Position Is Nothing Without Style

Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

Ok, I spent the weekend away with a charming lady. Yes, fun was had. Yes, she was a little athletic for poor old Newly.

And yes, I can't pretend the muscle I think I've pulled is anything to do with potential injuries sustained while looking at a stately home.

No, I shan't be riding the bicycle to work tomorrow.

Yes, I'm looking forward to sustaining that injury all over again. Except this time I may do some stretches first.

Doom And Gloom

Tonight I did something I've never done before. Something that I've mocked in others; seen it as a sign of weakness.

I washed the bike.

My last bike was proud of its thick layer of dirt. I'm pretty sure that the dirt was all that was holding it together by the end. This bike, however, deserves better. Its bright yellowness shall not be tarnished by the road, nor will its shiny bits become dull.

Also, I had nothing to do tonight.

I still haven't got to grips with this Single thing yet. For the past 14 years I've pretty much lived in another person's pocket, so to speak. There was always something to do around the house. Some bit of DIY waiting to be done badly. But now there's nothing to do.

A friend said "The wierdest thing will be when you get your own place, and you close the front door for the first time, knowing that you probably won't see or speak to anyone until the following morning". I got a preview of that last week when the house was empty. And she was right.

My solution was to call out for pizza. I can't see that being long term; the delivery boy has horrible breath.

I'm starting to understand why people have pets.

Yeah. I'm down tonight.

Bedtime Reading

The Brother and I were enjoying a beer. I mentioned I had a list of books to read. He raised an eyebrow in that faintly affected way of his and asked which ones. I named a few.

When I woke up in the morning, my head aching from either the cocktails or the sight of the female olympic weightlifting the night before, there were two big black bags at the end of the bed with a note attached. He works for a chemical engineering company and gets sent out to some godforsaken places (Saudi Arabia, Iran, Liverpool...) So he reads. And over the last 8 years he's amassed quite a collection, mainly classics, but all on my list.

And now I have his collection. What the heck am I going to do with it?

And the more eagle eyed among you may have noted the pink skirting board and stencilled roses climbing the wall. All just further straws to break the back of my sanity, I tell you.

There's a small site redesign coming tonight. Any interuption in the whining of the Newly Single will be rectified as swiftly as possible.

How Could I Forget?

Breakfast in bed. Chilled champagne. Do Not Disturb sign on door.

Debauched, yes?

Seen One Rock...

Sometimes Big Landscapes impress me, somtimes they do not. Its a case of Seen One Rock, Seen 'Em All.

Such is the case with the English Peak District: "Oh look, *another* hill. Thats nice."

I know that I've attached metaphors to rocks before, but sometimes a rock is, well, just a rock.

So over the last two days the lady of the weekend and I looked around some old, old houses. One from the 1500s and another from the 1700s. I love these places, mainly due to the "fuck you" style of architecture affordable by only the absurdly wealthy. I love the details, the vastness and the follies.

Take the photo above, a cascading channel of water over stone steps. Marvellous 18th century engineering, with huge fountains in the gardens below driven by water pressure alone. Even better is the fact that you're trusted to go paddling without hurting yourself.

People taking responsibility for their actions? Heavens! It'll never catch on.

The hotel was fabulously expensive. But infinitely superior to where we almost ended up staying; a Travel Inn. These places serve two purposes; firstly a place for middle-aged sales executives and prostitutes to meet, and secondly somewhere that makes you appreciate just how *nice* your home is. Even if it isn't.

And now First-born and are off for a swim. Well, if I'm entirely truthful, she'll be swimming, I'll be trying to avoid getting harpooned. Too much good food over the last two days. Where did I put my trainers again?

Doing The Happy Dance

Or the "I Need To Use The Toilet" two-step. The two are pretty similar in their resemblance to a pained jig.

Skiing is booked. A week in Whistler from Dec/29 through Jan/5. Two days in Vancouver either side. I have a deep and meaningful love for skiing. It, sadly, does not feel the same way about me and leaves me to get intimate face-first with the mountain instead. A cruel mistress.

And now bags need to be packed. Nicest clothes need to be carefully folded and placed in a hold-all. Teeth must be flossed. Ears de-waxed. I think I'll stop right there.

I have a weekend away. With a charming lady.

But, But, But, Its Green!

Like many children, First-born is a fussy eater. Her diet consists of cheese sandwiches, processed fish, sundry potato products and fruit.

This is something that has my aunt and father wringing their hands. So in every meal (when First-born is staying over), my aunt tries to introduce something new. Maybe a tiny slice of pizza. Perhaps a single bean. Occasionaly a little piece of 'real' fish. All with a request to at least try and then leave if it doesn't appeal. Which First-born dutifully does, before pulling a face as though she's been asked to eat broken glass laced with dog poo and moving on to her cheese sandwich and apple.

Yesterday I had a telephone call from The Ex. A real 'hold the phone away from ear' type of call. How dare I try and force First-born to eat food she doesn't like. First-born is traumatised. First-born never wants to visit me again. Lawyers will be involved. Etc. Etc. Etc.

Here's the problem. When I have my daily telephone call with First-born tonight, should I ask her about it and find out what she's actually said? Or do I assume this is The Ex taking a throwaway comment like "I tried a bit of fish, but didn't like it" and using it as a big stick to hit me with. A big stick with a rusty nail.