found nothing to replace them with. Half the wall tiles were removed about four months ago with no thought as to what was to replac them. Every surface is covered with grease or dust, or the lethal combination grease and dust. There is rubbish everywhere. the kids just discard empty sweet packets where they stand, and gravity does the rest. The cupboards are so stffe full of stuff we'll never use that it's impossible to find anything we need. Touch one tin or jar and it provokes an avalanche. You grab the first two falling items then realise you have run out of hands, try an juggle a third, and then just give up as once more gravity is the master.
after two hours it's at least looking a tidy wreck though, and I am pleased with our efforts.
I recant to the telly and the bust laptop which is buging me more than ever. All four suspects have been interviewed, and naturally all deny complicity.
A couple of hours later and H returns from Asda. A while later I go into the kitchen. Sophie sits there with plates of toast crusts spread over the table, the butter knife is stuck to the work surface, the butter is left out. Her work is spread over table and floor (her bedroom no longer possessing a vacant work surface) The shopping has arrived and is strewn all over the floor. The place looks like a fucking bomb has hit it, but it's me that explodes.
It ends with Sophie and myself screaming and swearing at each other, and I go way too far by sweeping her schoolwork onto the floor.
H tidies the place up and I cook the dinner, indignant but remorseful. Sophie disappears in a huff, but does return for the grub. She shuns my kiss to say sorry, but is actually rebuked by H or that.
In the circumstances dinner passes in quite a convivial manner. I've had too much sherry and too much wine though, and once pudding has been scoffed, my evening is at an end. It's past midnight when I awake, only to head straight down to bed.

Monday, May 5, 2008

May 3rd (Sat)

Up early, and head not to bad despite the realisiation that last night I was pretty pissed. Go early to pick up A who has to go to Brum at 11. Good chance to get things done this afternoon. Joke!
A is on good form, but by the end of the lesson her lift has texted to say whe won't be there for another hour. I invite her back for coffee and we have a laugh together with H, who she gets on well with.
I take her down to town for the new rendezvous, but it transpires her mate has only just left London!
Whe I get home someone has moved the sofa forward a foot. And they have moved it onto my laptop. And the screen is cracked, so that now I see five enormous black blobs and a huge spider's web of cracked glass on the screen every time I want to use it. To say I am unamused............
An afternoon of doing not very much follows, when I am struck by a thought. I was in the Goblin a while ago when I saw that there was a Led Zep tribute band on in the town hall this weekend. After such a week of inertia I reckon it could be a good antidote. Ring Malcolm, who would have come if he hadn't been in Helpringham (course he would) and then suggest it to H,who agrees immediately (surprising as she knows fuck all about Zep, but there you go)
We got in at 8 on the dot and the band take the stage immediately. Think they started with "Ramble On" and then onto "Black Dog" The second track shows up the vocalist's limitations, but then Plant is a hard act to follow. Thereafter he does pretty well.
The crowd are a mottley bunch. Mostly around our age, they presumably would have first heard the real thing whilst toking on bongs and plotting the alternative society, unkempt hair swaying round their shoulders, adorned with beads and clad in loons and kaftans.
Now we all stand there with our neat hircuts, mostly grey, save for those who have nothing left to preen. I have to say the women have generally aged worse than the chaps, the menopausal middle age spread being much in evidence. Yesterday's revolutionaries and nonconformists are today's bank managers, estate agents, council workers, and dare I say it, driving instructors. We don't give a stuff for Che Guevara but go to sleep worrying about propertyprices, food prices and the global credit crunch. A few brave souls still find it in them to bop, though the headbanging is left to a younger generation who are huddled close to the speakers. Some of us oldies have dragged their kids along, some looking no more than 8 or 9. There is also a collection of wheelchair users,, severely handicapped. I hope they get a kick out of it. By the time a couple of pints have gone down the town hall could be the Wembley arena, and the band might as well be the real thing. They really make a good fist of it, a trio of talented musicians and not a bad Plantalike after all.
The crowd behind make a lot of racket, which I find both rude and annoying, though they can only be heard in between tracks, and my ears are ringing so loudly I am not entirely sure if it'sthem I can hear or the onset of tinitus.
Much as I love Zep, I realise I only know three of their albums, and tracks such as "Trampled under foot" and "No Quarter" I am hearing forthe first time. Four pints on and Iam bopping with them unashamedly, and H is carried away on the momentum too. For £12 a head a bloody good evening!
Home to bed and I worry whether 50 year old lugholes can stand up to such an onslaught. There are strange noises in my head. I can onlyy imagine what it must be like for poor folk who have to live with this as a permanent condition. I sincerely hope it will be gone tomorrow.

May 2nd (Fri)

Dan's birthday. A sign of the times. He's no longer that chubby legged blonde curly haired choiroys eagerly wripping apart parcels and squealing with delight at each surprise. He'shad most of his pressies already (concert tickets it appears) and H has just bought a few token bits from Asda so he has something to open. I am going to take him to see Spamalot next Friday (we went last yar but were up in the gods;this time I have got a pair of front row seats for the same price!)
It's another boring day. Nothing till 3:30. Fortunately next week is looking much usier. I get a few bits done, but as so often inertia is the real winner.
Out with B &N in the evening. I actualy arrive first, which is unusual to say the least, but my continued limited resistance to alcohol is demonstrated by my feeling pretty pissed after 4 pints. Decided not to go for the safe session beer (Brakspears) and paid the price. Would have been worse had H no appeared at 10 saying she had to pick me up early as Sophie was waiting outside the house having forgoten her keys.
Got home and sorted that out then went down to the Bombay Nights to pick up the takeaway. Seemed to orde an awful lot. Seemed to cost an awful lot! Tasted ok though! Their vindaloos are a good deal hotter than the curry centre.

May 1st (Thurs)

Pinch punch first of the month. May already. Pressure little sign of summer on the horizon though. An almost blank day. A at 5:30 gives me something to do. An easy guy to teach, another one who will be well ready before his test.
Get some work done on the web site and actually get my cards printed. H is at the PTA this evening, so I suggest eating out. The Red Lion Kingshill stops serving at nine, by the time we get to the Bell it's turned 10, which is when they stop serving. So we settle on the new Sushi bar in town, though don't as it transpires go for Sushi. It looks just the same as the stuff you buy in Tesco but for 3 times the price. Nice bowl of noodles, and good value, though the good but pricey Jap beer bungs thebill up a bit.
Election night. Local councils and the mayor of Lonon.Manage tostay up for a while to see the government tottering, and then it becomes clear that there's a rout goin on.Worryingthing is that it's the tories who are benefitting whilst the old Libdems are standing still. It could have been worse, they aren't really making much headway these days.No nice issue like the Iran war for them to win votes with, though Cable has been by for the most sensible politician in the country throughout the credit squeeze which, according to what time of day it is is either the precursor to a slump unlike any since the great depression,or a mere blip that'll be sorted in a week or two.
House prices will plunge by at a minimum 30% (no bad news really unless of course you have just bought one), mortgages are just about unobtainable.
i stay up for an hour or two, but the locals really are such a pale imitation of the real thing. No Shakespearian tragedies palyed out, no Portillo type moments, the cup is dashed from no one's lips. We just hear about the events in strangely named councils, where quite often we have no idea as to their geography. "The conservatives have taken Cobble Valley from no overall control." Wow!
Anyway, before I doze off the die is cast. It looks bad for Livingstone in London if the trend is repeated there.

Apr 30th (Weds)

Another blank dayI start with L at 10:00.He gave up about six months ago and has now started again, but has still to do his theory test. Fine by me,he'll be ready way before he gets a test date and he'll pay me each week for lessons up to the test when he'll be more than ready to take it. To some small credit I have been getting things done this week. I have finally sorted out a DTP package and have got some quite nifty cards printed for posting in the local shop windows, and I am also working on a website with some success.

Out with T in the early evening. I am worried by him. He is not naturally gifted, but seems to think he has what it takes to be a racing driver. It's hard to slow him down, but the main problewm is an attitudenal one. Will be quite interesting to see how to bring him to heel.

Chelsea Liverpool is a cracker. The blues score, then let the scousers back into it to grab extra time, before setting their seal on thematch. Even then Liverpool pull one back which sets the game up on a knife edge.

Have more confidence in Chelsea than Liverpool preventing the scum from winning the European cup, or "champions league" as the marketing twats now decree it must be called.

Apr 29th (Tuesday)

another day with only opne appt in the diary. It's poor old S over in Aylesbury. He does well today, managing to reverse the car around a corner almost unaided. He still shows no natural aptittude for driving the car though, try as he might, and he certainly does try.
Agreed to pick up Emsy after school to take her to an enterprise awards event at the famed Cressex school. She doesn't win a prize, but comes home happy enough.
She has designed a range of watches (made from cardboard!) It's all very clever stuff and she should feel very pleased with herself.
Watch footie on tele. The scum v Barcelona. barca a much better team as in the first leg, but all they do is ponce around with the ball and never look like scoring. In the 14th minute the vile Scholes blasts one in and the scumbags sit on their lead for the rest of the game. Disaster! Another cup final for them. Now pin the hope of the world on Chelsea beating Liverpool tomorrow as they must have a more realisitic chance of beating them in the final.