Don't want to {insert chore here}

Yeah, it's going to be one of those nights. After being one of those days, actually.

However, good stuff to concentrate on:

1. BenOffOfTheStudent texted me out of the blue this morning. He's around, working in an offy in town, and him and Ollie the Usual Suspect are sorted with a flat. He was asking if I was around for drinks and apologised for disappearing for a while. Good to know he's back on the scene!
   
2. I paid off the canteen bill and...
   
3. I had my last canteen meal under the iron regime of Big M.
4. Hurrah!

So that's the upside. Now I have to:

1. Sort out my laundry, as I'm off with Eenglish to the Isle of Wight on Friday morning (vee early), and heading with himself and the Immigrant to the Chinese Buffet tomorrow night
2. Really sort out my laundry, because NiceHousemateLady is back from France. Tomorrow. And will have a mountain of dirty clothes in tow
3. Do the washing up, because she's back and I'm trying to keep the place under control
4. Do some shopping and fuel-buying on the way home. Have no food apart from cereal, and that's bad nutrition, maaan.

Still, last day of the week tomorrow! And it's Hilary's last day before she's off for the bairn. Hard to believe...

All the hairy!

Kink in press

It's out. Finally. The paper that's occupied pretty much all of my time since the middle of last November finally has an issue and page number that I can reference! So grateful that it's done! They've fibbed a bit and said it was published on 22nd July, too, but I know better.... :o)

Anyway, with that out of the way, it only remains to get the poster done so the TT can take it to Lindau, and I can then recycle it for Leuven.

Speaking of which, the No Stella rule was broken on Saturday, when we were celebrating the successful — and remarkably quicker — move of Mr Bridger's stuff to the new flat in... the Gilferd! Hurrah! Mind you, the way I was feeling yesterday morning, I wouldn't have fancied helping his Ceri move all her stuff too. Anti-craic in that!

So I woke up on the sofa instead. To The Hits TV, playing tracks from their Mobile Disco Classics Weekend. A-Ha!'s Take On Me was the first one I was even remotely awake for. Too much stuff going on in that video for a hungover person to take in. Feckin Stella and white wine...

Bag for the bag, dear?

I finally cracked and decided to take away the phenomenal stash of carrier bags that's been accumulating in Aggy for... probably about half a decade. We now have only one huge bag full of bags. Hooray for the Tescos recycling area.

It was the end of a campaign to get the washing up properly done for the first time in weeks. DrAbi's not been around much, and I was away for a week. So nothing got done. I got about 90% of it done, but fell at the cutlery hurdle (I was in serious need of tea and Big Brother-watching). And I thought I ought to do something to alleviate the tension of the unpaid bills money. Feck. I really wish she hadn't presented me with that bill so long after pay-day, but I'm still in the wrong, so what can I say? Sent the cheques off today by special delivery. Hope they clear soon...

In other nooze... dunno. I'm completely skint, but still haven't gone back to the gym. Think that could be the plan tonight. Anything that stops us sharing the living room, to be honest. Herself has been weird enough at the best of times recently, but she's only really pleasant around other people (yeah, I know, I saw this coming over a year ago).

Perfunctory note

It took me just as long to get back from Augher lastnight as it did the last time.

And this time I flew.

Too knackered to fill in the details, but details will be in-filled soon. Just as soon as I can concentr....

Upside-down

It's now been four days since London got bombed in pretty horrific style. And the day was just surreal from beginning to end.

I started off unaware that anything was happening. Drove into town (parking restriction bollox) for a hurcut, and was cheerfully getting it washed, massaged and chopped while a phonecall tried to come through. I wasn't in a position to answer it, but texted Si back when I heard his voicemail. He was looking for Emma's number, but — having only met her twice of an evening — I didn't have it. I didn't understand the urgency at the time. Then I read Neil's text:

Feck. Seen the news? (09:52)

"No. Why....?"

(He's not in the habit of asking that question in a light-hearted fashion)

Explosions on the tube, he says. I wanted to get Mum something for her & Dad's 30th, so I wandered on down to the first jeweller's I could find. I asked them. They'd heard there might've been a power surge (TferL's first story, I think), and that it sounded pretty bad. I move on down to Earnest Jones and find a nice little necklace with some diamonds in it, buying it. At this stage, my head's a bit confused. I try ringing Simon again (it's now 10:30), and get through. He tells me what's happened, and that he's looking for Emma's number because a) he can't get through to Adrian and b) he remembered that Emma works near Liverpool Street. I tell him I've not got the number, but good luck. Feck.

Jewellery bought, but in need of a slash I'm en route to the shopping centre, then race back up to get the car before its ticket runs out. Just in time. I get home.

The inevitable traffic blockage in central London will only take a matter of time to spill out onto the radial roads, then the M25. I'm unsure whether I've got time for the breakfast I need, but decide I really DO need breakfast. And I really DO need to call everyone I can think of to see they're okay. Problem is, everyone else has got the same idea (apart from breakfast). None of the mobile networks gets me through. Sperm's the only person I have an office number. Reception puts me through... to his feckin voicemail! And I don't have Chris's surname, so I can't see if he's okay... Arse. Neil's number was the first I'd tried, but unsuccessfully.

In the midst of all this, about 11:30 (I want to leave at noon), the big Aussie rings me crying. He can't get through to Simon. Simon works in London. Not good. But I'm able to tell him he's okay, 'cos I spoke to him after all the blasts (I hope they're over, I think to myself) have happened. He says he'll try to ring Haze, and I try to get through to the Big Fraser in the City. Eventually, I twig about the mobile networks and text himself to say that that's the reason we can't get through. I get through to Fraser. He's grand. And do I contact Age to tell him? Do I bollox. I'm in bit of a spin by this stage, so I'm not thinking. But I feel a right shit afterwards...

Anyway, at 12:30 I finally get on the road. A25 or M25... tricky. I've got to get to north-east Kent, so the M25 is the logical one, but the A25 mightn't suffer so much from the London butterly-wing effect. In the end I stay on the smaller one until Gatwick, then head north onto the M25. All's going okay (decent speed, if you get me) until I miss the junction for the M20. Which I really REALLY shouldn't have done.

They've closed the way across the estuary, and the queue back along the M25 is enormous. FUCK-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck.... You get the general emotion. It's an inarticulate expression of the phrase "I'm going to miss my flight". Not a happy face. In the mire, I text Chris to see if he and Sperm are okay. All is well. He even apologises for not being there on Friday night. (That's another blog entry in itself.)

However, I'm smiled upon. Because although I spend most of an hour crawling along the outside lane of a four-lane motorway, when I get off it, I'm flying along.

But best of all, when I get to the airport (and it is tiny), and park the car, I've about 30 seconds' walk to the terminal, and about 30 seconds before I'm all checked in!

It's 15:10, and I haven't been so relieved in ages.

There is no bar. Time for some brief phonecalls (low battery) and then a coffee.

Yay -- London 2012!

Ooh! AND, London got the Olympics!! Sod's law says that I'll be the other side of the world when it comes here, but well done Lahndahn (must get Ceri to help with my pronounciation (sic.))

Ready to go

Almost, anyway. I'm off for a week from tomorrow. Just need to find out if anything AT ALL has been organised by Mum & Dad for their anniversary. I've got a nasty feeling it hasn't, and I've been too self-absorbed recently to sort anything out. Bugger.

The good news, though, is that J is going to be around this week. I'm planning to catch up with him in Belfast on Friday for an all-dayer, and really looking forward to meeting his girlfriend, who looks gorgeous. And if she can put up with him, she's a saint as well! :o)

Just booked into T&G for the morning, seriously in need of a pre-trip haircut. Looks like it might be quite tight to get to the airport, too. But at least the parking's reasonable</HiThisIsWes>, eh?</MG>

One year on

It's exactly one year since I dropped the heavy news on my folks that I'm gay (see entirely allusive post).

I'm going home on Thursday for their 30th wedding anniversary meal, and I couldn't be prouder of them.

That's all for now :)