G+T and me

Soundtrack: Led Zeppelin - House of the Holy


I feel like I'm wearing eau de Gordon's today. I went out last night, and I only had five G+Ts, yet today I feel like there's a kind of aura about me... Is five a lot? I don't think five is a lot. It was not too much that I had a restless nights' sleep dreaming about downing cartons of juice, but it was enough for me to feel like swallowing tooth-brushing remnants this morning to quench my thirst. I didn't, but it took a lot of willlpower not to.

I'm really into my gin at the moment. I'm not much of a drinker, and the amount of times I've drunk on my own I can count on one hand. But I got home last Friday frazzled after a busy week at work, and all I wanted was a G+T (I was tempted by the Victory Gin, but the best won out). My job interview on Wednesday went particularly badly (unsurprisingly I didn't get the job), and all I wanted when I got home was a G+T.

I think I'm making up for lost time. G+T was the first drink I ever got stupidly drunk on, and after a bad experience I was put off it for years. I have to be careful about making it my drink of choice, as too much of it makes me maudlin. But in moderation, and bearing in mind my content state of mind and need to be relaxed with my workload, then it seems like the right drink for me.

Enough alcoholic ramblings...

My wonderful SP7 sent another present right on cue. She has a great sense of timing, and it was there when I got home on Wednesday (along with the promise of gin and pizza). When I'm near my camera I'll take photographic evidence. :)

it's about time

Soundtrack: Sunshine Pop radio via Last.fm

I've been quiet on the knitting front as I've been beavering away with not much to report. But finally! I've finished the clapotis. Here it is pre-blocking on my bed right now.

Hopefully you can see how pretty the colourway is, and maybe appreciate how long it took me because it's so huge. And thankfully I'll be wearing it like a scarf, so you can't see the mistake. But bugger, I've mentioned the mistake now. I might as well show you what's been making me cry.

Dammit.

I was knitting away in France and noticed at one point that I had one extra stitch. I couldn't figure out where it started, but didn't think it mattered because as long as I do about a bit of strategic 'knit 2 together', everything will be fine. But I was wrong.

DAMN YOU.

I've taken months on you, you swine. I've spent a fortune on you, you swine. I loved you. I will be tidying you up and sewing in a squillion ends because of the stupid number of balls you made me buy (6, grumble grumble). And now you do this to me. Swine.

Ah well, the way I'll wear it no one will notice. And I was spurred on by two extremely emphatic compliments about the piece, and the colours. It'll be fine.

Swine.

In other knitting news, I'm still here knitting the SP7 secret knitalong. This last bit is taking me a bit of time because I haven't printed off the instructions, so knitting it depends on when Thom's not using the laptop. But here it is as it stands right now.

I'm not sure what it's going to be yet, and I can't get a very good picture of it for you to guess either, but it could make a nice front to the possible cushion I might knit with the yarn I got for Christmas.

It's amazing how much knitting I've managed to do this week. Interesting, if you consider that I have a job interview that I'm meant to be preparing for. Not that knitting is a tool for procrastination, of course. Oh no.

I have a job interview on Wednesday which ticks off one of my new year's resolutions (shoddy considering the only other resolved resolution is washing my jumpers. Oops). It's a scary interview that will take half a day and needs me to write a scary presentation. And it's an important interview because although it's not a progressive career move in terms of my grade, it is in terms of prospects, and a huge learning curve as I'll be doing something I only do a little bit of in my job. And as much as I enjoy my current job (when I'm busy), I have been doing it for nearly 6years and there's absolutely nowhere for me to go, and no room for promotion. Wish me luck!

obligatory post about Valentine's Day

Soundtrack: Super Furry Animals - Love Kraft


On Valentine's Day I was going to post a little about how Thom and I don't do Valentine's Day, and how it doesn't matter blah blah. But Thom only went and surprised me with this magnificent gift from Lush. Well I won't say that I wasn't chuffed to bits! Bless him.

What I was going to write, but stupid work got in the way, was the story of how we got together. I feel like being soppy.

I first met Thom in December 2003 at a Belle & Sebastian gig. We both post on this website and we were having a bit of a B&S fan meet-up. We'd sent the odd personal message to each other, so it was good to meet him at last. He was weaing a cyberdog t-shirt with a dot matrix scrolling message on the front - like you get on tube platforms. During the gig Thom changed the text to say 'Sharon loves Stevie' (Jackson, B&S guitarist) as I have a bit of an infatuation. Thom kept holding it up during the gig and the band noticed and pointed it out. It turned me into a giggling teenager again! Thom had to leave early to get the last train home, and I went to the aftershow party where I actually ended up talking to Stevie Jackson about how fantastic Frankie Valli and ELO are. Stevie thought the scrolling sign was funny.

I next met Thom in March 2004. That weekend was a whirlwind, as it was the weekend before my birthday, and there was a lot of drunkeness. Thom was there with his psycho girlfriend. I remember sitting down next to him, realising it was his girlfriend's seat and saying I'd move. 'Don't bother, I'd rather speak to you'. Hehe.

Things started picking up pace from there... emails started increasing in frequency, we started going out socially, relationships ended, surprise mix CDs were sent, dancing at HDIF and The Penelope Tree, going to see The Features, record shopping together, goodbye kisses on the cheek, and then onto profuse texting. Well you know what it means when you start texting all the time... I went home for the Spring Bank Holiday and we were at it all weekend. On my coach back to London Thom moaned that he had no one to go to the cinema with. I cheekily suggested that I could go with him if he didn't mind waiting. We arranged a 'date' for later that week. But two days before that, our friend Ed invited us to a barbecue in Maidenhead.

Thom spent the night drinking illuminous tropical cordial and I spent the night getting tipsy with nerves... We were outside in the garden, and everyone had headed inside... Nearly two years on from that night we haven't looked back. :)

things that make you go ewwww

Soundtrack: The Organ - Grab That Gun


Our shower/bath fills the length of the bathroom, and in each corner of the bath we have a standing unit which holds our shower gels and that.

I was in the shower last week and noticed that on Thom's side, the bottom had what looked like some badly pressed in putty to keep the unit standing in place. It was a discoloured white colour, the kind of colour putty turns when Southern water has been spraying on it for a long time. It was indented in the middle as if someone's thumb had tried to press it into place. It was such a botch job, i couldn't believe I hadn't noticed it in the 6months I'd been living there, but didn't think anything else about it.

Yesterday I cleaned the bathroom, and even had a try at bleaching the putty a little, but it wasn't changing. Last night Thom decided to have a bath. I was sat downstairs watching Corrie and eating a yoghurt, when Thom called out 'Sharon, you've got to see this. It's disgusting'. I didn't want to go and look at something disgusting whilst half-way through my yoghurt, but he was freaking out so much I thought I better.

It turns out that what I thought was putty was actually funghi. Worse than that, it was 2 fully-fledged MUSHROOMS! We had to scrape it out with a fish knife which I promptly threw away. I don't think this will do much in my campaign to convince Thom that mushrooms are yummy. In fact, I'm not sure I have the stomach for them anymore myself...

get rhythm when you get the blues

Soundtrack: Johnny Cash - American IV: Man Comes Around


You can't have failed to notice the recent Johnny Cash revival, mainly due to the release of the Walk the Line biopic last week. I was reading a lengthy article about the great man in Word Magazine this morning, and it got me thinking about my Johnny Cash-associated memories:

1. Going to a dodgy club in Shoreditch on the day he died. This club played a lot of 'electroclash' (remember that?) and choons of that ilk. And then in tribute to Cash they played Get Rhythm. The place erupted.

2. Having a bath while listening to Man Comes Around for the first time, and being moved to tears upon hearing his rendition of First time ever I saw your face.

3. Sat on a nightbus back to Tooting with my sister. A girl - a complete stranger - sat in front turned around and insisted I listened to the song she had on her Discman. It was 'I hung my head', again off Man Comes Around. She said she had never heard a song like it. She said she had had the song on repeat for the whole jouney, and she just had to share it with someone else.

4. I Walk the Line being played at my grandad's funeral.

it's oh so quiet

Bjork's Army of Me is on the radio right now. Which reminds me. Last night I had a dream that Bjork's latest 'incarnation' was that of a transexual.

In my dream she stepped over me (I was lying down for some reason) and I did a double-take. I sat up to find Bjork with a shaved number 3, looking quite androgynous in her thick-knit olive green farmer's jumper, and with a bum fluff moustache from the steroids she was evidently taking.

Big Brother is watching you

Soundtrack: Mike Nesmith - Nevada Fighter


While I was on holiday I finished Orwell's 1984. The book had unbelievable foresight, but the thing that astounds me most is the linguistic effect it had on the world. In the last week alone I've heard the phrases Big Brother (can't escape that one), Room 101, false memories, doublethink, Thought Police... We claimed most things on holiday to be doubleplusgood, except eating out, which for me was very ungood.

I understand that it's France, and I understand that it's quite a carnivorous culture. But even in Benidorm with the intriguing veggie option of 'spring roll and chips', I didn't feel on the verge of tears like I did the one time we ate out in France.

We went to a restaurant called Le Bodega. They had a setmeal for 10EUR (bargain!), and although you had to have what was on it, Verna said it was usually vegetable soup to start, a side salad, and they could whip up an omelette no problem. Fine by me.

We wandered around the Lannemezan Farmer's Market before lunch, and oh my god, I've never seen a display of vegetables like it! Garlic the size of my head, tempting beetroot and various kinds of squash. I was quite optimistic about the lunch after seeing that the region loves its veg. Then off to lunch.

The starter soup is brought out: chicken noodle. More for Thom then.
Can they replace the chicken main course, and rustle up a plain omelette instead? Completely out of the question. Oh, ok. I'll have some sautee potatoes then (cooked in animal fat by the taste of them).
I'll try some salad from the buffet... Half the salads had meat in them. The vegetarian salads (mushrooms, eggs, cous cous) had all run out. Will you be bringing more out? No. So it's all the veg smothered in mayonnaise then. I really am not a fussy eater, but if there's one thing I can't stand in life, it's mayonnaise. It's the gloopiness and slimy texture. Urgh. So there I was, filling my plate with beetroot, cucumber, celeriac and carrot, all doused in mayonnaise. I sat down so downhearted, I was on the verge of tears. In my 5years of being veggie, I've never felt so embarassed, so fussy, and such a hindrance as I did at that meal.


Still, the creme caramel was to die for.

welcome home

I've come home to what appears to be a parallel universe.

The Arctic Monkeys are number one all over the shop and The Flaming Monkeys have a huge article in the Telegraph. The Flaming Monkeys are half responsible for the most ridiculous gig we've ever played; the landlord banned them from playing in her pub because they were underage (by 5years) and we ended up winging an 'Another Brick in the Wall' singalong with the scallies of West Kensington. In the meantime The Flaming Monkeys go on to support Kaiser Chiefs...

Rock'n'roll, eh? Watch out for The Gresham Flyers being re-christened The Gresham Monkeys in the near future.

I'm back from France, but considering buggering off back over there now. I'm about to head off to tonight's gig at The Pleasure Unit (COME!!) and I will update about knitting and lugeing tomorrow.

x

you're my pride and joy etc

Soundtrack: The Tubes - White Punks on Dope


I'm not doing well. I've ruined one of my resolutions already. It looks like we're not moving to Ealing now. There's as many reasons to do it as there are to not do it, and unfortunately common sense has prevailed and made us realise we can't really get what we want for our budget. I'm very sad about it, as Ealing seemed lovely, if only because it had two waffle shops. I'm sure it's not forever, it's just not do-able right right now. :(

So I remain in Datchet, which is nearer to Windsor than Slough, and not in Slough, honest. I like Datchet (and Windsor, and Slough), so I'm not particularly sad. But it will be hard getting used to the fact that I'm staying in a sleepy village whose last train from London is at 11, compared to the bustling life Ealing had to offer.

I was just checking the blog stats, and was amused to see that someone came here when seaching for 'Please bomb Slough'. Please don't. At least wait until I've bid it adieu.

god only knows

Soundtrack: The Beach Boys 25 Years Together


I'm off work sick today. I was going to the hospital for a follow-up, but normal, check-up. I called the hospital on Friday to ask a simple question and was told I would have to have minor surgery. Thankfully, they decided not to give me surgery today on account of me being a wimp, so now I have to make another appointment (no doubt waiting another 3months) and they're going to do it under general anaesthetic instead. I still had done what I originally went in for, so I'm sat here on the sofa under a duvet. Thom took the day off to look after me, and has treated me to Krispy Kreme(s) (we went when the light was on so got 2 free!), pizza and "The Beach Boys 25 Years Together" on DVD. Really, there is no better way to recuperate than this DVD.


The gig, filmed in Waikiki, was to celebrate The Beach Boys' 25th Anniversary. Filmed in Waikiki, because it's home of the surf, innit? This is regardless of the fact that Dennis 'the dead one' Wilson was the only surfer in the band, but anyway. Do you like tenuous links? Then this is the DVD for you.

Ah, but I can tell you're not convinced... I don't know about you, but when I buy a live DVD, I want:

Topless middle-aged men with only a lei to cover their modesty: Check
'Beautiful' 80s babes in illuminous bikinis: check
Poodle perms (men and women): check
Audience members with a parrot on their arm: check
Such luminaries as Gloria Loring, Jeffrey Osbourne, Three Dog Night (well, two of 'em), Patrick Duffy and the hilarious Joe Piscopo doing a Bruce Springsteen impression: check
Belinda Carlisle, described by Thom as 'wrapped in a snail': check
Proof that cameltoes existed in the 80s: you got it

FACT: There were no beautiful girls in the 80s


Yes, this DVD really was the best medicine. And if all that wasn't enough, you had the onstage rapport. The Beach Boys took turns, line by line, to interact with the audience. The fact that you could see Brian's eyes move from side to side doesn't mean he was reading an autocue, does it? Give over, it was all said with feeling. I particularly liked Brian's tribute to his dear brother Dennis: "We love you man, and we. Want you to know. That you'll be with us wherever. We go."

one, two, brie

Soundtrack: Phil Spector - A Christmas Gift To You


I was chatting to my dad last night about our traditional Boxing Day 'picking tea'. Posh people might call it a buffet. Basically we have leftovers, dips, salad... you get the idea. My poor dad seems to think that he can never satisfy my vegetarian requirements; he was so worried that I said I'd buy my own Christmas meal gubbins. And when my sister told my dad to get some vegetarian pizzas in he exclaimed 'But Sue, ASDA don't do vegetarian pizzas!'. So with this in mind, the following conversation took place last night:


Sharon: I'll have some of my leftover veggie haggis..
Dad: Yeah, I said that to Dave, but he said you can't have haggis 'cause it's got blood in it
Sharon: This one doesn't, it's vegetarian
Dad: But I don't understand. What's it got in it?
Sharon: Oatmeal, turnips and swede, lentils, that kind of thing.
Dad: And you just slice it like haggis? Right, suit yourself. So what else do you eat? Do you eat cheese?
Sharon: Yes, I like cheese. I'm just not a big fan of blue cheese. Get a cheeseboard.
Dad: Well what do you eat? What do you like?
Sharon: Oh just simple stuff, you know, Brie, Edam... Whats that soft cheese with herbs in it?
Thom: Boursin
Sharon: Yeah, Boursin. Get some Boursin.
Dad: Bore, boor, bour.... Bore what?
Sharon: (spells boursin). And get some Wensleydale, you know, with the apricot or cranberries in it?
Dad: Oh yes! (smacks lips). Lovely stuff!
Sharon: You could also get some pitta to use with the dips.
Dad: PITTA? What do you do with that?
Sharon: Pitta, you know, just buy a six pack, slice it, and use it for dips.
Dad: Well if you say so. What's that nice Italian bread?
Sharon: Focaccia?
Dad: No, it's like...
Sharon: CIABATTA!
Dad: That's it! Get some chapatta
Sharon: No dad, ciabatta
Dad: Oh yes, I know the difference. Different country. Right, I'll get some chapatta. So that should be alright for now; I've got a list. I'll pick you up at Rochdale at half 5ish. We'll pop to Carole's, but we can get a bit o' sommet to eat at Tesco's on the way.
Sharon: Tesco??
Dad: Aye, they have a restaurant there
Sharon: Tesco??
(This is the point where Thom is convulsing with laughter)
Sharon: Is there nowhere else to eat in the whole of Rochdale?
Dad: Well, you try finding somewhere in Rochdale on the Friday before Christmas
Sharon: (in fits of giggles) Dad, I'm sure we can find somewhere in Rochdale that sells food on a Friday night
Dad: Suit yourself. Don't say I didn't warn you.


I have four days of this... Merry Christmas everyone, and I'll be back next week!

I believe in Father Christmas

Soundtrack: Johnny Cash at San Quentin


We had a secret santa at work yesterday. Somebody knows me very well:


I love the look of this yarn! It will go well with my bright red winter coat, and look ace with my black velvet jacket. It's asking to be made into a wide drop neck scarf when I head home on Friday.

I felt sorry for poor Peter though. I can understand the problems of a secret santa, especially when you draw a music fan. The obvious choice is 'CD'. But if you don't know music yourself, my word of advice is don't buy your recipient music. A music fan does want music, but they want something considered. They probably own everything anyway, so why not buy them a book? Or a DVD? What they definitely do not want is a Green Day CD. I have been in this situation. I have been the recipient of a Green Day album. I believe that Green Day have only sold so much because they are the choice for musicfanrecipients/don'tknowmusicgivers everywhere. Next time you participate in Secret Santa, please consider my advice.

I'm nearly ready for Chistmas. I ran out of wrapping paper last night (typical) so there'll be a emergency diversion to Paperchase tonight. And I'm still knitting my mum's scarf furiously. I need help. Look at it:


I took the inspiration from Crazy Aunt Purl - easy yet eye-catching. But isn't it a bit uneven? And I know the answer - I'm going to have to block it, aren't I? Help! I've never blocked before. I don't have a very big abode either. Help! Can I just steam it with an iron and dry it on a towel rack (I have no central heating)? Can I do all that on Thursday night and it will be ready to pack in the morning? Help!

from Rochdale to Ocho Rios

Soundtrack: Wendy and Bonnie - Genesis


Thanks for the comments everyone. It's the funeral tomorrow, so I'm off back to Rochdale tonight. At least I can make good progress on my mum's Christmas scarf on the train. My new camera has finally arrrived, so I'll take some pictures when I get back.

I feel quite mixed up my grandad's death. I mean, he wanted it. He was ready. He told my dad he was ready to see the angels, but wanted to see my Uncle Phil first. Two weeks after Phil comes back, he passes away. He had a box containing the insurance details, burial plot details (he's being buried with my nan), the money for the funeral and even getting the first round in. My grandad always got the first round in. Yet despite the initial reluctance with the residential home, my grandad was enjoying it! The social workers were even talking of getting him a flat! But he was ready.

It's Christmas in just over a week, and it doesn't feel like it at all. We have no decorations at home because we have no room. The office was looking pretty miserable too, so we've just chipped in to get some tinsel. I have all the presents ready, bar a few knitting projects to complete (oops). Yet it doesn't really feel like it yet.

I've bought more gloves this year than I ever have in my life, and not to mention suddenly becoming obsessed with stripey socks. I'm feeling knitter's guilt right now, and feel like I should confess to the god of DPNs, but I'll be better in the new year when I have more time. Honest. I've made good progress with my second glove, so I can feel some redemption already.

worst year ever

My grandad died this morning.

the greatest bus in the world (a tribute)

Soundtrack: The Monkees - Missing Links


It's a very sad week. As of tomorrow morning, the London Routemaster is no more.


I work by the route of the 159, which will be the last Routemaster service. All week there's been hordes of men taking photos at the crossroads, but it was only yesterday when reading BBC Magazine that I realised just what they were taking photos of.

Today has just been funny. I popped out at lunch, and I've never seen so many of the bloody things. And there were gold ones! And there were pre-Routemaster ones an'all! My boss took a slight detour (via two Routemasters) on his way back from a meeting and said there were hundreds of men with cameras. A fellow passenger apparently exclaimed "They're not usually this clean".


I was terrified of Routemasters when I first moved to London. I'm going to fall off! How do you pay for a ticket? Where's the bell to say what stop to get off at? Back then the 159 and 12 were both Routemasters and I had no choice but to conquer my fear.

It was very soon that I realised their glory. You can sit up at the front and pretend you're a driver! Is the traffic slow? Sod it, jump off in the middle of the road and get run over - at least you'll get to your destination quicker! You can pull the bell string and pretend you're a conductor! You can risk your life and catch the bus when it stops at traffic lights! You can pretend you're on a rollercoaster as you stand by the exit when you turn a corner.

The Routemasters make London. I'll be so sad to see them leave. :(

walkers like a man

Soundtrack: New Order - Get Ready


Just seen and bought: Walkers Seasonal Turkey & Bacon Crisps (vegetarian)

Verdict: 2/10
A bit like smokey bacon (without the tang), but with the addition of chicken flavouring that may have gone out of date 20years ago. They gave me a headache.


Come and see us play The Beat Hotel tomorrow. And then dance to Thom and I DJing afterwards. I might play some Frankie Valli.

you have to copper up if you want to get down

Soundtrack: Neil Young - Harvest Moon


Yesterday I went for leaving drinks (not my own), and when I was told it would cost me £17 for half an omelette, three chips and three small glasses of wine, I claimed I'd need to 'copper up'. This caused quite a commotion. Absolutely no one had heard the phrase 'copper up', even the other North Westerner there, although it was thought to be a quaint turn of phrase.

A google search doesn't bring back anything. Even my beloved slang dictionary has let me down. Have I created the term 'copper up'? Have I been mishearing 'cough up' all these years? To 'copper up' is to scrape together all your change to be able to afford to buy something, so it's quite different to cough up.

The Queen is watching

Soundtrack: Air - The Virgin Suicides


That was a good weekend. A nice combination of the relaxing, the doing, the drinking and the cooking.

Thom was a bit impatient on Saturday and went into town, but sod that, it was my first day off, so I just stayed in bed knitting my clapotis and dying my hair (in the bathroom, not bed). It's a bit cold in our house, which is my excuse for staying in bed and not getting dressed. The clapotis is my current home project, and it's going really well. I love the yarn I'm using - Noro silk garden. Getting splinters from the yarn is particularly amusing. It's not that boring to knit as there's a rigid pattern that I need to remember every other line, so I just sit there thinking 'ooh, I'll just do row 6' and before I know it I've finished a whole pattern repeat. And I have to concur with Crazy Aunt Purl, the coloured striping is enough to keep you entertained. Just as you get to some shitty grey and you think it's time to peel a potato, a pretty pink bit starts being introduced.


I've finally got to the stage where I'm dropping stitches. It feels very naughty, yet it's not quite as gratifying as I expected. Although I haven't been splitting the yarn whilst knitting, there are lots of irritating little strands that get wrapped around the stitches, so I almost find myself ripping the yarn when trying to make a ladder. It will be worth it in the end though. I can't wait to wear it as a seasonal transition wrap!


We played a gig in Hythe, Kent on Saturday night. It was an odd venue - the British Legion. To move from the standard gig circuit in London to some seaside town cabaret club felt odd, but it was worth it for all the nuances it offered. We arrived at the venue to be greeted by a Union Jack, but the pièce de resistance was a painting of The Queen that hung over the stage. It all seemed worthwhile when we knew Her Maj was watching. I'll put photos up as I get them.

Half of Sunday was spent in bed watching Hollyoaks/keeping warm/knitting. At lunch I thought I should probably leave the pit, and so headed into Windsor to try and spend my high street vouchers. This is an impossible task though; despite Windsor being quite a sizeable town centre, it only caters for tourists or posh people. Heaven forbid I should want your bog standard Dorothy Perkins. Not that I can spend my vouchers at any decent shops anyway, it seems. I did a bit of research and found that only classy establishments such as Iceland and Ethel Austin take the vouchers.

I still managed to spend a fortune on underwear and hot chocolate, and I bought these GORGEOUS shoes from Marks + Spencer. Look! Gold hearts!

Sunday night was finished off down The Stag, revelling in the novelty of a pub being open until midnight on a Sunday, but still getting to bed by 10.30 (with an orange hot chocolate).

I hope I die before I get old

Soundtrack: Stephen Stills - Stephen Stills


More absurdity this week, but not necessarily in a good sense.

Since my uncle died, my grandad (who lives with my auntie Carole) has taken to not leaving his bed and not eating. I won't go into too much detail, as it's a long and emotional story, but he basically said he was waiting to die. Being 82, a chain smoker and suffering from emphysema doesn't seem to be helping him along, and his demanding self-pity has literally taken my aunt to breaking point. After quite a rigmarole, he's been placed in a residential home. We all think it's the best thing for him - mixing with people his own age, social events, and possibly more freedom than he had at home, if that makes sense.

My dad told me all this on the phone last night. I wasn't aware of it all, because he didn't want to worry me while I was in Berlin. So I was quite amused when he dropped into the conversation that the infamous 'Uncle Phil' had returned. Phil is an alcoholic who lives homeless in France, and I haven't seen for around 15years since my dad chased him out of our house where he ran down the front garden and hurdled the 6foot fence into the sunset. My memories of him are that he bought me a globe, and we used to play Connect 4. A few years ago he was mugged and had his passport stolen. Phil made his yearly phonecall to Carole last week, in which he found out her husband had died and he rushed straight back (via the British Embassy who had to issue him emergency access over the Channel).

So, he's back. My dad says he's been very helpful to Carole and he seems to be doing well. He's tackling his alcoholism 'I used to drink 12litres of wine a day, but now I only drink 8!', and he told my dad that he really enjoys his life. Don't we all try and achieve that? I mean enjoying life, not 8litres of wine a day. He's going in a couple of days, and said to my dad yesterday 'A loaf of bread, a bottle of wine, some cooking oil and no change from a fiver? And you wonder why I don't want to live in Britain?'.

So after my grandad's first day, my dad relayed the feedback from the residential home last night: 'He's had a full meal, a shit and shower. He's having a fag and entertaining everyone with his stories. He'll be on the karaoke next - they have more going on there than at Kirkholt Club'.

the lurgy

Soundtrack: The Byrds - The Notorious Byrd Brothers


It's been very quiet in blogland this week. It seems everybody has come down a cold and taken time off work.

I've been under the weather since last Wednesday. I thought it would spoil Berlin, but I managed to get over it. Yet here I am, still ill. It won't blow up into enough to take the day off (and I've said before I find it hard enough to take sick days), but every morning I feel like I'm waking up with the worst hangover. And I'm also going through tonsil stone hell right now, which is just aggravating all my other symptoms.

We had our first band practice in a month on Monday, as everyone's been on holiday. By Tuesday morning I felt absolutely rotten. I'm really worried about this not sorting itself out by our gig in Hythe on Saturday. I could barely sing a note in rehearsal, or rather, I was singing worse than usual... I have lots of strepsils, tissues and homemade vegetable soup to get me better, so wish me luck. :(