FIN

Well, there goes the wagon. Over the hills and far away. After two tough days at work, and a text message blunder by DrAbi (the upshot of which is still yet to be resolved), I couldn't face trying to have a good time and being a genial host without the aid of a liddle drink.

So I had four, and quite enjoyed it. Although if I hadn't just been harshly insulted by my housemate, obviously that would have improved things immensely. But she apologised for it, drunk, and by text message (appropriately enough, as that's how the initial blunder happened). She's just after e-mailing me back saying not to pay attention to the evil thoughts which have been gnawing away at the back of my mind. I hope it's not short-hand for "Let's never speak of this again", as I'd like to know what prompted her to say what she did (was quite harsh, like I say). But I'm sure it'll all be fine </hannah bin kuk>




Anyway, everyone seemed to enjoy our one-night-late Burns' Night, so that's the main thing.

And I've decided: I quite like beer. Again.

That was not a fun day

I even got up early to try and get some stuff done, at least before the meeting. But that did NOT work. Because the first e-mail I read was one from the boss asking Jian and myself to REcalculate counts for the latest design, and with a new aperture. Immediately. Like Neilo's wagon, I saw my Tuesday hurtling off at break-neck speed, with me on my ass at the side of the road. Probably in some metaphorical cow-shit just to add insult to injury.

No... No, the cowshite was at the meeting where we were effectively told to up our publication rate by April.

Then back to work on which I cannot up any publication rates, because it isn't the kind of thing you can publish anyway. What a load of wank. Finished all that crap about an hour ago, but decided on browsing, reading New Scientist</geek>, etc.

On the plus side, new menu at the LPH means you don't have to order enough food for a platoon for lunch. And very nice, too. Happy belated birthday, Steve-o.

But not going to the gym. In protest at a cruel, unforgiving — and unusually cold — world.</overstatement and hyperbole>

Dirty cash, I want you...

...my boss — really! — just sent me these:








haha! :o)

"Duh-duh-duh-duhhhn...

...Brace yourself -- housekeeping notes!"

Still makes me laugh every time I think of Sarah Kennedy saying that. As an intro to a Paul Gambaccini trail... All because Neilo suggested I defect to Radio 2 from Nemone that morning.

Anyway, housekeeping is probably a good, if abstract, way to describe the weekend just passed. Saturday was all about going to the gym, getting a haircut, de-scruffing the house a bit, and then seeing what else presented itself. Which, it turns out, was a brief visit from Paul and some middlin TV programmes. Friday was the first major outing to a pub on the booze-free sojourn. Was good to catch up with JPD, but time does drag a little in the pub when you're soberer than everyone else. How do non-drinkers cope??

We'd been joined by Jumper on the way back and watched the Lucie on Stardate. Good to see she's enjoying it, anyway. And fair play to the Huygens people for getting a probe half-way across the solar system. Very exciting stuff if you're an astro-geek like meself. After that, a drunken suggestion by Herself to watch a movie, which I suggested should be Fight Club. After some rooting around through the wires to accomodate the fact it was on VHS, I watched the first half, interspersed with chat. Then made my excuses and departed for the night.

How healthy did I feel, getting up at 9:30 to go the Spectrum! Answer: not very. I actually felt a bit woozy from not having eaten very much the previous day (you'd never be able to tell I'm trying to lose weight, would you?), but didn't seem to stop me from powering through the session like a mad thing. Fact: when I exercise, I lose my appetite. Until a wee while afterwards, at least...

Sunday? Well, Herself tried to prod me into going to this Little Earth thing (at least, I think that's what it was called), but I declined, on account of wanting nothing to do with other humans and their schedules. So I faffed around, read the Times, and watched the first four episodes of Band of Brothers. It's the simple things...

(Footnote: today was a complete waste. Meeting tomorrow. Don't want to speak to people about anything. Just want to do this paper. Which I didn't do today at all. Just procrastinated and made some lightcurves. Repeat to impending end of career...)

Talking about working,...

...rather than actually getting work done, is almost exactly my idea of professional hell. But sometimes it's productive. Today was one of those times, but my mind is near collapse. Too much information... does not compute.

One man's detox is another man's pretox

And so it was on Saturday.

As many of us current detoxers have observed, cutting out the drink means frequently getting bored. So what do you do when you can't drink? "Answer", to quote Neil on the way to Upton Park from the tube station, "we do stuff like this!" Never mind that he was on the last weekend before the Big One crowd to their full detox (as opposed to mine, which mainly involves just no booze). After a much-enjoyed sleep-in on Saturday (til the alarm at 11:45 am, heh heh), I read a text message from Neilo asking if I fancied accompanying him to see West Ham play at home. Third-round FA cup tie, and an introduction to the "Championship". Sure, how could you turn that down?

And a great afternoon out was had indeed. At �30 a head, it wasn't cheap, but I wasn't drinking or eating any of the stadium cuisine, so a hint of HTI Wes was brought back to the proceedings. As I texted to the Cullybackeyman and Goff, of all the things I'd imagined I'd be doing this weekend, going to see West Ham host Norwich City wasn't one of them. The fact that they won added to the atmosphere, obviously. And the reference to Upton Park in the hooky programme as the MDF Towers!



The surreallest moment was probably standing, sober, in a football supporters' pub, drinking Britvic 55. The place was absolutely packed, but despite looking as dodgy as hell from the outside — helped by the obvious police presence — it was actually grand inside! And �1.89 for a pint of Stella, which Neilo merrily dispensed with. Fecker...

Then yesterday was mostly taken up by

1. waking up too early


2. going into town to go shopping (too early)


3. getting boy's stuff (DVDs, CDs, etc.)


4. calling in to Wildman's for a cup of coffee


5. getting grown-up stuff (towels, dressing gown)


6. watching rented DVD

Rock'n'roll, kids! Although I was particularly pleased with getting Band of Brothers for �35 from HMV!

Back to it now, though...

Back at work

Woke up at what time this morning...? 5:41. Brilliant. Well done, my body clock. Still, I was in bed unusually early lastnight after I got back from the airport (with the traditional Starbucks coffee while waiting for the train). Wee plate of pasta with spicy sauce quenched the hunger once I got home — and resolutely decided that Tesco's was somewhere I didn't want to be. Tired & hungry is not a good combination, as I would've come back with 5 kilos of spuds, a packet of jammy dodgers, a large jar of marmite, and a set of hedge-clippers. Anyway, I then tried aimlessly to concentrate on TV. When that fails, you know it's time for bed. So good to get back to my own after the last two weeks, though...

No hangover!

This makes a record number of days that I've been hangover-free in 2005. Although, in fairness, it's the second day of 2005. And yesterday felt more like a short week...

Merry New 2005

Hadn't realised it had been as long ago as November that I'd last posted. But then, December was a messy, drunken affair. Importantly, though, despite the fact that today I have just felt like crawling into bed, I got to see James, Gerry, Carrie, Shaun and Colin. Although Wednesday (the first encounter with the Old Class) now seems like weeks ago.

The plan ought to have been to stay from Wednesday to Friday (NYE) and escape before a third night's dhrink took its toll. But, in Aunti Annie's, Dr Collins suggested staying on for the night, with no particular plan in mind. Interestingly, I looked up at a sign above where we were stationed, while himself was at the bar, and saw the words "30 Days, No Excuses", in Jack Daniels lettering. Now, clearly, what I took from this was not what the advertising agency intended, because I have now decided that January is going to be booze-free. Started alright today, but there's another 29 days (technically 30, fair enough, but what odds?) to go, and a great deal of generally being back amongst some real hallians.

And what meself and Mr S are likely to do the next time I'm up in Charlton is beyond me. The Bluewater day was a stunning exception in the otherwise drink-addled history of our friendship since before we left school! But sure it's all a mini adventure. And now I think about it, Mr M and the rest are doing something similar with that little-known breakfast fella, so maybe it's good timing after all. Certainly, I can't do this any more. That bad night's sleep I had on Tuesday night really didn't do me any favours, and by Thursday night in the Empire, I had hit the "I'm too old for this, I don't like it any more, I want to go home, boo-hoo" stage. Brilliant.

But made up for it lastnight. The middle day, as always, practically gone.

Enough of this for now. Need to get some fix-me sleep. HNY!