Avoiding Trick-or-treaters

In order to not have to give sweets to kids in Halloween costumes (how American; how ghastly!), Kathy & I went out to Bath’s new Odeon cinema last night. Yeah, I know – I ranted about their woefully inadequate web site back in July and their response to Matthew Somerville, who was …uh … doing them a favour. Five months on, and the site still blows, except they’ve added a "text-only film times" facility. "Here you go, disabled people, please use our other entrance. You know, the one you can actually use"

Right, now that’s out of my system, I can move on to the actual cinema and the film we went to see: Finding Neverland.

The cinema is bright, cavernous and airy inside. I’m always more impressed by inner-urban – rather than leisure-park – multiplexes, because they have to respond to their surroundings and use space in creative ways. So, in the space previously occupied by a Ford dealership, we have a pub, an eight-screen cinema and soon-to-be-added restaurants and a health club. Ticket prices are extortionate — £6.50 each — but we weren’t paying ‘cos we had vouchers for Christmas. Yes, last Christmas. Leg-room is in short supply, but that doesn’t bother a shorty like me.

And so to the film: Finding Neverland is a dramatised biopic of J.M. Barrie. Well, not his whole life — presumably that could take somewhat more than two hours — but rather the period during which he wrote Peter Pan. It’s sad — there’s illness and death — and I saw some of the film through misty eyes (the musical-strings-to-heartstrings interface is strong in this one). Anyway, I’m not a film reviewer so I’ll keep this short: you need to believe in fairies, or the fairies will die.

Top film – go see!

6 Days to go!!!

We’re counting the days and starting to panic ever so mildly at how much there is left to do: pack, tidy the house, finish writing instructions for those looking after the house and cats while we are away etc.

Tim gave me a real scare this morning when he passed out, this happened in March and he hit his head quite badly. Today he got up with really ad pain in his shoulder and thought it might be a trapped nerve. It was so scary, I had to get him onto the floor as I wasn’t sure he was breathing and then thank goodness he came round and I called for an ambulance. They did lots of tests at the hospital and think it was brought on by the pain (last time he had bad stomach ache).

So thank God he is okay and please pray for protection while we are away as I am a bit freaked out by it all!

Back to the trip. We picked up the camper van on Saturday and it is now sat outside the house just calling us to get on the road! Tim’s parents arrive on Sunday to look after everything for us and we travel to my parents as it is mum’s birthday on Bank Holiday Monday. Happy Birthday for Monday Mum!

Monday our ferry is at 4:15pm from Dover and we should arrive in Calais at 6:45pm and head to our first campsite of the trip. Which we have yet to book and maybe I should go and do that now……

Leffe On Tap

Graham (Kathy’s second cousin) popped over to Bath last night. We had ace food at The Globe, then got a taxi into town. We thought we might go to the recently-opened JD Wetherspoon’s in Kingsmead, but we glanced in the window and thought that it looked a little…soulless.

(Side note for trivia fans: it seems that a new record was set last Sunday on the pub’s opening in that it only took two hours for a fight/riot/disturbance to occur and the Police to be called out. I love Bath! Lovely Bath! Alcohol-fuelled violence Bath! The Bath they would rather not talk about! Whoever ‘They’ are!)

So it was with impeccable irony that we went to All Bar One instead. It was nice, though, as they had the wonderful Belgian Trappist Monk beer Leffe Blond on tap. I’ve never seen it on tap outside Belgium – always in bottles – so this was a pleasant surprise. In respect of its 6.6% alcohol content and in deference to European bistro culture, I had a half.

So, Graham, if you’re reading this: cheers! Top night, good to see you, hope the anti-cat-allergy tablets don’t cause any nasty side-effects. Some links from our various conversations:

Bill Bailey – live at the Colston Hall, Bristol


I went with Kathy and nine other friends to see Bill Bailey at the Colston Hall in Bristol last night. Apart from hearing a number of jokes from the previous tour (audio of which I obtained here) told ever-so-slightly differently, the night was fantastic. Bill introduced a new feature: the "Scale of Shame", featuring Evil Despots From History, like:

  • Idi Amin
  • Adolf Hitler
  • Robert Mugabe
  • Linda Barker, and…
  • Chris de Burgh


As to the question of "Where’s Osama", Bill morphed his face into that of CdB – nice move…


On a completely unrelated note, as a cat owner/lover etc. I thought I would point you in the direction of The Infinite Cat Project.

Not so reliable

We run around in a 1994 Vauxhall Corsa 1.5 TD GLS, previously owned by Kathy’s dad. When we got it, in 2001, it had clocked up 139,000 miles. To date, it has done about 178,000 miles. Apart from a bad year in 2001 (alternator, radiator and who knows what else went wrong) it has been the most reliable car I’ve ever owned. It always starts first time, apart from yesterday, when it started second time.

This in itself should have triggered warning signs, but this morning the air vents were blowing cold, even when the car was warmed up. Then when I was sat idling (the car, not me) outside our local refuse amenity site (or, in the vernacular: The Tip) waiting for it to open, the engine temperature got a little too far in the direction of overheating for my liking.

So I took the car to the garage, which was only a quarter of a mile away, and left the car to be looked at. I got a phone call later on, saying that the head gasket might be gone, and the head itself might be cracked. Worst-case-scenario: £1000+! Bearing in mind that the car itself is only worth about £900, it seems a little stupid to spend that much: it’s a "money/old rope" scenario.

I guess it’s our fault for getting the car fixed at the Vauxhall main dealer, rather than some back-street grease-monkey place. The thing is, I attribute the reliability of the car to the fact that it’s been maintained by a main dealer. I guess there’s no two ways about it: a ten-year-old car with a reputation for head gasket problems and nigh on 200,000 miles on the clock is going to let us down at some point.

Why did it have to be now?

Update

We already owe the garage £279.36. If we get the car repaired the total bill will be £1067.33. It’s depressing; I think we’ll be looking for another car.

Christmas Shopping

1970s Glam Rock band "Slade"


So I’m ill. Well, I’m on the mend, anyway. The doctor has signed me off until Monday and I do actually feel better today, for the first time in a few days (I thought I was getting over it last Sunday, but then The Cough hit).


So, Kathy helpfully suggested things I might like to do this afternoon. They were (IIRC):

  • Wrap Christmas presents
  • Write Christmas cards
  • Buy Christmas presents for Kathy


The third option sounded like the most entertaining, so that’s what I did. I have the act of present-buying quite easy, really: Kathy buys for everyone else; I buy for Kathy. Bliss—except for the fact that I am the world’s worst (or should that be best?) procrastinator.


As such, I always like to buy my presents as close to Christmas as possible, mainly because I hate the way in which shops and malls have progressively dragged the start of the season further and further forward. But this leaves me in a quandary: I also hate hearing rubbish Christmas music like I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day (do you really? I don’t think so!) by Slade. So, like the cat with toast on its back, I am left hovering in indecision between the two forks of the dilemma. Or something.


Until now, of course. I have just bought most of Kathy’s presents online. There are a few more to get, but at least one of them (thankfully) is sold by a small independent shop in Bath, and as such will (hopefully) be free of Christmas Musical Tat, or CMT for short.


Which reminds me: I’d like to walk into one of the "Christmas Shops" (fly-by-night purveyors of Christmas-related tackiness) and say "Hi! I’d like to buy a Christmas, please!"

UPDATE


D’oh! Trust me to get my 70s Glam Rock bands confused. I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day was by Wizzard. Slade did Merry Christmas Everybody. Sorry ;)

Radio Silence


My apologies to the regular readers of this weblog: I have been ill for the past week with a viral infection, though I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Fujian-strain ‘Flu. I had a variety of symptoms of headache, sore throat, ears hurting when swallowing, until I settled on an annoying tickly cough, which I’ve had since Sunday. It, too, is now in decline, for which I am very grateful.


I’ve never known anything quite like this. I can’t remember being ill for even a week, let alone ten days, during my adult life. I shall quiz my parents to see if I was this ill when I was a kid.


It’s all a bit worrying, though. We don’t need extremists to spread bio-warfare. The superbugs are doing quite alright on their own, thank you very much.

Cold hands, warm heart

Kathy and I chopped up the tomato and runner-bean plants yesterday evening, just as it was getting dark. As it was a very clear day, it also got very cold. As it was cold, and I wasn’t wearing gloves, my hands got cold. As my hands got cold, they shrank slightly. As my wedding ring isn’t a particularly tight fit, it fell into the compost heap when I was pushing the plants down into it.

Kathy kept her head while all around her (i.e. me) were losing theirs. She got torches from the kitchen, then we carefully took out the plants from the tub. Eventually she saw it, glinting in the torchlight, and she hooked it out with her little finger. What a star!

I’m just glad it hadn’t fallen down as far as the nicely rotting compost further down…