Christmas comes but once a year...
Hi all,
Well that's Christmas over for another year.. thank the invisible pink unicorn. I spent a rather enjoyable one at home on my own. Garvan's done a diary (A link to Garvan's blog can be found to the left) of what he did and when, so here's mine.. in a totally plaguaristic way.
Christmas Eve;
3.30pm Left work.
7.00pm Went to the Hanworth Club and supped more than one pint at our Xmas Disco..
10.30pm Compered the raffle, wildly hilarious that was.
12.30am Staggered homeward, fed the cats, and fell asleep before my head hit the pillow.
Christmas day; (The pedantic amongst you will have noticed the last entry above could be inserted here, but it wasn't.. so there) :)
7.00am Awoke to 5 cats who were trying to remove the front door one scratch at a time. Noted that head was thumping. I get a hangover about once every 4 years.. my lucky day.
8.00am Fed the cats, and myself. Being a survivalist at heart, I found a microwaveable pizza (more than one actually.. more later) in the fridge, and had that.
Then watched TV until around...
12 midday Strolled over to the club on my annual pilgrimage to the Statue of Her Lady of John Smiths of the Smooth. Had 3 pints of holy water, and a good natter to everyone. Nobody stood out as wearing a brand new Christmas jumper, as knitted by their great Aunt Ethel.. although she may have been more subtle this year.
2.00pm Strolled home, and fed the cats.. and had another pizza. I had some spuds ready, and 15 minutes could have seen a wonderful meal appear.. but I really couldn't be bothered.
2.30pm Unwrapped prezzies.
3.00pm Queen's Speech. She sounds more like Emperor Blair each year.. I was glad that her Annus wasn't quite so Horriblus this year though. The cream must be working. (Liam; Looking forward to a headless New Year)
Settled down in front of the TV for the afternoon.
7.00pm Went round to Ros' Mum's. Her sister gave me a bottle of Rasberry Beer, the name of which escapes me at the moment.. it was gorgeous. I'll post up the name as and when.. We also took part in an impromptu quiz.. which rather embarrasingly, I won. I must spend too long listening to R4 and being online.. :)
11.00pm Got home to a hoard of cats screaming for food. Anyone would think they don't eat from one month to the next. Tigger, one of the boy cats, decided he wanted to stay out for the night; and as he can run faster than Linford Christie on acid, I had little say in the matter.
Boxing Day:
2.10am Tigger decides that he in actual fact, doesn't want to stay out for the whole night any longer, and meows for England at the door. I'd been asleep for the best part of half an hour by then.
7.00am The cats want to go out, and announce the fact most emphatically.. it's a good job I was going to get up anyway(7 o-bloody clock on Boxing Day.. I ask you). :) It wasn't so much a dawn chorus, more the screams of those doing breaststroke in the lake of fire.
8.00am Fed the cats.. Fed me.. Ah pizza.. yep, had to be done. Then watched TV, shook out the rugs etc.
1.00pm Popped up to Mum's, in the frozen wastelands better known as Coventry. For those that drive often, you'll know the sort of people that congregate on our motorways on public holidays. The ones that will use the M40 perhaps once a year. They haven't got the first [insert expletive] idea what they're doing. On a general day, I'd say that perhaps 10% of motorists shouldn't even have a driving licence. Public holiday motorway drivers.. 50% minimum. I drive for a living and see, on a daily basis, what mental incapacity and the DVLA's unforgiveable doling out of driving licences to all and sundry look like when combined.
I have cruise control on my car. A (relatively) empty M40, should see me kick it off maybe 3 or 4 times between High Wycombe and Banbury. I switched it off in the end and drove using my feet.. mainly because of the idiots who like to go flying past me at 90 and then slow down immediately to 70 directly in front of me. This means that should I wish to stay at the same speed (usually set at 75-80, officer), I have to overtake them within a minute or two. My speed is constant, but they think I'm trying to race them.. they then have to go past.. you get the idea. Why some 18 year old numpty driving an 'F' reg 1.1 Nova, 4 up; whilst wearing a woolly hat, thinks for one minute that he'd win a race anyway, against my Scorpio on a motorway, is beyond me. It might not be quite as nimble on a C road, but when I can still use 3rd gear at a speed where his piston crowns are starting to melt, it seems nonsensical. I just pull back and let the twats get on with it.
I did have to laugh once though. Mrs. Liam and I were on, I think, the M6 going on holiday. A Renault Clio went past doing about 90-95. It was already smoking quite admiribly by then, and a few hundred yards later the engine just gave up the game entirely.
95 mph to smoking oily wreck on the hard shoulder.. Priceless. For everything else there's the AA card. :)
Then there are the err.. older generation, all wearing trilbys (trilbies??), driving at 65 mph in the middle lane, completely and utterly oblivious to anything that isn't happening in the 10 feet of road directly in front of them. These prats, I'm sure, cause more accidents than any amount of brain dead Clio/Saxo driving youngsters, on motorways. The teenagers are at least aware of their surroundings to some extent. You're travelling at 75-80, on the inside lane of a quiet motorway and you suddenly catch up with Volvo Man testing the claims for fuel consumption at a constant 56mph, in the middle lane; whilst trying to tune into Radio Luxembourg, swearing that he listened to it the last time time he'd made the trip up to Great Aunt Morag's in the summer of '62. Inside Lane, Middle Lane, Overtaking Lane, Middle Lane, Inside Lane. To overtake this one idiot, you've added 7 miles (approx):) to the journey.
Then, 2 miles down the road is his female contemporary in a Chelsea Tractor doing the same.. you know the ones, they have a Little Person Aboard sucker cup board hanging in the rear window, causing a 60% blind spot in the rear view mirror. The first time in a year that they've driven far enough for the automatic choke to switch itself off, and they want to enjoy every precious moment of it; while little darling Johnny pulls faces through the side window, after having managed to extracate himself from the confines of Britax's finest.
Phew.. did you notice any pet hates emerge from that little diatribe.. :) No? Oh well.. onwards:-
2.30pm Mum had platefuls of my favourite food ready for me.. I bet you can't guess.. yep Pizza. :) It was the traditional gathering of the clans. The latest addition to the family, my brother's gorgeous little daughter, is now walking. The last time I saw her was at her first birthday party in October. She loved Uncle Liam then, and liked giggling whilst pulling on my beard until my face resembled Joan Collin's's..is (whatever). This time, she wouldn't go near me..
"..scary bloke.. ahh.. Mummy, Daddy.. save me from the horrid wierd person."
(It sounded more like sniffle-gurgle-burp, but you can tell these things instinctively, can't you)
5.00pm Travelled back.. Basically the same idiots, only they now had to drive in the dark, staring out of the 5" circle they'd scraped out of the ice on the windscreen.. I could, as you well know, go on (and on, and on) but I'll refrain.. :)
8.00pm Another pilgrimage to the Hallowed Hanworth Grotto (or grotty even). A few pints and a game of darts ensued. The darts was going quite well until my mate Duncan put his name down for a game. He's arguably one of the best players in the club. I played him three times. The first I won, having been playing without loss for about 15 games, I was in good form and warmed up. However.. I played him twice more, and notwithstanding the fact that I hit a 180 in each game.. I lost both, such is his prowess with the old arrows.
nb. For those that have read previous ramblings herein, my right elbow had been playing up again.. but, with the aid of some anti-inflamatories seems to be back to normal-ish, which is very good news for me, given my liking for the game of darts.
11.50pm Went home.. I've been typing this for a good while now, and I can't really see any point in prolonging your agony any longer; so this, being the end, seems a good time to stop. :)
Cheers
Liam
Well that's Christmas over for another year.. thank the invisible pink unicorn. I spent a rather enjoyable one at home on my own. Garvan's done a diary (A link to Garvan's blog can be found to the left) of what he did and when, so here's mine.. in a totally plaguaristic way.
Christmas Eve;
3.30pm Left work.
7.00pm Went to the Hanworth Club and supped more than one pint at our Xmas Disco..
10.30pm Compered the raffle, wildly hilarious that was.
12.30am Staggered homeward, fed the cats, and fell asleep before my head hit the pillow.
Christmas day; (The pedantic amongst you will have noticed the last entry above could be inserted here, but it wasn't.. so there) :)
7.00am Awoke to 5 cats who were trying to remove the front door one scratch at a time. Noted that head was thumping. I get a hangover about once every 4 years.. my lucky day.
8.00am Fed the cats, and myself. Being a survivalist at heart, I found a microwaveable pizza (more than one actually.. more later) in the fridge, and had that.
Then watched TV until around...
12 midday Strolled over to the club on my annual pilgrimage to the Statue of Her Lady of John Smiths of the Smooth. Had 3 pints of holy water, and a good natter to everyone. Nobody stood out as wearing a brand new Christmas jumper, as knitted by their great Aunt Ethel.. although she may have been more subtle this year.
2.00pm Strolled home, and fed the cats.. and had another pizza. I had some spuds ready, and 15 minutes could have seen a wonderful meal appear.. but I really couldn't be bothered.
2.30pm Unwrapped prezzies.
3.00pm Queen's Speech. She sounds more like Emperor Blair each year.. I was glad that her Annus wasn't quite so Horriblus this year though. The cream must be working. (Liam; Looking forward to a headless New Year)
Settled down in front of the TV for the afternoon.
7.00pm Went round to Ros' Mum's. Her sister gave me a bottle of Rasberry Beer, the name of which escapes me at the moment.. it was gorgeous. I'll post up the name as and when.. We also took part in an impromptu quiz.. which rather embarrasingly, I won. I must spend too long listening to R4 and being online.. :)
11.00pm Got home to a hoard of cats screaming for food. Anyone would think they don't eat from one month to the next. Tigger, one of the boy cats, decided he wanted to stay out for the night; and as he can run faster than Linford Christie on acid, I had little say in the matter.
Boxing Day:
2.10am Tigger decides that he in actual fact, doesn't want to stay out for the whole night any longer, and meows for England at the door. I'd been asleep for the best part of half an hour by then.
7.00am The cats want to go out, and announce the fact most emphatically.. it's a good job I was going to get up anyway(7 o-bloody clock on Boxing Day.. I ask you). :) It wasn't so much a dawn chorus, more the screams of those doing breaststroke in the lake of fire.
8.00am Fed the cats.. Fed me.. Ah pizza.. yep, had to be done. Then watched TV, shook out the rugs etc.
1.00pm Popped up to Mum's, in the frozen wastelands better known as Coventry. For those that drive often, you'll know the sort of people that congregate on our motorways on public holidays. The ones that will use the M40 perhaps once a year. They haven't got the first [insert expletive] idea what they're doing. On a general day, I'd say that perhaps 10% of motorists shouldn't even have a driving licence. Public holiday motorway drivers.. 50% minimum. I drive for a living and see, on a daily basis, what mental incapacity and the DVLA's unforgiveable doling out of driving licences to all and sundry look like when combined.
I have cruise control on my car. A (relatively) empty M40, should see me kick it off maybe 3 or 4 times between High Wycombe and Banbury. I switched it off in the end and drove using my feet.. mainly because of the idiots who like to go flying past me at 90 and then slow down immediately to 70 directly in front of me. This means that should I wish to stay at the same speed (usually set at 75-80, officer), I have to overtake them within a minute or two. My speed is constant, but they think I'm trying to race them.. they then have to go past.. you get the idea. Why some 18 year old numpty driving an 'F' reg 1.1 Nova, 4 up; whilst wearing a woolly hat, thinks for one minute that he'd win a race anyway, against my Scorpio on a motorway, is beyond me. It might not be quite as nimble on a C road, but when I can still use 3rd gear at a speed where his piston crowns are starting to melt, it seems nonsensical. I just pull back and let the twats get on with it.
I did have to laugh once though. Mrs. Liam and I were on, I think, the M6 going on holiday. A Renault Clio went past doing about 90-95. It was already smoking quite admiribly by then, and a few hundred yards later the engine just gave up the game entirely.
95 mph to smoking oily wreck on the hard shoulder.. Priceless. For everything else there's the AA card. :)
Then there are the err.. older generation, all wearing trilbys (trilbies??), driving at 65 mph in the middle lane, completely and utterly oblivious to anything that isn't happening in the 10 feet of road directly in front of them. These prats, I'm sure, cause more accidents than any amount of brain dead Clio/Saxo driving youngsters, on motorways. The teenagers are at least aware of their surroundings to some extent. You're travelling at 75-80, on the inside lane of a quiet motorway and you suddenly catch up with Volvo Man testing the claims for fuel consumption at a constant 56mph, in the middle lane; whilst trying to tune into Radio Luxembourg, swearing that he listened to it the last time time he'd made the trip up to Great Aunt Morag's in the summer of '62. Inside Lane, Middle Lane, Overtaking Lane, Middle Lane, Inside Lane. To overtake this one idiot, you've added 7 miles (approx):) to the journey.
Then, 2 miles down the road is his female contemporary in a Chelsea Tractor doing the same.. you know the ones, they have a Little Person Aboard sucker cup board hanging in the rear window, causing a 60% blind spot in the rear view mirror. The first time in a year that they've driven far enough for the automatic choke to switch itself off, and they want to enjoy every precious moment of it; while little darling Johnny pulls faces through the side window, after having managed to extracate himself from the confines of Britax's finest.
Phew.. did you notice any pet hates emerge from that little diatribe.. :) No? Oh well.. onwards:-
2.30pm Mum had platefuls of my favourite food ready for me.. I bet you can't guess.. yep Pizza. :) It was the traditional gathering of the clans. The latest addition to the family, my brother's gorgeous little daughter, is now walking. The last time I saw her was at her first birthday party in October. She loved Uncle Liam then, and liked giggling whilst pulling on my beard until my face resembled Joan Collin's's..is (whatever). This time, she wouldn't go near me..
"..scary bloke.. ahh.. Mummy, Daddy.. save me from the horrid wierd person."
(It sounded more like sniffle-gurgle-burp, but you can tell these things instinctively, can't you)
5.00pm Travelled back.. Basically the same idiots, only they now had to drive in the dark, staring out of the 5" circle they'd scraped out of the ice on the windscreen.. I could, as you well know, go on (and on, and on) but I'll refrain.. :)
8.00pm Another pilgrimage to the Hallowed Hanworth Grotto (or grotty even). A few pints and a game of darts ensued. The darts was going quite well until my mate Duncan put his name down for a game. He's arguably one of the best players in the club. I played him three times. The first I won, having been playing without loss for about 15 games, I was in good form and warmed up. However.. I played him twice more, and notwithstanding the fact that I hit a 180 in each game.. I lost both, such is his prowess with the old arrows.
nb. For those that have read previous ramblings herein, my right elbow had been playing up again.. but, with the aid of some anti-inflamatories seems to be back to normal-ish, which is very good news for me, given my liking for the game of darts.
11.50pm Went home.. I've been typing this for a good while now, and I can't really see any point in prolonging your agony any longer; so this, being the end, seems a good time to stop. :)
Cheers
Liam
posted by Liam | 10:43 PM
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