Flash, bang, wallop

Sooooooo, I was supposed to be going to a Dr Who convention last weekend. Just a one day thing on Saturday in the small town of Darwen. Some of my mates were supposed to be going as a fellow fan was visiting from Glasgow. Only he decided he wanted to go to visit the exhibition in Blackpool instead. I was going to go to Darwen anyway as one of my co-stars (not that I'm a star - I just couldn't think of a suitable term) from the Dr Who audio thing I did was a guest. I thought it might be nice to chat and catch up and yes, a little part of my ego was curious to see if anyone realised who I was. Who am I kidding eh? So at the spur of the moment and thanks to some info from my best mate, I dragged my brother to watch the fireworks championships in Southport. Not that I had to drag him much. Or at all.

Its all the eclipse's fault you see.

Six years ago we went down to Plymouth to watch said eclipse and had a marvellous time. We managed to find a campsite (well, a football field) where the owners were only charging £10 per pitch, a far cry from the twelvty hundred pounds that most hotels & b&bs were charging, even if the facilities were swimming in half a foot of water. We also had very noisy neighbours but at least we were there. We had a recce to the local park and found a convenient bench on top of a hill in front of the folly. It had a lovely view of the harbour so we staked our claim, ready to return the next day. We tried to find somewhere to eat that night but the throngs of people who'd descended on the town made it impossible to find somewhere central so we ended up in a little fishing village on the outskirts that my bro knew (he'd lived & worked in Plymouth a couple of years previously). The New Inn at Turnchapel was ever so lovely and the food delicious. It was there that we discovered some fireworks championships were happening in the harbour. Lots of people had gathered at the water's edge. We ate our meal as quickly as we could, ordered dessert and popped outside to watch the show with everyone else, assuming that it'd be over before our pudding arrived. What actually happened was that as the fireworks were about to start the chap brought our puddings out to us. So there we stood in a picturesque fishing village, watching the most spectacular firework show ever and scoffing caramel apple betty (or granny depending on your disposition) with clotted cream. Happy, happy memories. And we hadn't even seen the eclipse yet.

We set out very early the next day to bag our bench and sat there for hours, cameras & special eclipse filters at the ready and bums getting decidedly numb. To no avail. The clouds didn't even part for a second. We thought it was going to be a washout. The atmoshpere was fantastic though. Everyone was so excited. As the time approached we felt it getting gradually colder and then the oddest thing happened. It didn't just get dark, it was as if the colour drained out of everything. The scenery seemed two dimensional. Very weird. But then it did get dark, everybody cheered, seagulls started squawking as if to say "What the fuck??" and we could see hundreds of camera flashes going off over at the Hoe. I suddenly felt like I wanted to cry. It was just so powerful and primal and beautiful. Even though we couldn't see it. Looking back at all the souvenirs I picked up I still get emotional.

That night we went back to the New Inn, ate and watched the fireworks. We got there early though so we didn't get our puds brought to us.

They still hold the championships in Plymouth in August, or at least one of the heats or something, and we've been talking about going back there ever since & taking our mum with us. Its never happened though which might be a good thing. I wouldn't want to compare it to that first time & find it lacking in any way.

This long story explains why I wanted to go to Southport and why it didn't take much persuasion for my bro to come with me. We took sandwiches, crisps & beer but it wasn't as nice as having caramel apple betty/granny with clotted cream brought out to us by an obliging waiter. The place was also far too packed and the event too short but we had a good time anyway and it made a change from sitting in front of the telly.

It was also cheaper than the £18 I would have paid to get into the Who day at Darwen.

My brother the idiot

Its official. My brother is the stupidest twat this side of Jade Goody's salon. I've just commented that I'm suffering with indigestion which the Gaviscon doesn't seem to be touching. His solution?

Colonic irrigation.

Yes, you heard right. He doesn't know his arse from his oespohagus. "Wrong end!" I kindly pointed out. "Oh not really, its all part of the digestive system." he countered. "Yes, but the stomach is up here (pointing to my stomach) and colonic irrigation works down here (pointing to my arse)." I said. He then said something else which I tuned out but the gist was that he was right and I was wrong. As usual. Would someone please get this man a medical textbook? Or better still, Janet & John's guide to basic human anatomy for 5 year olds?

Its a constant source of immense irritation that he always thinks he knows better than everyone else including scientists, medical professionals, our mother etc. I've long since given up arguing with him because its just so utterly fucking pointless. He never, ever listens. Never acknowledges that the other person may actually know what they're talking about. No-one else could ever possibly be right.

Colonic irrigation is the solution, but not for my indigestion. Its the cure for his talking out of his fucking arse.

Guilty secret

I threw a sickie yesterday. My alarm woke me up & I just thought (as I have done every day this week) that I couldn't be arsed. I wanted to curl up & go back to sleep. Unfortunately, the tension created by me trying to think up a viable excuse to have a day off meant I couldn't actually get back to sleep. I decided on a mild back injury in the end. I genuinely had one a couple of months ago so figured it was plausible that it'd crept up on me again. Anyhoo, today was spent faking a sore back. Gingerly sitting down, getting up, not bending over, wincing now & again.... I think I got away with it. Trouble was that I had a really shit day. It seemed to be 'Walk all over Spaceminx' day. Fat Slag wanted to swap lunch breaks, one of the bosses wanted me to do something that she was more than capable of doing herself, an engineer decided to get arsey with me on the phone. Karma getting me for telling a huge porky pie no doubt.

Ah well. The Thai takeaway I bought more than made up for it. Crispy wontons & sweet chilli sauce followed by chicken with ginger & spring onions & rice and all was right with the world once again. Funny how food is always my little comforter. It would explain why I'm about 3 stone overweight.

Luckily I managed to completely avoid daytime tv yesterday. I watched the latest episodes of Lost and CSI, surfed the net then watched an episode of Hunter with the gorgeous Nana Visitor in. I also pottered about the house, cleaning as I went. Looooovely. Later, I headed into Manchester to meet my chums for beer & curry. And what a laugh we had. A couple of chaps popped in who I haven't seen in a while, one of whom emitted such venom at the mere mention of Ant & Dec. He used to be such a mild mannered chap until he became a teacher. Now its bile, bile, bile all the way. You only have to say the phrase, "Of course, Ant & Dec are the new Morecambe & Wise" and a string of obscenities comes out of his mouth. Talking about all those '100 Best' programmes seems to set him off too. Highly amusing for the rest of us. And then came the inevitable, frightening discussion of how old we've become.

Basically, the bunch of us (apart from one notable exception) have known each other for about 17 years when we were members of a sci fi group in Manchester. We were all teenagers apart from Chris who would've been in his early 20s, young, not really very innocent, enthusiastic, hopeful. We'd discuss the new SF series like Star Trek the Next Generation (yes, it was new in those days), tell dirty jokes, arrange the next trip to Longleat or Laser Quest. Nowadays its all venom about crap tv, how rude the bar staff are, what guest beers are on this week, work, friends marriages/babies/divorces... How cynical we've become (& how much weight we've put on). Still, we've probably got more money than we had then, Dr Who has become mainstream & good, we can drink as much beer as we like without parents tutting at us when we roll in pie eyed and we're all better dressed.

Well, except Neil. But that's another story altogether.

The winner takes it all

On the subject of winning things...

How many times does one have to fill in all the puzzles in 'Take A Break' and 'Chat' to win something? Eh? What are the odds? If I have to sit through one more story of 'My husband ran off with the window cleaner' I'm going to go stark staring mad.

I really should be blogging

But I can't think of anything remotely entertaining to write. Not that that's stopped me previously I know.

Had another job interview today but I was really rubbish. Really rubbish. They seemed like nice chaps, the blokes who interviewed me, but I didn't prepare & I dried. I was so very blah darlings. Still, it was nice to have the afternoon off on such a lovely sunny day. The doom mongers at the met office are already putting a dampener on things though. "Oooh it'll soon be winter! Only a couple of weeks until the equinox & the sun sets even earlier! Its the end of summer! Doom! Doom!" Miserable bastards can't let us enjoy it for a minute.

Anyway, I consoled myself with a strawberries & cream frappuccino from Starbucks and flicked through a free Guardian that a young man had thrust at me in the station. I didn't bother to read my lezzie mags I'd picked up from Clone Zone. That's to come later. I did feel a tad out of place striding up Canal Street in my suit. Round here Power Lesbians are those who don't have enough disposable income (think about it*). No Rebecca Loos pounced on me ravenously though if she had I'd have hit her with my handbag, the minty whore. I did take a spare pair of comfortable shoes with me so if any dykes had doubted my credentials I could've flashed my M&S best at them with a knowing wink.

I got a nice surprise in my post on Saturday. A 20 quid voucher for HMV courtesy of the Metro newspaper. They have an annual survey that I signed up for this year & every couple of months they give away vouchers. I never thought I'd win anything (& I never do) so I did a big woo hoo! when I opened the letter. Now if only I could win the lottery.

* Yes it really is the lamest joke ever isn't it?

Who slapped 'er tits?

Try out this marvellous 'Which Bad Girl Are You?' quiz. I am Nikki Wade which pleases me immensely. I get to look fantastic and shag Helen Stewart. Hubba hubba!