Not so long ago in a land far, far away...
The England cricket team finally gave their fans something to cheer about. They've had the worst possible summer down under so I'm glad they came away with the money in the one day tournament. Good fer them!
Despite not being English I still cheer them on whenever they play anyone else apart from Wales. Whether my priorities will shift when we're in Australia who knows? Depends how we're accepted I suppose. Supporting Australian teams would break the habit of a lifetime. However, when in Rome...
Someone came to look at the house tonight. A lady from the neighbouring town of Prestatyn. She didn't stay long and I don't think we'll hear from her again. She made all the right noises but, then again, no-one's going to come into your home and start slagging it off are they? I'm leaning towards renting at the moment. That way if Australia doesn't work out how we hope, we can always ship back and have somewhere half decent to live in. We'll see.
In other news Britain was hit by snow last week. We didn't get affected too 'badly' I'm afraid. It would have been nice to have a good dusting but didn't get much and what we did get didn't last. It was effing freezing though and I was forced to dust off my 'North Face' coat to combat the Arctic conditions. It's massive. I brought it in New York, a year ago this week funnily enough. It was freezing there too. The lads in work take the p*ss when I wear it. They compare me to Hagrid from the Harry Potter films. It does the trick though, its warm as toast, so what if I have to turn sideways to get through door frames
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Sunday, January 28, 2007
A Cold Day in July
This house selling lark is boring us rigid. We've been on the market for over a week now and we haven't had so much as a sniff. So, in an effort to generate some excitement into our lives, the wife and I set a date to leave for Australia - July 23rd 2007.
Whether the house has sold or not, we're leaving. If the house sells sooner than that, well, we'll cross that bridge if, and when, we come to it.
We decided on Thursday night. Cory told us last week that he is 'doing the Troop' this June. To the uninitiated this means that he, as part of the 1st Battalion The Welsh Guards, will be 'Trooping the Colour' in London, and we wouldn't miss that for the world. As we're staying for that, we may as well let the girls finish their school year. They 'break-up' on the 20th July. So the plan is - have our leaving do on the 21st, sober up on the 22nd and get the flock out of here on the 23rd!
We're booking the flights today. Manchester to Brisbane, four people (two big, two small) one-way with Singapore Airlines - £2,086. We'll spend some time with our good friends Hed and Annabel in Brissy, which ties in nicely with Heds 40th birthday celebrations. Hed's also going to assist us with various aspects of administration, medicare, buying some wheels, etc.
From there we'll head to Sydney and do the touristy thaang for a few days. I'll sneak off on my lonesome at some stage, probably a Friday arvo, and head off on my pilgrimage to the GarryOwen in Balmain.
Then onwards to the City of Albury, unless there are any other points of interest on the way that my reader/s (Jen!) think may be worthy of a toilet break.
We should arrive there sometime around the 7th or 8th of August but we're flexible on those dates at the moment.
We're leaving Britain at the height of its summertime for Australia in mid-winter, so at least we won't have to worry about a change in climate.
Whether the house has sold or not, we're leaving. If the house sells sooner than that, well, we'll cross that bridge if, and when, we come to it.
We decided on Thursday night. Cory told us last week that he is 'doing the Troop' this June. To the uninitiated this means that he, as part of the 1st Battalion The Welsh Guards, will be 'Trooping the Colour' in London, and we wouldn't miss that for the world. As we're staying for that, we may as well let the girls finish their school year. They 'break-up' on the 20th July. So the plan is - have our leaving do on the 21st, sober up on the 22nd and get the flock out of here on the 23rd!
We're booking the flights today. Manchester to Brisbane, four people (two big, two small) one-way with Singapore Airlines - £2,086. We'll spend some time with our good friends Hed and Annabel in Brissy, which ties in nicely with Heds 40th birthday celebrations. Hed's also going to assist us with various aspects of administration, medicare, buying some wheels, etc.
From there we'll head to Sydney and do the touristy thaang for a few days. I'll sneak off on my lonesome at some stage, probably a Friday arvo, and head off on my pilgrimage to the GarryOwen in Balmain.
Then onwards to the City of Albury, unless there are any other points of interest on the way that my reader/s (Jen!) think may be worthy of a toilet break.
We should arrive there sometime around the 7th or 8th of August but we're flexible on those dates at the moment.
We're leaving Britain at the height of its summertime for Australia in mid-winter, so at least we won't have to worry about a change in climate.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Objects in the Rear View Mirror...
Today I went to the dentist. I lost my denture in a drunken stupor following one of the many Xmas drinking binges I went on. I imagine it's now residing in someones rose bush between where I got dropped off and home. So it's going to cost me £158 to replace. What a waste!
Anyway, my trip to and from the dentist takes me through some of North East Wales' nicer scenary and villages. Whilst travelling through Halkyn you get a great view of the surrounding area, the estuary and across to Merseyside. You really get the feeling of height above sea level when you can actually see the sea.
As usual I had to stop for Halkyn's most common species of resident, the sheep. They care little for the laws of the highway and even less for the green-cross code. Whilst waiting patiently for them to amble across the road, it dawned on me that there is no difference in the English language between the singular form of this creature and the plural. In Welsh we have dafad for the singular and defaid for the plural. Why it has taken me this long to realise this who knows?
Eventually I journeyed on and pretty soon I was grateful for the delay. For in my rear view mirror I spotted a piece of my past. An old friend.
I had to look twice but there was no mistaking the unique shape of a Landrover One Tonne. This one still bearing its military colours - army green with random black 'blobbage'. During my service days these were the most fun vehicles to drive. A massive V8 engine gave them heaps of power and a mean sound. The drivers position, being slightly ahead of the front wheels, gave a very different, entertaining perspective to a journey.
Used mainly by the Artillery, our paths crossed all too seldomly, but I took every opportunity that came my way to take one for a spin. As the engine was housed between the drivers' and passenger seat, repairs were always conducted under cover, out of the rain and cold. This fact also endeared them to me. The One Tonne remains my favourite wheeled vehicle of all-time.
I was tempted to race ahead in my car, pull over, jump out and try to flag the driver down. I know that the type of people who seek out, purchase and, more often than not, renovate military vehicles like this are, invariably, very willing to discuss their prized possession. Self-preservation stopped me taking this course of action though as I thought that the driver may decide to mow me down, thinking I was some sort of deranged, toothless lunatic attempting a car-jacking.
So I let him go. I return to the dentist for my denture dress rehearsal on Tuesday, so I'll keep my eyes peeled for him. Who knows I may even get to take it for a spin...
Anyway, my trip to and from the dentist takes me through some of North East Wales' nicer scenary and villages. Whilst travelling through Halkyn you get a great view of the surrounding area, the estuary and across to Merseyside. You really get the feeling of height above sea level when you can actually see the sea.
As usual I had to stop for Halkyn's most common species of resident, the sheep. They care little for the laws of the highway and even less for the green-cross code. Whilst waiting patiently for them to amble across the road, it dawned on me that there is no difference in the English language between the singular form of this creature and the plural. In Welsh we have dafad for the singular and defaid for the plural. Why it has taken me this long to realise this who knows?
Eventually I journeyed on and pretty soon I was grateful for the delay. For in my rear view mirror I spotted a piece of my past. An old friend.
I had to look twice but there was no mistaking the unique shape of a Landrover One Tonne. This one still bearing its military colours - army green with random black 'blobbage'. During my service days these were the most fun vehicles to drive. A massive V8 engine gave them heaps of power and a mean sound. The drivers position, being slightly ahead of the front wheels, gave a very different, entertaining perspective to a journey.
Used mainly by the Artillery, our paths crossed all too seldomly, but I took every opportunity that came my way to take one for a spin. As the engine was housed between the drivers' and passenger seat, repairs were always conducted under cover, out of the rain and cold. This fact also endeared them to me. The One Tonne remains my favourite wheeled vehicle of all-time.
I was tempted to race ahead in my car, pull over, jump out and try to flag the driver down. I know that the type of people who seek out, purchase and, more often than not, renovate military vehicles like this are, invariably, very willing to discuss their prized possession. Self-preservation stopped me taking this course of action though as I thought that the driver may decide to mow me down, thinking I was some sort of deranged, toothless lunatic attempting a car-jacking.
So I let him go. I return to the dentist for my denture dress rehearsal on Tuesday, so I'll keep my eyes peeled for him. Who knows I may even get to take it for a spin...
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Gotta Get to Rehab...
Things are getting out of hand on the belly front. The Christmas festivities have taken a heavy toll on my waistline. Haven't set foot in the gym since November... and it shows.
I'm weighing in at 16st 4llbs. I was 14st 7llbs in the summer when we did the Three Peaks. My proposed fitness campaign was due to commence on January 2nd but thus far hasn't even looked like getting underway. Definately tomorrow.
I'm weighing in at 16st 4llbs. I was 14st 7llbs in the summer when we did the Three Peaks. My proposed fitness campaign was due to commence on January 2nd but thus far hasn't even looked like getting underway. Definately tomorrow.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Bar GarryOwen
The estate agent put the 'For Sale' board up outside the house today. This will be the first time I've lived in a house that is on the market. We've chosen Peter Large after taking advice. I met him a couple of years ago when he valued our old house. Nice bloke, named after the size of his wallet apparently.
We briefly considered attempting to flog it ourselves to avoid paying the middle man. People do it these days, using the internet. We'll give Peter and his team a month or so and review the situation then.
I've been doing some serious surfing over the weekend, checking out a prospective local in Albury. The pubs look pretty good, much better than I expected based on my memories of Sydneys pubs from my visit in '96. The pubs were like slums but the punters within these slums were top notch.
Our local was the GarryOwen Hotel in Balmain. What a gaff! It reminded me of drinking establishments I'd visited in the Third World, a giant ashtray surrounding the bar with a lone armchair complete with upholstery spring poking through it's seat, positioned far too close to the cracked, worn-out dartboard. We called in one Friday afternoon for a swift one and ended up leaving on Sunday night decked out in the rugby league shirts of our choice, given to us by the lads we had met during the session. I've still got mine. South Sydney, the pride of the league, with the number one on the back. Given to me by Yummy, who, despite his handicap, ran all the way home and back in the rain to present it to me.
I plan to return to the GarryOwen when we move to Oz. It's had a right touch-up since that weekend in November ten years ago. It looks like a gay bar now, with shiny metallic furniture that looks less inviting than the broken chair from '96. It bears more resemblance to an Ikea showroom than a boozer. It's even got its own website.
I'd love to catch up with the gang that kept us royally entertained and made us feel so at home when we were twelve thousand miles away from home. They even managed to squeeze a 'punch-up' in for us, which despite the obvious violent overtones, still managed to be a comical and ultimately friendly segment of the evening.
I doubt whether the GarryOwen of today would permit that sort of behaviour, let alone encourage it as was the case back then. Couldn't see the dartboard on the website photographs either. Nor any of the faces I would recognise anywhere. No Yummy. I imagine they've moved on, unhappy with their local being turned into Bar GarryOwen, selling latte and mochachocachino. On to somewhere where they can watch the dogs, spit, curse, have a punt and thump each other.
I hope they took the dartboard with them...
We briefly considered attempting to flog it ourselves to avoid paying the middle man. People do it these days, using the internet. We'll give Peter and his team a month or so and review the situation then.
I've been doing some serious surfing over the weekend, checking out a prospective local in Albury. The pubs look pretty good, much better than I expected based on my memories of Sydneys pubs from my visit in '96. The pubs were like slums but the punters within these slums were top notch.
Our local was the GarryOwen Hotel in Balmain. What a gaff! It reminded me of drinking establishments I'd visited in the Third World, a giant ashtray surrounding the bar with a lone armchair complete with upholstery spring poking through it's seat, positioned far too close to the cracked, worn-out dartboard. We called in one Friday afternoon for a swift one and ended up leaving on Sunday night decked out in the rugby league shirts of our choice, given to us by the lads we had met during the session. I've still got mine. South Sydney, the pride of the league, with the number one on the back. Given to me by Yummy, who, despite his handicap, ran all the way home and back in the rain to present it to me.
I plan to return to the GarryOwen when we move to Oz. It's had a right touch-up since that weekend in November ten years ago. It looks like a gay bar now, with shiny metallic furniture that looks less inviting than the broken chair from '96. It bears more resemblance to an Ikea showroom than a boozer. It's even got its own website.
I'd love to catch up with the gang that kept us royally entertained and made us feel so at home when we were twelve thousand miles away from home. They even managed to squeeze a 'punch-up' in for us, which despite the obvious violent overtones, still managed to be a comical and ultimately friendly segment of the evening.
I doubt whether the GarryOwen of today would permit that sort of behaviour, let alone encourage it as was the case back then. Couldn't see the dartboard on the website photographs either. Nor any of the faces I would recognise anywhere. No Yummy. I imagine they've moved on, unhappy with their local being turned into Bar GarryOwen, selling latte and mochachocachino. On to somewhere where they can watch the dogs, spit, curse, have a punt and thump each other.
I hope they took the dartboard with them...
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Hell Hath No Fury...
Spoiler ahead -
Tracey Barlow's just biffed old Stubbsy round the cranium with a statue. Go Girl!!
Can you get 'The Street' in Australia?
Tracey Barlow's just biffed old Stubbsy round the cranium with a statue. Go Girl!!
Can you get 'The Street' in Australia?
Friday, January 12, 2007
Windy City
Forget Chicago and Wellington, if there was a windier place than Rhyl this morning then you don't want to be going there. As I looked out of my bedroom window a scene of carnage greeted me. Wheelie bins, litter and fence panels were among the bigger pieces of debris strewn across the green. Poor old Tim from across the way spent all weekend fixing his fence up only to see it destroyed by gale force winds during the wee small hours. That's his weekend sorted out. I should give him a lift actually, he helped me repair our garage door.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Dude Looks Like a Lady
NYE was a good night out. A good old-fashioned knees-up in several of the towns pubs, all of which hold special memories for me and the wife, collected down the years. A fitting end to our involvement in Rhyls New Years celebrations, as residents at least.
Fancy dress was, once again, on the slide although there was still plenty around. Possibly in the region of twenty per cent of revellers had donned costume for the big night. There were some good ones too - the most outstanding being the young lad in the Esp, who looked resplendent in his blazer, tie and slacks, only to turn around to reveal the back cut out of his rig showing his mums shocking pink bra and knickers.
This time next year, if everything goes to plan, we'll be seeing out the old and welcoming in the new in sunnier climes - Albury, NSW to be exact. The house gets measured by the estate agents this week then it's up for grabs. When it's gone so are we...
Fancy dress was, once again, on the slide although there was still plenty around. Possibly in the region of twenty per cent of revellers had donned costume for the big night. There were some good ones too - the most outstanding being the young lad in the Esp, who looked resplendent in his blazer, tie and slacks, only to turn around to reveal the back cut out of his rig showing his mums shocking pink bra and knickers.
This time next year, if everything goes to plan, we'll be seeing out the old and welcoming in the new in sunnier climes - Albury, NSW to be exact. The house gets measured by the estate agents this week then it's up for grabs. When it's gone so are we...
Monday, January 01, 2007
The Boys in the Royal Blue Jerseys
Would you adam and steve it? My birthday wish came true! Everton walloped Newcastle 3-0! Three goals scored by the home side at Goodison Park is very much a rarity these days so for it to occur on my birthday was a nice touch. The only downside of the event was the fact that we didn't get to see the game. We traipsed around Rhyls sodden streets in a vain attempt to find somewhere showing it. As it turned out no one was showing it because, for once, Evertons game was the only one not featuring on anyones satellite feed.
Never mind, I had an enjoyable birthday, drinking with my oldest friend Weeble. We called into our old haunt 'The Barrell', formerly the town centres premium watering hole. It's had a re-fit in an attempt to restore it to its former glories, returning to it's old name and layout after a couple of name changes and attempts to turn it into a nightclub. It was quite fitting that we dropped by yesterday on my last birthday in town. We had spent a good portion of our misspent youth in this place and we reminisced as we sat there. Two other members of the 'old guard' came in whilst we were there and , although we never knew them that well, we gave them the nod and said 'hello' just like in the good old days when I had a fringe.
Tonight is New Years Eve of course and for the first time in nineteen years I won't be going out in fancy dress. Rhyl has traditionally been Party Centraal on NYE with virtually the entire town donning costume for the night. It was almost compulsory in days of yorn but over the years the tradition has sadly been on the wane. Even I shan't be bothering tonight as I've been void of any idea what to dress up as really. I can't keep putting one of the wifes dresses on - people will suspect. I was going to do Borat in his Kazakh speedos but decided it would be too cold and a bit on the obscene side as well.
So tonight we're going as ourselves as, I'd imagine, many other people will. I hope the tradition continues and becomes what it was once again, for it was a truly memorable period in the history of Rhyls nightlife.
On that note, wherever you are and whatever you do tonight have a good one. Blwyddyn Newydd Da i chi gyd! Happy New Year to you all!
Never mind, I had an enjoyable birthday, drinking with my oldest friend Weeble. We called into our old haunt 'The Barrell', formerly the town centres premium watering hole. It's had a re-fit in an attempt to restore it to its former glories, returning to it's old name and layout after a couple of name changes and attempts to turn it into a nightclub. It was quite fitting that we dropped by yesterday on my last birthday in town. We had spent a good portion of our misspent youth in this place and we reminisced as we sat there. Two other members of the 'old guard' came in whilst we were there and , although we never knew them that well, we gave them the nod and said 'hello' just like in the good old days when I had a fringe.
Tonight is New Years Eve of course and for the first time in nineteen years I won't be going out in fancy dress. Rhyl has traditionally been Party Centraal on NYE with virtually the entire town donning costume for the night. It was almost compulsory in days of yorn but over the years the tradition has sadly been on the wane. Even I shan't be bothering tonight as I've been void of any idea what to dress up as really. I can't keep putting one of the wifes dresses on - people will suspect. I was going to do Borat in his Kazakh speedos but decided it would be too cold and a bit on the obscene side as well.
So tonight we're going as ourselves as, I'd imagine, many other people will. I hope the tradition continues and becomes what it was once again, for it was a truly memorable period in the history of Rhyls nightlife.
On that note, wherever you are and whatever you do tonight have a good one. Blwyddyn Newydd Da i chi gyd! Happy New Year to you all!
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Penblwydd Hapus i Fi!
Or Happy Birthday to Me! As they say in English. I am 39 today. Not a particularly special birthday numerically speaking but a poignant one for me nevertheless, as it's very likely to be the last one I spend in the bosom of family and life-long friends.
And what do I have planned for this momentous occasion you ask? Nothing special really. I've got an electrical repair to carry out at my brothers place which I may or may not do. To knock the skin off a few at the driving range is the next goal followed by a visit to my folks seeing as we go back such a long way and , who knows, there may even be a birthday gift there to mark the occasion. My plan then follows a rather predictable pattern. I intend to rock up to the Esp (my local), find myself a pew, probably the one by the fruit machine and get cooked, nice and slowly, the way it's meant to be done.
At some stage I'll be watching my beloved Everton take on Newcastle on the foreign satellite broadcasts widely available in pubs and clubs in Rhyl these days. It'd be a nice birthday treat for me if the Blues bucked their recent trend of being the least entertaining team in world football and produced a display that warranted my thirty five years of unquestioned loyalty to them.
For it was on this very day in 1971, my fourth birthday, that my Dad gave me the wonderful gift of a blue shirt with a white trim, white shorts and stockings. Why Dad picked this kit is a mystery that I've never ventured to solve. Most parents, especially amongst my peers, virtually force their offspring to support the same team as they do. Employing such despicable tactics as dressing their infants up in miniature replica kits then photographing this heinous crime in order to brandish this photographic evidence at any stage during their childs life when they show the merest hint of showing favour to another team.
This is important stuff too. Very important stuff. For the ardent fan, which is almost everybody in the U.K., you are forever linked to your teams fortune. They suffer, you suffer ten-fold. Likewise with all the other emotions involved. Success for the vast majority, especially Evertonians like me, is an all too infrequent and fleeting visitor. Probably unbeknown to him at the back-end of 1971 my Dad made a decision that has had a massive impact on my life. A massive impact.
Dad's a Liverpool fan from Billy Liddells days, Evertons deadliest and only real rivals. I hate them, which makes his decision all the more difficult to fathom. We lived in Hampshire at the time and I was an easily pleased kid, he could easily have palmed me off with a more local team, Southampton perhaps or one of the London giants like Arsenal maybe. Imagine my delight in this day and age if he'd have picked blue shorts to go with that blue jersey - Chelsea would have been my team. Urrrgh! Even contemplating supporting someone else sends a shiver down my spine.
Like I said I've never questioned Dads motives, I've just been grateful, very grateful. But for what? For the vast majority of my life Everton have been an average to poor side rarely providing value for money for the paying fan. We've had our moments of course, the mid-eighties was terrific but failed to materialise into a dynasty the like of which seems to occur these days following a period of great success which 1984-87 truly was for Everton. The remainder of the time has found me at the mercy of mocking work-mates and friends who, fortunately, have grown bored of such easy prey and turned elsewhere to get their kicks.
Having said all that, me following Everton right or wrong, great or grim has helped to make me what I am. A character who appreciates the good times and has learned to roll with the bad. With sharpened wit due to having been forced to seek verbal repertoire elsewhere than the football based responses spat out by supporters of 'corporation' teams. It has bonded me with like-minded individuals the world over whose company I have revelled in and will continue to do so.
In song the great Johnny Cash named his boy Sue to prepare him for anything the world could throw at him, my old man made me an Evertonian. Being an Evertonian hasn't made me what I am, my Dad has.
So Dad, for this and so much more I thank you. If you present me with a gift today that provides me with a nano-fraction of the stimulation and entertainment that the one you gave me thirty five years ago has done then you would have achieved something impossible. A win for the Blues would be nice!!!!!
P.S. My mum's not a bad old stick either!
And what do I have planned for this momentous occasion you ask? Nothing special really. I've got an electrical repair to carry out at my brothers place which I may or may not do. To knock the skin off a few at the driving range is the next goal followed by a visit to my folks seeing as we go back such a long way and , who knows, there may even be a birthday gift there to mark the occasion. My plan then follows a rather predictable pattern. I intend to rock up to the Esp (my local), find myself a pew, probably the one by the fruit machine and get cooked, nice and slowly, the way it's meant to be done.
At some stage I'll be watching my beloved Everton take on Newcastle on the foreign satellite broadcasts widely available in pubs and clubs in Rhyl these days. It'd be a nice birthday treat for me if the Blues bucked their recent trend of being the least entertaining team in world football and produced a display that warranted my thirty five years of unquestioned loyalty to them.
For it was on this very day in 1971, my fourth birthday, that my Dad gave me the wonderful gift of a blue shirt with a white trim, white shorts and stockings. Why Dad picked this kit is a mystery that I've never ventured to solve. Most parents, especially amongst my peers, virtually force their offspring to support the same team as they do. Employing such despicable tactics as dressing their infants up in miniature replica kits then photographing this heinous crime in order to brandish this photographic evidence at any stage during their childs life when they show the merest hint of showing favour to another team.
This is important stuff too. Very important stuff. For the ardent fan, which is almost everybody in the U.K., you are forever linked to your teams fortune. They suffer, you suffer ten-fold. Likewise with all the other emotions involved. Success for the vast majority, especially Evertonians like me, is an all too infrequent and fleeting visitor. Probably unbeknown to him at the back-end of 1971 my Dad made a decision that has had a massive impact on my life. A massive impact.
Dad's a Liverpool fan from Billy Liddells days, Evertons deadliest and only real rivals. I hate them, which makes his decision all the more difficult to fathom. We lived in Hampshire at the time and I was an easily pleased kid, he could easily have palmed me off with a more local team, Southampton perhaps or one of the London giants like Arsenal maybe. Imagine my delight in this day and age if he'd have picked blue shorts to go with that blue jersey - Chelsea would have been my team. Urrrgh! Even contemplating supporting someone else sends a shiver down my spine.
Like I said I've never questioned Dads motives, I've just been grateful, very grateful. But for what? For the vast majority of my life Everton have been an average to poor side rarely providing value for money for the paying fan. We've had our moments of course, the mid-eighties was terrific but failed to materialise into a dynasty the like of which seems to occur these days following a period of great success which 1984-87 truly was for Everton. The remainder of the time has found me at the mercy of mocking work-mates and friends who, fortunately, have grown bored of such easy prey and turned elsewhere to get their kicks.
Having said all that, me following Everton right or wrong, great or grim has helped to make me what I am. A character who appreciates the good times and has learned to roll with the bad. With sharpened wit due to having been forced to seek verbal repertoire elsewhere than the football based responses spat out by supporters of 'corporation' teams. It has bonded me with like-minded individuals the world over whose company I have revelled in and will continue to do so.
In song the great Johnny Cash named his boy Sue to prepare him for anything the world could throw at him, my old man made me an Evertonian. Being an Evertonian hasn't made me what I am, my Dad has.
So Dad, for this and so much more I thank you. If you present me with a gift today that provides me with a nano-fraction of the stimulation and entertainment that the one you gave me thirty five years ago has done then you would have achieved something impossible. A win for the Blues would be nice!!!!!
P.S. My mum's not a bad old stick either!
Monday, December 25, 2006
Where Streams of Whiskey Are Flowin'...`
Our visa has arrived. We now have the right to live and work in Australia for the next three years. Great eh? We think so.
It's been a long road of application process and at times it's been a right royal pain in the arse. Fortunately for me the burden of paperwork and hoop-jumping has largely been taken care of by the wife, who's given it everything and some more to ensure our success in achieving our goal.
All we have to do now is sell the house. If you're interested it's going on the market for around £175,000.
It's been a long road of application process and at times it's been a right royal pain in the arse. Fortunately for me the burden of paperwork and hoop-jumping has largely been taken care of by the wife, who's given it everything and some more to ensure our success in achieving our goal.
All we have to do now is sell the house. If you're interested it's going on the market for around £175,000.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Christmas Do's......and dont's.
Monday today. Not any old Monday but the Monday following the works Christmas do. A nerve-wracking and cringeworthy day for many as their Saturday night exploits are re-lived in the cold light of day. This year wasn't too bad for me in comparison to previous years embarrassment. I can't deny I was well and truly spannered and was guilty of a bit of profiterole-throwing and a couple of episodes of dirty dancing but that's about the long and short of it. Just to confirm my behaviour wasn't too offensive I made a furtive Sunday afternoon phone call to a more sober colleague who agreed that I hadn't upset anyone too badly on the night as far as he was aware.
Whilst this was of some relief to me I still wasn't feeling totally confident this morning. Given that, on the equivalent Monday in 2003 following my most notorious Christmas do experience, I had been completely oblivious to the storm that awaited me on my arrival at work, it was with no little trepidation that I entered the office today.
Everyone was quite quiet for the first half hour- so far so good thought I. In time little tit-bits of Saturdays activities were discussed confirming a couple of my misdemeanors but thankfully no skeletons were emerging . As the day wore on I was becoming more confident that I had come through this festively decorated minefield pretty much unscathed.
I was pleased. After all, this had been my 'comeback' do following my year-long suspension from works functions following the 2003 Xmas bash when I committed a catalogue of faux-pas and my own, self imposed two year sabbatical in protest at the afore mentioned suspension. I wouldn't have gone this year, to be honest, were it not for the fact that it was possibly my last Xmas do seeing as we will hopefully be living in Australia this time next year. But went I did and determined to have a blast, I succeeded.
They're an odd concept works do's. Drinking with people you don't really count as friends, people you wouldn't normally socialize with. People you don't know that much about really, even though you spend the vast majority of your waking life with them. So they can be quite awkward events to say the least, the very least. I think my little break from such gatherings helped, plus the fact that I'd spent a good portion of the afternoon in various Chester pubs by way of 'warm-up'. All in all it was a blinding night and more importantly I didn't make too much of an arse of myself for once. Which is nice.
Whilst this was of some relief to me I still wasn't feeling totally confident this morning. Given that, on the equivalent Monday in 2003 following my most notorious Christmas do experience, I had been completely oblivious to the storm that awaited me on my arrival at work, it was with no little trepidation that I entered the office today.
Everyone was quite quiet for the first half hour- so far so good thought I. In time little tit-bits of Saturdays activities were discussed confirming a couple of my misdemeanors but thankfully no skeletons were emerging . As the day wore on I was becoming more confident that I had come through this festively decorated minefield pretty much unscathed.
I was pleased. After all, this had been my 'comeback' do following my year-long suspension from works functions following the 2003 Xmas bash when I committed a catalogue of faux-pas and my own, self imposed two year sabbatical in protest at the afore mentioned suspension. I wouldn't have gone this year, to be honest, were it not for the fact that it was possibly my last Xmas do seeing as we will hopefully be living in Australia this time next year. But went I did and determined to have a blast, I succeeded.
They're an odd concept works do's. Drinking with people you don't really count as friends, people you wouldn't normally socialize with. People you don't know that much about really, even though you spend the vast majority of your waking life with them. So they can be quite awkward events to say the least, the very least. I think my little break from such gatherings helped, plus the fact that I'd spent a good portion of the afternoon in various Chester pubs by way of 'warm-up'. All in all it was a blinding night and more importantly I didn't make too much of an arse of myself for once. Which is nice.
Friday, September 01, 2006
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