Motorway Madness

A 600 mile road trip can do things to the mind.

Take the lovely B. As we barrelled down the M6 in the Black Golf Of Uncertain Doom she pointed and squeaked excitedly at a road sign:

"Look! Look! A sign for Clitheroe!"

It took me a while to work it out. Deary deary me...

The End

Apologies for the absence. It was triggered by a visit to the doctor where the bollocking to end all bollockings was administered. Remember that scene from Super Size Me, where the film-maker (a man skilled in stating the bleeding obvious) was warned that continuing on his month long crusade of McDonalds exclusivity would do lasting damage? Worse than that.

It was my own fault. The chap was reading from the results of a check-up and asked some casual questions about my lifestyle:

"Drink?"
"Whenever I can"
"Exercise?"
"Do bedroom marathons count?"
"No"
"Oh, then no..."
"Food?"
"My friends call me 'Captain Carb'"

And so it was that the genial doctor who amiably prescribed viagra for a slightly upset stomach turned into a task master more suited to one of Oliver Stone's slightly skewed interpretations of the Vietnam war rather than a sympathetic family physician.

It would seem that the year of debauchery (slightly extended) is at an end. I have a sheet of goals to achieve and the warning "You'll take this seriously if you want to see your daughter graduate from University." I presume he meant I wouldn't be around, rather than any inside knowledge of First-Born's academic prowess he might possess.

I reacted in the same way as anyone. I went on a 4 day bender. With the completion of the leftover curry from last night I feel I'm ready.

Well, once that crate of Leffe is finished of course...

The weekend, however, was a great adventure. Photos to follow.

I Am Warlord

In my profession I spend a lot of time justifying myself and the things that I do to crowds of auditors. It can sometimes be as much as twice a week that I find myself in a room with people seeking to find fault/make helpful suggestions about what I do.

I have various ways of dealing with these situations. My favourite (other than dancing on the table naked singing "I am the Walrus") is the 'play dumb' approach. Here, I volunteer no information and make my polite responses as monosyllabic as possible. This has served me well over the years.

The problem comes when one finds oneself accompanied by a Helpful. A Helpful will chatter away, spewing out potentially hard-to-explain facts like an incontinent hippo on a helter-skelter.

Today's Helpful had managed to keep quiet until the auditor complimented us on our documentation and got ready to leave. "Don't go!" burbled the Helpful, "Don't you want a demonstration of- erk!" He was cut off mid-sentence by an African tribal spear embedding itself between his shoulder blades with a satisfying 'thunk' and went face down onto the conference table, the spear at a jaunty angle with feathers attached to the end fluttering in the draft from the air-conditioning.

Fortunately it was only in my imagination.

Makes a change from thinking about sex, I guess.

Please. Stop. Hitting. Me.

"Bruv: 1982 - 2000"

I assumed the tattoo occupying much of the heavy-set man's back was intended as a tribute to his late brother. An internal, more cynical voice wondered about the true motive of the design; perhaps not so much a tribute, but more a 'look at me - see, I loved my brother so much that I was prepared to scar myself in his honour. Aren't I great?'

Uh huh. Shame he didn't care enough to actually name the unfortunate chap.

The cost of the tattoo might have been better spent on a higher quality gold chain rather than the one that was currently leaving a green mark on his sun-burnt neck as he stood in front of First-Born and I in the queue for the water slide.

Why do I mention this? Because FB called out in her usual piercing way: "Why did he have that done? Doesn't he know how to spell 'Brother'?"

I swear she's started doing this on purpose.

Things You Don't Want To Hear In A Swimming Pool

Part 233 in a continuing series.

The individual's voice was carried over the swimming pool hub-bub of screaming children and adults screeching back at them:

"Oooh, I don't know what they put in this water, but it does wonders for my athlete's foot."

I looked at First-Born. "Time to get out"

The Luck Of The Oirish

I sat in "Ye Olde Irish Wishing Chair" and tried to think of something for which to wish.

In the end I wished that the chair wasn't made out of Ye Olde Irish Concrete.

So. Welcome to Chessington World Of Adventures, or The Land Of Queues as I prefer to call it. Its an interesting place and would benefit from my patented entrance queuing technique; one queue for those who are going to simply pay, another queue for those with a variety of vouchers and a last queue for argumentative morons attempting to redeem a coupon for 35p off a loaf of bread against a ticket to the park.

Further gouging is evident in the application of something called 'FastTrack' where one is asked to pay extra in order to help the park better manage its queuing.

Time, I think, to buy myself a copy of Bollocks To Alton Towers

Some Things Never Change

Where you have a theme park, you have queues. Where you have queues, you have bored and restless children. And First-Born with her nose in a book, demonstrating her patented queuing technique.

Legoland hasn't improved from last year. The sign is a bit rustier. The rides are a bit tackier. The queues are a bit longer. The ticket prices are a bit higher. I really can't see what FB sees in the place; it really is very poor. Possibly the fact that she's taller than most of the other children in attendance (mainly pre-schoolers). I can't work out what else it could be.

And yet she loves it. They give out 'attaboy' leaflets that you're supposed to hand over to a member of staff when they're marginally less sullen than usual (or 'done a GREAT job!' in Lego's corporate doublespeak). FB gave her's to me with a 'best Dad in the world' written on it in her spikey handwriting.

By the end of the day, FB was all funned out... so all together now...




Awwwww...