A very long walk

You can tell we are getting old - on Saturday TOH and I met the Robbs, Fawcetts, Birds et al for a day of walking along the Thames path.

Steve, Jo, Sarah, Gail, Chris, Natalie and Will are going to walk the entire length of the river to the source beyond Oxford over a series of weekends, which is a commendable thing to do.

When the venture was first mentioned, only those who intended to walk every leg were allowed to join in but after much ribbing Steve relented and agreed people could dip in and out when they could. That is good for us as TOH and I are going to walk Hadrian's Wall in March and I need the training.

So, we were very excited about the day, TOH even got up super early to get some new walking boots before the meeting time so he could bed them in before the wall. However, we (and Natalie and Will) were then about 40minutes late because the District Line was playing silly buggers.

Almost immediately I sensed Steve was regretting his decision as we rather held the expedition up. He even texted me to ask if 'I could walk any slower' as we crossed Putney Bridge to meet them!



It was a lovely day, the weather was quite kind, the company excellent and the scenery wonderfully Thamesy. I have been up there many times on the Good Ship Ganges but it all looked different from the side. One thing I did notice though was as I walked along, I tended to look at the muddy path and watch out for puddles instead of taking in the views.



We were past the half-way mark when we stopped for a welcome lunch in Richmond.





I took my instant camera with me with the intention of sending the snaps to Sara in Iraq but she will be home within a couple of weeks and there is doubt over whether or not they will arrive before she sets off for home. So, Sara, if you are reading this, the thought was there (watch out for a letter though - I posted it off today).

As we left Richmond there was a heron standing about two metres from the path, totally unconcerned people were up close and staring. He was a very handsome creature.

The final stretch of the walk to Teddington seemed very short and all too soon the walk was over. I wished I was joining the guys on Sunday for the next leg, but to be honest I rather doubted my actual legs would be up for it.



So we said our goodbyes and headed back to West India Quay to see A Very Long Engagement at the flicktures. It was a kinda good film, yet kinda bad too. Sort of Amelie meets the first half-hour of Saving Private Ryan - a whimsical yet graphical look at trench warfare in France.


On Sunday my legs were not as bad as I anticipated they would be. Perhaps that's because of the serious stretching I did before going to bed. Only my feet hurt as my shoes were rather unsuitable for an 11-miler.

After popping round to the boat to tidy up and stuff, we headed over to Alex's for Sunday lunch. She cooked up a magnificent stew, mash and 'cauliflower cheese surprise', the surprise being it also contained sweetcorn and mushrooms. Yum!

And so, we did something I have done since I really can't remember when - sat there drinking wine all day until it was suddenly about 10 o'clock and we had to go home.

This is why I love him

TOH emailed me this:

"Just had a hilarious conversation with a crap salesman from Liverpool who rang us up.
He kept asking closed questions (those which illicit only a yes or no reply, eg: 'Can I have your email address?', 'Would you not be interested in a new phone system?'), instead of open ones (those which are designed to get a fuller answer) which is a real no-no in sales.

Him: Would I be able to send through information?
Me: Closed question
Him: What?
Me: You keep asking closed question. Ask an open one and you will get a fuller answer
Him: Okay 'I would like your number' Is that an open question?
Me: No. That's a statement
Him: Listen I'm not stupid. I have been to University.
Me: Have you now. Which one?
Him: Liverpool John Moores
Me: No. I'm not having that. That's a Poly not a University.
Him: Why does it matter?
Me: You're wasting your time and you're wasting mine. Give up."

That, and the fact he is fantastic in bed ;-)

"A couple of shortish hebdomads"

My good friend and Chief Bridesmaid Jenny has agreed to take me under her wing and become my personal trainer. And so far the service has been pretty impressive.

We have worked out an exercise plan (cycle to work twice a week, go for a 30min fast walk once a week, something over the weekend - pilates plus walk, cycle, swim) and gone over what foods to eat.

I even received an email today checking that I was sticking to the plan, which I am (it's only been three days!).

So, I will be a thin, fit and healthy bride come July!

For you lads out there who need a bit of a boost, these highly amusing cock enlargement ads arrived on my work email. I just love the way these things have evolved into virtual poetry since the first of their kind did the rounds in the early years.

No Fraud ... Genuine Ability! Augment your member
No Sham ... Real Skill! The such case of enquiry that established other marvel pharmaceuticals, has now invented a radical herbal tablet that can gain your member size by 1" to 5" in exactly a couple of abbreviated weeks! Just take 1 my tablets every day...
It will build your penis increment a huge 29%!

No Fraud ... Genuine Ability! Augment your member - Part II
No Catch ... True Science! The equivalent sort of inquiry that produced another marvel specifics, has now established a radical grass tablet that can addition your member proportion by 1" to 6" in just a couple of shortish hebdomads! Merely ingest 3 our lozenges every day...
It will do your phallus addition a vast 20%!

I'm spitting teeth (Posting rated 15 - contains strong language and scenes of violence)

Un-fucking-believable. I left the flat yesterday morning with two workmen in our bathroom, feeling like we were finally getting somewhere but when I returned what did I find?

The brown streaks are still visible through a very amateur paint job, silver nails are highly visible in the door frame where he has nailed it back onto the wall, big blobs of paint on the ceiling, not painted evenly around the ceiling lights, the shelf over the toilet cistern missing, gaps between the skirting board (which should of been replaced because ChemDry scored it with a Stanley knife) and the walls, paint on the wall light over the sink, oh, and so much more.

The chief moron, I mean painter and decorator - yes, the one who arrived last week without any paint and stank of smoke - was accompanied by a spotty teenager who looked as if he couldn't find his arse with both hands. The pair of them were giggling and pissing about in the bathroom, inspiring NO confidence in their work. To say the job has been done sloppily is an understatement.

A PAIR OF CHIMPS COULD HAVE DONE A BETTER JOB!

Four months we have been living on bare concrete in a crappy shit hole. Four months, through no fault of our own, we have been pissed about by insurance companies and the various agents of Satan they employ, none of whom have given the slightest impression they have any interest in restoring our flat to its former glory. They should be ashamed of themselves.

I feel we have been VERY patient so far but now I am FUCKING FURIOUS, excuse my French.

Sorry, but I am going to embarrass myself now by phoning the insurance company and screeching at them for a good 15 minutes. It may not be very professional but, my god it is going to be good therapy.

Swanses and ducks

Yesterday we trekked up to Cambridge for a nosey - I still don't really like the place - and then on to the Welney Wetlands and Something Trust to do a bit of swan spotting.

At dusk squadrons of Whooper swans come flying into the fens to feed. It is a magnificent sight. They have different faces to the more commonly seen Mute swan, like what you get on the Thames and its environs. They are big migrants, flying in from tundra areas for the winter.

The centre has a hide (more like a big-windowed hut) built on the edge of the wetlands where you can watch the birds up close. As well as the swans we saw Pochards, a type of duck, and the more common Mallard.

After dark, the wardens chuck a load of food to them and you can see them scrabbling about for a bite to eat. It is all very interesting.

Definitely worth a visit, if you are passing.

It's getting out of hand

Friday night: Cinema (you don't say) - Million Dollar Baby - excellent - laughter, tears and thoughts provoked.
Poor old TOH was stuck between two weeping women, my silent tears rolling down cheeks and the woman next to him, who was moaning and snorting and boo-hooing like she had no shame.

Do I need to say this was a emotional film? A bloody good one though - out of all the Oscar contenders, this one should wipe the floor. Eastwood, Freeman and Swank should all go home with a trophy.



The funny thing was, that during the film, right after a really tragic bit, some bloke in the audience suddenly fell down the steps of the auditorium. Everyone was on their feet shouting 'you alright mate?' and 'Are you diabetic?' and calling for doctor in the house. He was down for about five minutes while I (and several others) ran outside and told the staff to call an ambulance. It was all very dramatic but eventually the fella got to his feet and walked out and we finished the film off without further ado.

During the day, I had to go to King's College Hospital for an MRI scan on my back. The machine was a lot bigger than I imagined and took up half the room, which had a very cold breeze running through it.

I had to lay on a narrow trolley under a blanket and wear some headphones. Then I was slid into the tunnel. There wasn't much room inside - I wondered how they fitted fat people in there - and the ceiling was just a few inches from my face made of the sort of plastic which surrounds aeroplane windows.

I found it better to keep my eyes shut. The operator played some smashing hits through the headphones. I had Robbie's Rock DJ during the first scan. The machine made some very musical clunks and clicks and while I couldn't really feel anything, my engagement ring, which I was allowed to keep on, seemed to be vibrating on my finger.

After about five scans I was slid back out and told to get changed and go. The consultant would be in touch with the results in a few weeks.

Funnily enough, he can go to hell. During the initial consultation, when he didn't even examine my back, he quite flippantly told me I had a congenital birth defect and there was not much he could do, despite at the time I couldn't actually stand up straight, and that there were other people with proper complaints. It was then that I lost the last slither of faith I had in the NHS and went to the chiropractor.

Now, I've said it before, and I'll say it again, Joel has magic hands! That man has saved me from a life of crippling pain. So fuck the doctors and their fucking congenital birth defects. Let's see what is made of the scans!

Focking excellent

Guess what? I went to the cinema again last night but for variation, I went with Steve and not to the UGC!

Unable to wait any longer, we went to see a charidee screening of Meet The Fockers. And it was excellent. The joke had moved on slightly from Meet The Parents in that we were less waiting for things to get worse but enjoying Bob de Niro get his head round the hippy lifestyle of Mr and Mrs Focker Snr.



Dustin Hoffman and Barbara Streisand were so good as Gaylord Focker's hugging, touchy-feely parents. Steve thinks Hoffman should be nominated for an Oscar for his performance!

The evening's entertainment was preceeded by the warm-up act of a Chinese restaurant where I am ashamed to say I got the giggles over misunderstandings about food due to a lack of language skills and the fact one of its star dishes was 'crunchy jellyfish and trotters'.

I think I have found the answer to one of the many questions our night out in Newcastle prompted. Here is the lovely Miss Jill Halfpenny on why Geordies don't wear coats: 'The density of bars in Newcastle is so great. Imagine this: I'm going out on a Friday and I've got a lovely little outfit on, and I don't want to carry round a great blokely coat. Why? Because I don't want to get sweaty. So I get a cab to the first bar, and for £4 or £5 he drops me off outside. I'm outside for literally two seconds. The bars are packed so close together. Cloakrooms don't exist in Newcastle.'

I see a gap in the market, the Bigg Market.

When will it end?

Work has finally started on getting our flat back to normal. The plasterer has been to fix the ceiling in the shower room. It is now a nice shade of pink and is waiting for the decorators.

While he was working, we thought it would be a good idea to get George Wimpey in to re-lay the floor in the bathroom, which is a separate claim - the cracks were covered under the warranty because the floor had been incorrectly laid in the first place.

The first day of work went ok (except for the layer of white dust which covered our entire bedroom), the tiles were removed and a special layer put down to cover the bits of cement which wouldn't come up.

The second day, when the lads took the tiles out of the box, they called me in to point out that they weren't really the sort of blue we were looking for. Arse!!!!!

I could have said fine, lay them anyway but to be honest, in our bathroom light they looked black.

So, to cut a long story short. We now have no floor in our second bathroom! And won't have for about another three weeks while Wimpey sorts out the tile cock-up, which they tried to blame ME for! God knows how it was my fault when they went to the shop, chose the tiles and bought them without me ever seeing them.

America, fuck yeah!

Unbelievably, on Friday we went to the cinema to see Team America - World Police, quite possibly the funniest film since Shrek II. Tears of laughter rolling down the audience's collective faces. Not for the faint-hearted but every line was a winner. Even the way the puppets walk is more hilarious than you could ever imagine.



Saturday I went to Richmond Park for the first time, with Tidy, Esther and T's housemate Kate for a bike ride. And what a massive surprise was awaiting me!

Expecting something like a really big Greenwich Park I was really taken aback to find it is like a huge rambling heath/wooded wilderness, with people cantering about on horses and wild deer roaming, right on the edge of the heart of London Town.

While I puzzled over why it has taken me 32 years to go there, we had a jolly time whizzing about the trails. I rode my girl's bike, which is really for roads but it held up to the challenge of towpath-type conditions, even with it's thin road tyres. A mountain bike would have been better, but I was very pleased with its performance.



In the evening TOH and I went to The Garage, Islington, to hear one of his mate's friend's band, The Sunshine Variety Club. The band were ok. The singer was a 'character' but had a limited voice. The mate's friend wore a pale imitation of A Clockwork Orange outfit. The general impression was rather like watching the sort of band that would play at the end of term in Grange Hill, which I suspect is not what they were aiming for.

The first band on, however, was excellent. The were called Nation (sadly bearing no relation to the lovely Toby, Tidy) and looked like a grown up Hanson but sounded pretty good. I would definitely buy their album, if it were more widely available than exclusively in Oxford's Virgin Records.



Sunday we helped save the planet by joining fellow Greenpeacers at two E$$O stations in Stratford and trying to pursuade people not to buy fuel there. We were very successful. I donned a tiger suit and TOH even wore a GP bib! He had lots of fun tapping on the windows of people who had bought petrol and giving them a leaflet explaining why they shouldn't. For once, a highly successful action!

After, we met some of the ringleader types in the pub to discuss setting up an East London meeting. It was all going well (just and hour and ten to agree whether it would be on the first, or second, Tuesday, or Wednesday, of the month) until the Essex fella quite firmly told us when our first meeting will be (the second Monday of February) so he, and North London, could attend. Fun and games. It was a real Life Of Brian discussion. And even then, our first meeting will be about how to run the meetings!! Give me strength!

And now, Monday morning, I had to get up at the crack of dawn (hence this early update) to let in the workmen who are replacing our ceiling and bathroom floor tiles. I am literally up to my armpits with builders. A few years ago, I might have enjoyed that, but now, I just want them finished and gone.

National disgrace

It's gone all cinema-tastic over here. TOH is trying to get best value out of our £10/month cards.
Last night we went to see National Treasure. I have little to say about it except it did what it said on the tin.

Ridiculous conspiracy theory based on some sketchy facts about masonic behaviour in the States. Buried treasure, Sean Bean as evil British baddie, chase scenes, Harvey Keitel as FBI fella and some blonde woman as the bit of skirt.

It was quite amusing in places and very much like The Goonies meets da Vinci Code bollox in others. A real hangover film.

TOH saw Closer this evening. There is no stopping him! He said I wouldn't like it as it is very sad and depressing and all about failing relationships full of lies and deceit. No reports on whether Law has finally learnt to act yet.

I've (cough cough) been ill

Stinky, boring cold. Dontcha just love this time of year!

Over the weekend TOH and I went to see The Merchant Of Venice, billed, helpfully by Hollywood as William Shakespeare's The Merchant Of Venice.

It was a lavish production and it only took about an hour to get into the language and plot.

Basically, back in the day in Venice, people didn't like Jews. They'd spit on them, prohibit them from owning property, lock them up in their ghetto after dark and force them to wear a red hat.

The hero, Bassanio (Joseph Fiennes), borrows some cash off The Merchant (Jeremy Irons) to woo Portia (Lynne Collins looking very very much like Cate Blanchett), because she will only marry a rich fella who also has to pass a Krypton Factor-style test involving boxes and portraits.

The Merchant Antonio in turn borrows it from Shylock (Al Pacino) because he doesn't actually have any ready cash - it is all tied up in some ships.

The deal is, if the merchant can't pay back his debt on time, Shylock can cut off a pound of his flesh as payment. They come to this agreement as Shylock remembers the merchant spat on him on the Bridge Of Sighs, or similar, for being Jewish and he is slightly bitter about it and only too willing to have Antonio in his debt.



As a complete beginner when it comes to The Bard, I hesitantly propose that Elizabethan audiences were not too keen on Jews. The long and short of it is the hero, his pals, Portia etc etc end up being very smug that not only have they diddled Shylock out of all his worldly possessions but forced him to convert to Christianity. Perhaps Shakespeare thought they were doing him a favour, saving his mortal soul and all that.

Shylock is a broken man, he's spent his life being shat on for being a Jew, lost his daughter, lost all his money, was evicted from the ghetto and lost the right to practice his faith. It all seems very unfair to modern audiences.

It was amusing to see the thick son out of My Family playing the hero's sidekick and MacKenzie Crook in there as a servant.

The film was a good effort though, and worth seeing if you fancy a bit of a 'challenge'.

I expect Pacino will be nominated for an Oscar for this.

Alexander was great! Especially on a slow news day

Yes it was.

Film critics around the world have slated the film for being camp, an ordeal, snivelling, puerile and a travesty. Understandably I didn’t want to go and see it but TOH dragged me to the UGC, and, after all, it is ‘free’ with our £10-a-month deal.

The Sub-Standard wrote: ‘It’s a cliché but it’s almost true – the bigger the budget, the worse the script. It never gets to grips with the psychology of a man who conquered most of the known world before he was 30.’

I’d have to disagree. Maybe Derek Malcolm was too busy trying to sharpen his pencil in the dark, or something, but Alex’s motivations were pretty plain to see: filling his father’s boots, fulfilling his mother’s dreams, believing in the heroic tales of Achilles, Patroclus and Prometheus, and that he was a divine son of Zeus. He also fervently believed in uniting nations so people could be free. He even highlighted his own generals’ racism by believing there was no difference between the sons of Macedonia and the ‘barbarians’ he conquered.

The Times wrote: ‘There was a point, somewhere around the middle of the second hour where I started to feel profoundly sorry for the people who put so much effort into this film.’

I’d have to disagree. The film looked beautiful – costumes, sets, hair, makeup, stunts, fight scenes etc etc etc, not to mention the multitude of people doing admin, running, driving etc (OK, I will mention one – my brother had a credit - Supervising plasterer in Morocco!)
All that effort supported a wholly convincing cast. Farrell did a pretty good job, terrible blond wig aside. Jolie was gorgeous. In fact, everyone was superb.




The only criticism I have, and it’s fairly superficial, is the many, many dodgy accents put on by the cast. All young Macedonians are either Irish or Scottish, it seems, while Jolie, as Alexander’s mother, sounded more like a Russian Bond baddie, all rolling arrs.

The Hate Mail wrote: ‘The diminutive Colin Farrell portrays Alexander as a snivelling hysteric who doesn’t get on with his parents. He’s not so much impressive imperial as pointlessly petulant, like Elton John throwing a series of hissy fits.’

I’d have to disagree, and go further and say that, as usual, this vile organ is talking bollocks.
Is Farrell a short arse? I wouldn’t have been able to tell from watching this film. I thought that he portrayed Alex as a human, and one who has a normal relationship with his parents, loving them completely, yet going through moments where he hates them. Is there anyone who has not told their parents they hate them as a teenager?

Snivelling hysteric? Noooo. He was a man who sends his troops into battle and is affected by their deaths and the things he sees. After all, it was his ambition that took these people so far from home and put them in mortal danger on battlefields.

Like Elton John? I don’t think so. Terrible hair aside, during the film Alex grows from a young boy to become ‘The Great’. Along the way he gains confidence and grows into his position as king and absolute ruler. And his does it very well. Farrell manages to portray him as a man with many facets – brave, macho, loving, petulant, ambitious, soft, playful, determined – something often lacking in Hollywood films (see Pitt’s Achilles in Troy).

The whole gay thing was handled properly – in those days, the boundaries of sexuality didn’t exist. He loved his childhood friend, he loved his wives, he took comfort where he wanted it. A bit like modern day monarchs! Men were for friendship, soldiering, camaraderie and sex, women were for having babies, being an anchor and having sex. What’s the problem?

He was also taught by Aristotle – a notorious male-centric philosopher, who in the film said the barbarians, Persians, were wrong because they laid with their brothers for pleasure and excess, whereas the noble Macedonians were right to lay with their brothers because it was for spiritual furtherment and honour.

Aristotle also showed the young Alexander a rather inaccurate map of the world, which, Mr Malcolm, might also go some what to explain why he was so hell-bent on going further and further – he seemed to think the Nile ran past the Hindu Kush and, if they could cross it, his army could sail straight back to the Med.

Therein lay the man’s ruin. He pushed his men too far, for too long, for seemingly no purpose.

Having never studied history, I think Stone has done a pretty good job bringing such an epic tale to life in a film lasting a couple of hours. I have no idea if classical scholars would agree but as a piece of entertainment it hit the mark. It was also quite thought provoking as it brings to mind many of the things which we face today, such as Bush’s determination to free people by bombing the shit out of them in the name of God.

There, that’s off my chest now. Please add your comments if you have seen the film, especially if you think I am talking out of my arse.

I think you've dropped something

EastEnders' viewing figures may have dropped to their lowest point for five years but I, for one, was watching last night.

Why, you may ask. Well, our upstairs neighbour, the one and only Billy Murray, made his big Walford entrance.

Described (rightly) in the sub-Standard as being more geography teacher than gangster, he spent the whole episode being very polite to people yet getting his own way.



For example, take this exchange with square pikey Stacey when she dropped an empty bottle on the floor (what she stole from Patrick's new corner shop!):

Jonny Allen: Excuse me, I think you've dropped something
Stacey: No I 'aven't
Jonny Allen: Oh, I think you have

Gripping stuff! He is due to return to the square in the future, hopefully fulfilling his brief as 'the hardest man Walford has ever seen'.

For a full episode guide click here

Home, sweet home

It hardly seems a moment ago that we were on holidays now we are home. We had a quick wander round York this morning before getting on the road.

We had a totally jam-free ride home via Derby to pick up Ceri. And tomorrow, it's back to the factory. I love holidays; it's a shame they have to end.

Grand old town of York

We said goodbye to Edinburgh and the others and headed back towards London. There was one minor delay as we waited for the AA because The Other Half left the lights on in my car and the battery was dead. He is now officially banned from driving my lovely Puma.

But the AA man arrived within about 30mins and clamped a big battery charger to my engine and we set off. We even managed to dump all the tins and cans we accumulated over the week in a recycling place.

As we headed south, the distant hills looked so romantic with their snowy toppings but fortunately the roads were perfectly clear. We drove over to Lindisfarne as the tide was out but it was far too cold (and we had such inappropriate clothing) to get out and explore. It has been added to the list of places to visit.

We stopped in Durham for a sarnie about 3pm. It is also a lovely looking town and is also now on the list for a return trip.

And now we are in York. I love York. If we could leave London town job-wise, I would love to live here. But it is a long way away from all our friends and family. Maybe we should move to Bath instead!

We tried to find the restaurant which we really enjoyed last time we came here, The Rubicon, but it is now a tacky theme place. Our other favourite, Alley Cat, was closed so we ended up in a place called Oscars, which was OK - big meals, cheap prices and seating outside with lots of outdoor heaters.

All these lovely compact olde-wolde cities outside of the big smoke seem so more attractive places to live than London, mostly because they don't stink and you can walk everywhere.

I have never lived anywhere but London in England so I don't actually know what it is like to live in the sticks. But as much as I love the east end too, the air is so thick and smelly and full of nastiness, especially where our flat is, that I would like to move. A conundrum indeed. Especially if you take into account the grass is greener factor.

Happy New Year

Unsurprisingly, it was a late start. Surprisingly, no one had a hangover, although James went decidedly peculiar over breakfast and nearly fainted in the bathroom.

As the weather drew in (ie it started pissing down) we went back to the flat and watched School Of Rock. TOH and Alex went to pick up Martine from the station and then we played a looong game of Trivial Pursuits.

Later we dragged ourselves out of the flat and into the damp evening. The mission to find somewhere to eat proved quite difficult as the few places that were open were fully booked, apparently.

Eventually, we found a Cafe Rouge and had a passable meal. To be honest, we were feeling a bit rough by then, at least I was. When we left it was snowing! I love snow. We were jigging about like kids for about five minutes but then we realised it was freezing.

On the way back, we stopped off at the Cafe Royal for a quick drink. It is a fantastic pub, all plasterwork panelled ceilings and gold leaf on columns. I made TOH come downstairs with me to the toilet as it was really creepy down there. I was genuinely a bit scared as there was lots of corridors which had mysterious doors leading off them.

Back at the flat and Alex tried to entertain us by reading ghost stories but they were shit. Sounded more like an extract from the FT than anything spooky.