C'leb

Oh my giddy aunt! I just had to pop back on here to relate my close encounter with celebrity not 10 minutes ago. I'd finished on here and popped into WH Smiths for a browse, picked up a Stargate SG1 DVD I was missing from my collection and Shaun of the Dead and as I arrived at the queue for the tills who should be standing at the till in front of me but Christopher Eccleston! I was so stunned that I stood there gawping at the back of his head not realising that a till had become free and the girl was trying to attract my attention. Well I never. The new Dr Who stood right in front of me...

...and I did nothing.

Silly names

Ok, so I totally forgot about the silliest thing that happened last week. I'd persuaded the friend I was staying with to let me watch Countryfile. Its my Sunday morning tradition to watch it over a bowl of Weetabix. They were doing a piece on a group of Scottish islanders who'd bought the island they lived on and their main interviewee was a chap called Willie McSporran! Imagine the hilarity that ensued. As our hostess pointed out, he sounded like a character from The Family Ness. Has that always been his name? Did he change it by deed poll as his original name didn't sound Scottish enough? Or because he's got a sporran fetish? We almost expected the next interviewee to be called Tavish McTavish or something.

And talking of silly names, there was a good one last night. Randy Budd I think he was called (my memory is not what it was). And its not only people. My brother bought a loaf from Sainsbury's last week dubbed 'tiger bread' because the crust was a bit stripy. We think they actually made a duff batch but decided to sell it anyway by giving it an appropriate name as though it was meant to happen. Anyway, I discovered this afternoon that he's bought another loaf - 'Hedgehog Bread'. Presumably because the crust was a bit spiky. Whatever next? Horse buns? Cow ciabatta? Fox focaccia? (try saying that when you've had a few).

By the way I'm changing my name by deed poll to something more Northern.

Betsy Black-Pudding

Travels

Well here I am, back in sunny (yeah right) Manchester after my adventures in our fair capital. And what fun it was. I went on the London Eye for the first time ever and managed to pick a morning when the weather was lovely and the queues tolerable. The view was absolutely stunning but it felt like standing in a greenhouse for half an hour. Worth it though. I had less success with Temple Church and St Bartholomew the Great Church though. Both were closed. Well, Temple was closed and St Barts had a wedding on so all I could do was have a look round the outside of both. Must go midweek in future. I even managed to fit the Museum of London into my schedule which was interesting but exhausting. I took my time round the Prehistoric exhibition (how many flint axe heads does one need to look at?) and had to speed up round the Roman bits until I saw a ladder on display that I just had to gawp at for five minutes. I don't know why this impressed me as much as it did - maybe because most of the other items were things I'd been used to seeing on Time Team (pottery, coins, beads etc). I tried to look at as much as possible in the brief time I had but just as I thought there was nothing more to see I'd turn a corner and there was more.

The lack of time was due to the fact that I had to get back to my hotel room and shower before making my way to a friend's party near Oxford. I'll save the rant about the train for the public transport blog but suffice it to say I was late. Very late. Party was fun - drank lots of wine, chatted to people, became the hunter-gatherer for the lounge tribe and raided the kitchen for crisps and peanuts. Slept on the sofa which was about two feet shorter than me so I slept with my legs draped over the arm for most of the night. How much can one say about a party that one only vaguely remembers and only through a haze of alcohol? I'd intended to head back to London asap the next morning so that I could trawl round the British Museum and Sir John Soane's house but thanks to my hangover the morning was spent trying not to move from the sofa. I'd recovered by lunchtime though so we all went for a pub lunch (roast beef and Yorkshire pud mmmmmmm) round the corner.

And then a contingent of us went to nearby Uffington to see the white horse. I've always wanted to go there since I saw a children's serial called The Moon Stallion when I was little so it didn't take much to persuade me to ditch the London idea and go there instead. The walk up the hill blew away any remains of my hangover (it was quite a blustery day) and worked off the Yorkshire pud then a further walk up to Dragon Hill blew away any hangovers and puds I'd had in the last ten years. Trust Gerard to pick the steepest slope to climb! It very nearly killed me. I was still tired when I eventually got back to Finsbury Park (where I was staying). All I could manage to do was buy myself a pizza and spend the evening eating it and watching telly in my room. The first time I've ever watched Monarch of the Glen and Witless Silence all the way through - and next week I'll probably watch them again. God I'm getting old.

Calmer

I'm much calmer this week. I think we may be able to sort something out for my London trip as the girl I work with (K) said they may ask one of the other women to cover for a day (with some training). And I am only off for one day this week now as I can't go to the Rush gig in Birmingham on Wednesday. I'm vaguely disappointed that I can't go but they were talking about leaving Bolton at 2pm which is far too early for me to get out of work. One less thing to stress about anyway. And I haven't listened to Rush for about 10 years...

The meeting on Monday was a huge waste of time for me. I really needn't have been there as K could have told them anything they needed to know. At least I got to see one of the other offices though. Well I say office. It was a portacabin in a dusty old yard. Made me feel much better about being based in the Bolton office which actually has bricks, air conditioning, coffee machines etc.

The trouble with posting only once a week is that I can never remember what I wanted to say. I'll think of things to put in the blog and by the time Saturday has rolled round I've forgotten it again. D'oh.

Watched Grumpy Old Men (the TV prog not the film btw) for the first time ever. What fun it was. I could empathise with so much of it. Does this mean I'm a grumpy old man??? Hearing Geoffrey Palmer saying "Waste the bastards!" had me giggling into my cup of tea. And I've discovered why 'dogging' is so named. Its because people go out to watch others having sex on the pretext of walking their dogs. And again with the D'oh. I'm really not that bright sometimes.

Buggery

Our lovely home computer is still buggered (its got a virus or two apparently) so I'm here in the oh-so-glamourous net cafe in Manchester again. I can barely see the letters on the keyboard for the grime (I'm joined by my friends Streptococcus Aureus and E-Coli so everyone give them a wave). I'm listening to Keane to take my mind off it. And its working.

I didn't end up in the Village last weekend as the queues for the wristbands were huge. Ah well, maybe next year. Hopefully my friend Sarah from Australia will be living over here by then so we can troll round the gay sights together.

Not much else has happened this week. Watched Messiah 3 which had the body count of a Schwarzenegger movie. I could tell who'd done it about half way through. Something about the look the young doctor had given the policewoman in the riot. Still fun though and its good to see Michelle Forbes in something other than Star Trek: The Next Generation.

Hugely annoyed at work yesterday. My lovely planned long weekend in London later this month is under threat. The girl I sort of work with (I'm doing what used to be her job as she's now based in another office and she's the only one who can cover if I'm not in) has booked that week off to go on hols so I'm a bit stuffed. Our boss isn't in until the week in question (he's on his hols) so he can't sort it out. It wouldn't be so bad if she was as concerned as I am about it but she just doesn't give a toss. As long as she's ok she couldn't care less about anyone else. Twat. I'm being called into a meeting on Monday morning at one of our other offices (my first since I started working for them 9 months ago) so maybe I'll bend someone's ear then. Either that or I'll tell them where to shove their fucking job. I'm getting really rather sick of her attitude and I dread the (thankfully rare) days when she pops in to Bolton to do some work. She's just such a fucking lazy, ignorant bitch and seems to think I'm her personal doormat. Hate her, hate her, hate her. Job hunting is a tad difficult due to the computer problems and I've lost my CV thanks to the virus. Grrrrrrrr.

"Oh simple thing where have you gone? I'm getting old and I need something to rely on. So tell me when you're gonna let me in. I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin. And if you have a minute why don't we go? Talk about it somewhere only we know. This can be the end of everything. So why don't we go somewhere only we know.."