AndyBlog

Top Muff

The service station at Muff

If you're ever in Northern Ireland and fancy some cheap petrol - why not drive across the border and go north to Southern Ireland?  Nestling there you will find the wonderful service station at Muff. It' called Top Muff.

The petrol is cheap, the people are warm and welcoming, and it has a wonderful comedy name. They even give you one of these commemorative scratch cards to take away to prove to people that there is a petrol station with a name reminiscent of a lady's foo-foo.

I can't remember what year we went to Northern Ireland, but it was a while back now. It was a great holiday, and this service station was merely the icing on the cake.

I bet you'll be chuckling about this one for days to come.

Blog Without Pictures

This may well be the cyber-equivalent to a “Song Without Words”.

Pictures are so much a part of my blogging, that I tend to seek out a fitting picture on the internet, rather than have no illustration whatsoever. I wonder if this is because I fundamentally doubt my ability to write good descriptive prose?

That may be part of it, but I do believe that a pictureful blog helps you, the reader, to engage more fully with what it is that I am saying. That said, because you nearly always see a picture with my blog entries, perhaps this entry will stand out for precisely the same reason. I am forced to conclude that it doesn't really matter, whilst falling short of an outright apology for writing this gumph to start with.

I went to church on Sunday, and it was a pretty universally disastrous experience for all concerned.

For a start, I was all but 30 mins late for the start, due to oversleeping, and then having to get things ready for my post-church activities. Add to that my being very short indeed of sleep, due mainly to stress, but also the very late nights might have something to do with it.

In a state such as I was in then, life takes on a kind of depressing surreality. I notice things I do not normally notice. For example, the building that our church meets in is a welfare centre in Ashington. There is no sign to say that a church is meeting there, unless you happen to know.

I mused a while, trying to decide if this was a cool, laid back thing, or a massive missed opportunity to declare our presence. I'm verging towards the latter. Also, there are a great many other people at the same venue for different purposes. Included in this number are some energetic looking people in martial arts attire, complete with their many different coloured belts. With their aggressive grunts and well-balanced lunging, the church folk rarely notice the sounds of the martial arts group.

Then, just as I was about to enter the main door, I noticed that, in a flurry of EEC money and worthy grants, the roof of the welfare centre is covered in a type of grass, or small grass-like plants. No need for slate here, the roof is a living thing. I bet they got excited in THAT committee when someone pitched the idea. Heck yes.

The thinking part of me was asleep, though, and my body soon followed as I sat and listened to a succession of people say things which did not really interest me.

I don't know whether I snored. Fiona told me I had snored loudly during the night, so maybe that continued into my daytime repose. All I can say is that not one person greeted me that day. I departed, no wiser than when I went in, and paused only to look up at the grass on the roof swaying gently in the breeze.

Later, over a steaming mug of tea, I told Jason how depressed I was, and how hard I was finding life at the moment. He smiled and nodded, as every good friend should, before filling me with chillie-con-carne and crisps.

Textbook.

AD-LIB Estate Agency - Part 2

As estate agents are not photographers, but seem to be thrust into the difficult and demanding work of wide-angle photography every day, it seemed only fair to save the unfortunate chap in Huddersfield who took the poor shots you may witness on the web site where Liz's house is featured.

Using state of the art innovations such as careful positioning - oh, and flash, the results achievable are quite outstanding, I'm sure you'll agree.

The chap who took the photos for Liz didn't even take a shot of the bedroom, preferring to take a shot of the bathroom, even though it is really quite small and unattractive.

What makes me smile is my knowledge that there is a massive pile of scooped-together junk /just/ out of camera-view. The deceptive appearance of peace and order is a profound illusion. Being also in a house-selling position, we, too, are getting used to having our he in a “nearly ready to view” state at all times.

So, in short, here are three fairly good pictures of someone else's house, and they form a basis for a tenuous blog entry, at best. I suppose I should apologise really.

I feel that I am unlikely to post a blog these days unless it is accompanied by lots of nice pictures. Maybe it is a trend I should force myself to buck, in the hope of saying something significant and useful. Not much chance of that really, because my emotions are running so high at the moment that I feel I should avoid being too real.

That wouldn't do, it wouldn't do at all.

The League Of Energetic Gentlemen

By a sweet and wonderful miracle, I found myself with an opportunity to see the League of Gentlemen's current stage show at the City Hall in Newcastle. Oh Joy!

So, I finished my work as early as I could and sped to the Dean Street multi-story car park, which is just a short walk away from the Theatre Royal in Newcastle. It was pouring with rain, and it was a soaked and slightly under-the-weather me who finally arrived at the Theatre Royal.

It was at this moment that I realised that I was supposed to be at the City Hall and not the Theatre Royal. Oh Misery!

I trudged further up the road, now considerably damp - borderline streaming with water. Before long, a smiling Jason strode into view, like some sort of walking RAC man - brolly in hand. We limped together the remaining distance to the City Hall.

In the end we were not too late to pick up out tickets from the box office. All was well.

Well, sort of.

The seats in the City Hall struggle to comfortable accommodate anything bigger than baby whippet, and so I was in deep deep trouble. Thanks to the generosity of a very nice usher, salvation was at hand in the form of a couple of real chairs, which were conveniently located at the back of the stalls.

See me there - happy as Larry?  Awww...Sweet, isn't it?

The only downside tot eh arrangement was that our sight was obscured each time some people came in late - a happening which continued up till five minutes before the interval. I will admit to being slightly annoyed by this.

All of that said, and as I slowed steamed dry, the show unfolded in front of us. Quite a long way in front of us.

It was solid TLOG fare, Herr Lippe, Pauline, Edward and Tubbs, Hilary Briss, Thicky-Micky, Pappa Lazaru, Mr. Chinnery and a host of other characters, including some new ones. Even Barbara herself made an appearance - from behind only, of course.

The script was tight and the theatrical timing excellent. Plenty of loud sound effects, silly dancing, physical humour, intellectual swipes, satire and, of course, slapstick. They present a pretty attractive package, as Herr Lippe might say.

We even caught a glimpse of Jeremy Dyson, and Jason made a spectacular job of garnering his autograph on our tickets. Well played Jason - a man who is literally weak in the presence of celebrity.

He is magnificent to observe in action. He spots the celebrity, he speaks to them, he puts them at their ease, and then he moves in with his request. Jeremy willingly gave the autograph, and even asked Jason if it was his pen. Quick as a flash Jason rejoined: “It's Pauline's”.

Textbook. Absolutely textbook.

Apparently, Jeremy managed that special smile which implies much, but admits little.

Re-Joyce!

I have been pretty remiss when running recording sessions, not to include photographs of the people who come here and join with me in doing the thing that I enjoy best.

[Insert predictable witticism HERE]

So, to start to set the record straight, here is some evidence of a recent night of fun shared between Joyce, Pat and myself. Pat is a great pianist and general all-round good egg. Joyce is her usual exciting and excited self, brimming with ideas and enthusiasm.

I can tell, already, that the CD which results from this happy union will be a “good 'un”.

Pictured below is Wendy, a gifted flautist and saxophonist who attended the previous session. Interestingly for me, she played a soprano Sax for one of the songs - the disturbingly titled: “Let All Mortal Flesh”. The effect of a pleasantly echoed Soprano Sax is little short of spine-tingling. Well done to Wendy for making it happen.

I could muse a while and wonder how many more recording sessions will take place here before I move on to pastures new. I certainly hope it's a good few, I need the money.

Smirn Office

I'm a great believer in documentable causality.

In this case, I think I may be onto something. Having drunk the contents of this bottle - being the biggest bottle of Smirnoff Ice I know how to buy - I feel distinctly....indistinct.

Squite nice.

Maybe the world is a good and smashing place after all.

I'm surprised more people don't drink this stuff, because it makes one feel great!

Keyboards

I came across this article in The Register today. Seems this company are making a keyboard - “The Avant Steller” - just like the great IBM monsters of old. It's big, it's heavy and the keys make a reassuring “click” when you hit them. Nor will it wear out. Long after that state of the art mini-keyboard with bluetooth has bitten the dust, this one will still be going strong.

That's fair enough, I guess. The downsides are twofold.

1) It is PS2 connector only, and the programmable features only work when connected this way.

2) It costs $189

It seems ironic that thousands of these things were cheerfully slung onto skips in the 90s. Now, the cherished few are being re-manufactured and sold for a King's ransom.

Ah, life.

Black

Our fireworks display was limited. To make it look particularly good, I did a time lapse shot showing all our fireworks together.

The bangs from other people's shows were really loud - maybe a feature of the new “TNT” fireworks, on sale in this region. As the evening progressed, I think I got an idea what it is like to live in a war zone - apart from the obvious omission of the large-scale death and destruction.

That said, I hear that Jason did his best to add in as much destruction as possible. I'm convinced that it really is smashing to sellotape fireworks together, no matter how real the safety risk is. Good for you Jason, we salute your bravery and innovation.

Newbiggin Today

This is the “other” bay at N-BTS. It seems to have more character than the one with the lifeboat in it. Lots of places to investigate and scramble over. The view you see hear is from the Church Point Caravan Site, a place that affords some of the best views/access to this area.

I realise this posting is not very interesting to many. In order to improve it a little, may I suggest some good talking points?

1) How important/attractive is it to you to live near/by the sea?

2) If you live near the sea and do not have sea views, do you wish you had sea views?

3) If you do not live by the sea, do you secretly foster a desire to do so?

4) In the event of a nuclear holocaust of which you are a survivor, and, given the emergence of some sort of post-nuke semi-organised Western'esque society, do you think you are more likely or less likely to posses a continuing interest in purchasing and eating full-fat Hellman's Mayonnaise?

Certainly worth thinking about.

The toilet worry - sorted

Better.