The words contained in this here journal may not make much sense and they may not bear any relation to reality but one thing is for sure, they'll contain the word pasty.
Saturday, April 26, 2003
There some people playing cricket on the green outside, they've just lost their ball into the beck *sniggers*
Woke up to a small spider this morning. Being a sissy I wanted the thing removed so I tried to pick it up and to my utter astonishment it lept from the wall onto my hand..... EEEK! I let out a little girly scream, flapped my arms, and ran about until I was satisfied that the little incy wincy could not possibly still be attatched to my person as all good arachnophobes do in a moment of crisis.
Well I've been ordered to go to York for the night so I'll be sadly absent until then. I should have added a commenting facility to this here thing soon though so you can leave your thoughts on what I've said, nothing too rude I hope, and when it gets done depends on how long it takes me to sweet talk Wend into telling what I'm doing.
Dream Recorder: An alternative DJ. We had a classic car race (lots of crashing) and a long drawn out leaving scene involving far too much hugging if that's possible :) I'd elaborate on the dream a little more but I gotta fly, farewell.
I've reached a profound conclusion, I don't like Pink Floyd much. There you go, I've said it! Happy now? Actually this song's not too bad...
I apologise for the slightly odd contribution to the journal last night, I was in a bit of an odd mood which I think has cleared up now. The mood was odd enough to get me reading some old ICQ logs from the days of yore some three years ago when I used to be a (slightly) active member of the wireplay TFC community. The ICQ log in question charted six months of conversation between myself and a very special lady who goes by the name of Debbie, as you can imagine a few hours reading was only enough to get me about a tenth of the way through the log. I certainly died a lot back then, there have been more incidents with imaginary ambulances than I care to remember. And I sounded worryingly like Sparky, please tell me I've changed as much as I think I have...
Gawd I'm sick of this. *takes Pink Floyd out and replaces it with Jimmy Nail*
Sorry, back to the topic at hand. I've been trying (trying in my sense of the word being a fairly pants effort, though I did re-write "A Message to you Rudy") to make contact with Debbie via the arcane old program of ICQ with very little effect. I've some 80 contacts in there, most of whom I don't even remember at all. Lots of skeletons in there too but that's a bunch of stories for another time. I've notified her of the existance of this here journal so if you're listening then "Get yer arse in gear and come talk to me somewhere!", probably too busy for an old flame like me though :)
Well there's nothing left but to change the music once again to a nice bit of Queen, Seven Seas of Rhye I think, and update the :
Trying to navigate through a university to get to a football game, some friends from scilly got in the way. *shrugs*
Thursday, April 24, 2003
I got writer's block, yay. I'm not sure if it's as painful as tennis elbow or as humiliating as brewer's droop but it feels terrible, I just hope nobody thinks I'm ignoring em or owt. The internet itself is seeming a bit old hat these days which is no bad thing when I've got so much work to do for uni and possibly a few good games looming that might want to fight for my affections over the summer.
The Mango - By Gavin
The mango you are sweetest of all fruit,
A mouthful of mango makes everyone mute.
Never in my life have I tasted thee,
But it's what I'm told by fruity Wendy.
Well that's my creativity for the week lost within a splodge of poetry. I might try freeforming like Rick in the Young Ones (fab show). Need a word to start with though, errrr beret:
Beret
French
Pastry
Pasty (D'oh)
Happiness
Scilly
Friends
Football
Sport
Motorsport
Obsession
Love
*shrugs*
I don't know where to go from there without naming names. I'm sure you're all rather terrified now :D
Which is most important? To me, friends probably.
Ah well, enough acting the emotional fool for one night.
Thanks to Wend for making me get off my arse and set the time to GMT on this thing though I did kind of like setting my clock the same as those in parts of Canada, it gets snowy there don't you know?
I've just resigned myself to cleaning this damned mouse, it's reached that awful stage where it sqeaks (how apt) in protest and refuses to go left no matter how much you shout at the thing. I find this to be particularly a problem in Half Life when I have some beasty sitting North by Northwest (A Biplane Perhaps?). And does it ever worry you what the darkish gunk is? I'm guessing it's some mix of dead skin and sweat, yum, but I suppose if your body is in dire need of salt and the sea is just to far away I suppose it could come in handy.
Dream Recorder: Booked Beck into the Scilly holiday.....a fortnight too early! She didn't seem very grateful that I'd sorted out her holiday, just cos she'd be there all alone she got her knickers in a twist about it and shouted at me!. I remember very little else about the dream except running through a carpark (from FBI agents perhaps?) and also fighting brambles at some point (trying to break through a thicket into the land of Narnia?). Well it certainly wasn't a very exciting dream, maybe tonight I'll get some explosions *BOOM!*.
Wednesday, April 23, 2003
Is it normal to think chatting to Wend is the best thing ever? I do it all the time and it doesn't half give me a big smile :D
Woke up today and shot straight into the sunshine (can you blame me?). I then spent the rest of the day catching up with old friends (in the sunshine), eating chocolate (again, in the sunshine. Bit messy but it was worth it) and then watching rubbish films. Sitting in the sunshine and talking to friends? As life goes I find that pretty fulfilling.
Why is it the clay model reconstructions on Meet the Ancestors always look so stereotyped? They've got a Roman skull and out pops some noble looking geezer with a big nose. They do a norse skull and I half expect it to come out with a helmet complete with horns sticking out the top.
How many pieces of fruit does a biscuit and raisin Yorkie count as?
Tuesday, April 22, 2003
Took Jono to the hospital today and learned something new about nurses, they all wear Nike trainers. Whether it's because wearing Nike trainers is the latest fashion amongst the nursing world or because Nike themselves are sponsoring the NHS I don't know but I think they should be proud of such fine footwear. I, myself, have good wide feet and it used to take me hour after tedious hour to find a pair that didn't cause shooting pains within the first hundred yards of stumbling but now Nike have answered all my prayers with their super dooper constructed shoes. I can walk into any shoe shop, nobble a pair of Nike trainers, stick them on and they fit like the proverbial glove!. Fantastic (as Liam would say).
Whilst traversing the hospital corridors, with increasing panic as I failed to find a way out, I happened to look into a small supply store to see a large label stating "SARS Emergency Box". I had been mildly concerned about an outbreak of the virus in the local community but I can now rest easy, safe in the knowledge that the NHS has prepared a whole cardboard box full of useful things to help contain an epidemic within the 50,00 odd people the Friarage serves, eek (as Wend would say).
Jono himself happened to be in the hospital not through a nasty virus but through footballing injuries. Each time we play football he'll run about making wild tackles and invariably he hurts himself in some way. After the football he will then impress everyone with the odd shapes and colours associated with his legs after a kickabout before stubbornly forcing his legs to ednure the same misery but days afterwards. As long as he ignores the pain the injuries will get better on their own won't they? Well no. After months of delaying the inevitable he has finally had to seek medical help after a snowballing of knackeredness in his left leg has resulted in it looking far more like a liquorice allsort than it should do, wagga wagga (as Beck would say).
Following are the numbers for today's bike ride, I apologise for not having exact figures mostly but one of my parents has "tidied up" the piece of paper on which I wrote down the numbers. Grrrrr.
Bike Ride Stats:
Total Riding Time = 1 hour 10 minutes
Distance Ridden = 14 miles
Average Speed = 13 miles per hour
Max Speed = 38.2 miles per hour :O I don't even remember going over thirty!
Monday, April 21, 2003 Five signs that summer is nearly here: 1) My Dad wearing shorts.
2) First swallow of the year spotted.
3) Both me and my dad going cycling (his cycle being powered by an 1100cc engine, old people are sooo lazy!).
4) Lambs big enough to knock me off my bike invading the road.
5) Rumbles of thunder!
The last of these is particularly to my liking as I've always had a passion for the weather, I would often sit for hours watching extreme (british style) weather out the window be it heavy rain, heavy snow, high winds or my particular favourite the thunderstorm. I think it's just one of the many obsessions I've developed through my mega-systemising brain. Up until five years ago I used to be terrified of lightning, these days I still get a buzz from watching it but mostly because it is such an awesome spectacle. I've seen the totality of a solar eclipse, I've watched the northern lights from the comfort of an armchair but nothing comes close to the sheer brilliance of a nearby lightning strike, a trillions watts of energy bringing temporary daylight to the world around. Give me a warm night, a beach, some fine company and a thunderstorm to watch and I'm one extremely happy bunny.
Some not so interesting lightning facts: -Approximately 100 lightning strikes hit the earth every second.
-At any given time, 1,800 thunderstorms are active around the World.
-Most lightning strikes never hit the earth and are either cloud to cloud, cloud to air, or within cloud strokes.
-The electricity contained in a single lightning stroke could light a 100-watt light bulb for more than 3 months.
-The heat produced by a lightning strike can reach 50,000 degrees Fahrenheit (hotter than the surface of the sun).
-Lightning travels at a speed of approximately 90,000 miles per second, or about half the speed of light and 100,000 times faster than the speed of sound.
-Most lightning strikes are only a few inches wide but can be up to 20 miles long.
-The odds of being struck by lightning is about 1 in 600,000! (Don't ask me how they woked out these odds, I'm just the messenger)
And if that's not enough figures for you here come my bike ride stats, aren't you lot spoiled?
Total Riding Time = 48 minutes and 42 seconds
Distance Ridden = 10.97 miles
Average Speed = 13.5 miles per hour
Max Speed = 37.2 miles per hour (EEK!)
That's nearly 40 bloomin' miles an hour! It seems silly restricting un-taxed powered trasport to 15 mph with hooligans like me racing about the place causing havoc, how I'm not dead yet I have no idea. What's even more silly is the fact that while going at stupid speeds on my mountain bike doesn't bother me if you tried to coax me onto a rollercoaster doing that speed I'd run away whimpering, I think I've got a problem trusting other people with my safety. Sitting in the passenger seat of a car is a nightmare for me, it takes all my self control not to spend the entire journey telling the driver what they are doing wrong, how to do it better and what's coming up in the road, all the while inside my head I'm driving the car myself. Perhaps one day I'll get over my fear of growing up and learn to drive myself.
Hope you like the extra super dooper exciting bold text. Gav out....
Sunday, April 20, 2003
It's Sunday night and I've just had my F1 fix for the fortnight, the race was pretty dull but I still loved every minute of it. As well as that I've said farewell to Beck who is headed back to the steel city and had a Halo fest round at Julian's in which me and Capps reigned the proceedings nicely (is there anything quite so fulfilling than blasting away three of your best friends with a rocket launcher?).
Why is someone other than me selling a pasty signed by Uri Gellar on Ebay? Could it be true? Is there someone else quite so odd as I am in the world? Disappointingly it's a bloke and not some lovely lady with nice hair and good manners, one day my perfect woman will walk through my front door and I'll be happy. Possibly I could hang a "Free Pasties and F1 Here! (No Blokes)" over the front door, anybody drawn to such an advert would undoubtably be on my wavelength.
Capps pointed out an elderly jogger moving at sub hedgehog speeds on the pavement with all the snazzy luminous green outfit and accessories on the way home. I still haven't decided whether the reflective sashes they wear are to allow cars to see them or a fashion statement, you know what old people are like. I know one thing though, I've never seen a tweed sash. Perhaps there is a market for them..... I'm often troubled by the pensioners jogging when I'm walking into town, somehow it seems rude to overtake them.
Speaking of old people on the prowl I met a couple of old ladies wandering along the side of the road while I was cycling the other day and me being me I gave a couple of dings on my bell, tipped my hat and remarked on what a fine afternoon it was. I got a good look at thier false teeth so either they were pleased by my friendliness or they thought I was just some silly man with jet black wrap-around sunglasses and a bell on his mountain bike (bit of a style clash there methinks). Whatever the reasoning it's always nice to make people smile, certainly no harm in it.
Wend says she takes 2 hours and 42 minutes to get ready to go out, here is a breakdown of my peparations for a once in a lifetime type smart dress evening:
Bath, shave, wash and dry hair - 20 mins.
Put on jeans and single shirt - 2 mins.
Comb hair - 20 seconds.
Attach wallet to belt loop - 7 seconds.
Put on watch - 5 seconds.
Put on trainers (without use of laces) - 8 seconds.
And that's it, 22 minutes and 40 seconds. This of course doesn't allow for the long overdue Capps waiting time. With such a tiny "Hurry Up" Drive it seems unfair that I've been left with such an easy tarting up proceedure, perhaps I shall donate my life to someone who would benefit more from being so low maintainance (any takers can e-mail me at scillygav@yahoo.co.uk).
That's enough rubbish for you to digest for one day. I may post something later in case you're after seconds (you greedy greedy people).
