That was horrible

Really, Really horrible

I haven't prayed like that in a long, long time. But it worked.

I checked my account balance by phone this morning. I was overdrawn by my net monthly salary. This was bad. I should've been paid. I thought I had been, and that suddenly I was in this situation where I'd have literally nothing for a month. Literally. No rent, no petrol, no groceries, no holiday, no going to this conference, no anything. Terrified.

Absolutely, 100%, thought-of-every-extreme-option, purely and completely terrified.

But thank God it's okay.

The pay is going in a day late.

I've never been so relieved to hear the woman at the bank speak words.

Much to talk about!

Principally the Creamfields trip (absolutely brilliant).

But — very exciting — yesterday, I bought my first plant! It's a yellow prairie fire chilli plant! Like this!



Chilli-watch will continue!! More exclamation marks!!!

We're off

To Barcelona!

Eep.

Neilo knows the place quite well, and speaks the lingo much better than meself. AND it looks like we'll have a go at the old water park! Yeeeees!

This has all put me in a powerful mood. And we're off til the Liverpool fer Creamfields first thing tomorrow.

The holiday weekend is nearly here.

Inverse Snow Day

There's a first time for everything. We've been officially told to go home from work unless we need to be here. Thames Water say there's a problem with the pumping station, and it won't be fixed soon.

So I'm off to rest and recuperate, like I was nearly going to do anyway. Brilliant!

Flash-Bastardising!

Yep, I've finally decided to experiment with the layout of the Blog, change that slightly aggressive picture in the profile, and enable an RSS feed. Just in case anyone actually reads this.

Layout-wise, I've added a Flickr badge above the Recent Posts on the right, so you can see pics like this one:



that normally just get filed away in an anonymous corner of the Internet.

It's not rocket science (thank feck — or I'd be in trouble). But I'm pleased with today's mods.



In other news Barcelona's now looking likely as a holiday destination.

I like it!

Can on the Train

Can on the Train
Originally uploaded by finassy.

Great picture, this. Sums it all up.

Working Late + Pringles in Drawer

Equals Pringles for Tea.

Which probably completely counteracts all the healthy food I ate the rest of the day.

Nadgers.

New toys, feeling old

Sure don't I have a printer...!

The ending of the week with some proper rest has improved the mood no end. I was starting to think of renaming this to MoodBlog, on account of my moody-bastardness recently. I think it was a combination of effects, not least that I wanted some time away from people, but didn't want to miss out or disappoint anyone that I'd committed to. So I slept the sleep of the knackered last Sunday when I got home from the Peaslake barbeque, but that wasn't quite enough. Ended up doing some room-tidying (prompted by Abi's) on Monday night, didn't go to bed early (of course).

Tuesday night, ... dunno what happened then. Late finish, maybe...

Then on Wednesday night I got home late-ish to find a few of the usual suspects gathered in the garden with herself, and a new wood burner. Didn't see that coming, but it managed to consume some of the old Christmas tree we've failed to otherwise dispose of! I called round to Sarah's to see this PC that her other half was getting rid of, which turned out to be a Celeron 650 MHz with 128 MB RAM and a 10 GB drive. And all in a lovely little alumin(i)um case! As if that wasn't enough to get me thinking of wiring up Aggy (and indeed wireless-ing the place up), he gave me a switch, an ADSL modem, a wireless access point (old, he said, but looked suspiciously like the ones we got in the lab in the last year or so ... draw your own conclusions from that).

Thursday was the first chance Neilo and meself had had to meet up in nearly two months, which is almost unheard of for ourselves. We rendezvoused in Ha-Ha's beside Charing Cross, which was a much preferable venue than the station's Old Traditional. Much has happened in the intervening weeks since I went up for Sperm's birthday, with the Aussie in tow. But it all sounds like it's going very well, fair play to him, bringing a dose of sanity to proceedings. After a couple of pints in the Ha-Ha's, and a perfunctory half in the Old Traditional with a dash for some uncustomary Budweiser cans at the Whistlestop, we adjourned to Studio Sloan for the usual Cool Edit-aided craic and some holiday searching. We got very excited by the appearance of Las Vegas near our budgets, but were dejected ... I don't think the word's too strong ... when we realised it was just the flight. Ach well' some other time. (H.S.T. was fired into space yesterday, by the way ... what a star!). In an highly uncharacteristic manoeuvre, I actually went to sleep on the sofa, too, rather than passing out on it! I wasn't sure what that meant.

Friday, then, was begun at approximately 5am. I think this was due in no small part to the lack of a serious hangover, which meant I didn't sleep as usual through the early-morning Charlton traffic. (That's what going-to-sleep-not-passing-out means, Dave...)

There was an unusually organised (i.e. financially driven) plan in all this, too. I had to go back to Wimbledon with the proof-of-address they needed fer-te re-tax the Plan B. So I stopped off en route back to Guildford. Spent what felt like an hour in the Post Office once I'd managed to locate one, thanks to the surprisingly Munster-accented community support policeman. Got back to the house at lunchtime, feeling like death. Too little sleep on the sofa meant the accumulated lack of sleep of the last few weeks wanted instant revenge on me. I wanted to acquiesce, but then herself decided she wanted this month's bills now. Feck. To make matters volatile, she also asked for next month's in advance. I freely admit to being in the wrong about not paying up at the start of the month, but I sent back a terse message saying I'd spent my last at the DVLA, but why did she want my money ahead of time as well? Wrong question, Dave.

Am I missing something? Did you pay me the money, etc. And don't you owe me three months now.

I apologised instantly, then realised the last part didn't make any sense. I'd paid her the previous two months (at about �70 extra expense to meself, which I thought was churlish to mention given my generally obvious guilt, not to mention the fractiousness of things). I'd already said I'd pay for her JPD viva meal on the old cheque book as part-payment, but she seemed a bit surprised about the already-paid bills. I panicked, thinking — as I do by default, and I need to sort that attitude out — that I was actually in the wrong, and doubted myself furiously. This would be not-good. However, for once the bank statement said something in my favour, as I thought I had read before. The cheques had cleared when I'd posted them to the bank, so all was well on that blame-diminution score.

It's weird. Well maybe "weird" really isn't the word. But I've never been close to cracking before. I mean, not that close. I spent a large portion of Friday really scared; I don't mind saying that now I've had a chance to step back and breathe. So little money, so many things committed to, so little energy... that was how it felt in my head. With the commitments removed from that vicious triangle, and no-one around today, I feel like I've got some control back.

Shit. Maybe I should've renamed this BreakdownBlog instead...?

In the midst of it, though, I was pissed off that Dr B was persisting in his plan to visit, despite my gentle warnings that I was not in the form to entertain. And I was even more pissed off that he didn't let me know whether he was planning on staying here. So I stayed awake when I should've gone to sleep. Then he turned up about six-ish, stayed fer an hour or so, then left me to the restaurant, so I forgave him :) So, I went to JPD's meal, where it was nice to get out of the house, even though herself was still there, and I didn't know what her state of mind was. Mind you, if I'm honest, I never do. Unless we're pished, naturally. But she was lovely in public, as always, bless'er.

I stayed out for the meal, enjoyed it immensely, caught up with a few of the people I class as proper friends in Guildford, felt a little odd at us being at a separate table from AndyYou'reAStar and that party, but overall it was great craic. They then headed for the TUP, where I made my excuses and left them to get on with the dhrinking.

Then I got home. I stayed on the sofa for half an hour, just because I could. Then went upstairs, resolving to set no alarms, switch the phone to "I'm asleep", and sleep the sleep of the knackered. Again.

Yesterday was spent a lot more sanely. Borrowed the old wheels to nip to Tesco's, got the last groceries of the month (off to Creamfields next weekend, so that shortened the week). And sorted out the sink a bit, with the aid of some new chemicals and equipment. Dr B called round, as he said he would, in the evening. So we had a bit of a look around at FreeBSD on the new machine, as he came in JUST as I was about to put SuSE 8.2 on it. And then, seeing that I was falling asleep in conversation, he said he'd make his way to Gomshall — Peaslake, I presume. For which I was incredibly grateful.

So today, with the exception of picking up the Plan B from holiday camp and getting the paper, I've stayed inside the confines of Aggy. Determined to take it easy and talk to no-one unless I make the call. It's been Fan Tastic. I like it.

I'll be honest: this week, I've been scared that I'm turning into any one of three members of my family, each of whom has not been known for their gregariousness or general mental well-being. I hope I'm not. But it has made me think about what I'm doing here in Surrey. I'm not saving any money, and my job seems to be bifurcating, rather than being well defined. With herself saying how many grand she reckons it'll take to move across the pond, I think it's only realistic that I start thinking about getting a better paid job and/or somewhere cheaper. Plus get on top of how I spend. But I'm fairly sure now that I've got to leave for my own sanity. Shame. I was just getting used to the place...

Demon days, Damon nights

I'm really fecked off with August. Or rather, the situation I'm definitely in until August ends. Flat broke (again) + exhausted all the time (actually, that's beginning to worry me a bit) = no craic + haven't the energy to go out even if I had the means.

Feck.

However, I'm feeling like less of a freak on the exhaustion front. If only because the Aussie and even — EVEN — Lord Simon have also complained about wanting to fall asleep at the drop of a hat. I think someone's coming in in the middle of the night and stealing my energy.

Okay, that's grasping at straws and doesn't make a lick of sense. Not least if you're in my line of work...

But lastnight I had a dream with Matt Damon in it. This made me happy. Much happier than the previous night's dream about a green wasp which was chasing me. And which everyone said I should let sting me, because — even though it'd hurt like a bastard — it had several antibodies (or something) in the sting which would eventually do me more good than harm. I did not succumb to their logic, and was convinced I could hear buzzing in my ear for a good five minutes after I woke up. Mind you, lastnight's dream did end in me being pulled over by the police in America. Only for me to realise that someone else had left their (flapjack-shaped!) block of blow in my car. How happy was I when the dog seemed more interested in something innocent on the back seat! The suspense was still in full swing when the alarm went off.

I'm thinking I'll take Saturday off completely. Unless Dr Buxey calls round...

"Hard to believe, eh?"

BridgerJason
Originally uploaded by finassy.

Almost a year since Mr Bridger (left) became Dr Bridger (night of this photo). Now Mr D (right) is on the final approach to Doctorland himself. Good luck, fella!

Underslept life

I pretty much collapsed on contact with the bed on Sunday afternoon at 2:30pm. Thereby completely missing return drinks for young Hazel.

However, it was the culmination of two weeks of not getting enough rest. Even Friday, as I said, was unintentional. Meant to go home early. Result? Left here at 10:30pm.

Just haven't been getting enough kip. End of.

So I didn't get up until 7:30 yesterday. And would gladly have stayed in bed all day today, but the dreaded work ethic kicked in and I decided to go in and work on various bits'n'pieces. Lastnight involved some room-tidying. Then not enough sleep. I'm basically seceding from the world of social life until I feel like non-shite. Can't wait...

One BBQ down, one to go

Ended up staying around til 10:30 lastnight, and the craic was good. Even managed to see the student flats for the first time! Aussie Steve-o was in charge of the fire supervision, of course. Very funny :)

Got to bed about an hour later and slept. A lot. Which is great.

Anyway, because my stuff ended up being locked in the orifice lastnight, I've just popped in to pick up my work bag, wallet, etc. Then back home for a couple of more hours' sleep :) Can't wait to get the car permits and all sorted out, then I can sleep AAAAAALLLLLL weekend sometime soon.

Mind you, Creamfields is in two weeks! Must look into train times for that...

It started with a fugitive particle physicist...

I'll be honest — this last week has been absolutely knackering. And it's not over yet.

I just popped into Cranners for some supplies, though, for a bit of a break. Ironically, I'm now bored, but can't go home: AndyYou'reAStar is organising a surprise BBQ for his summer girlfriend, so I thought I'd pick up some BBQ food. Think we're getting going about 6:30. CPG and the missus are coming along, too, which'll be really nice as I've not seen them for ages.

So, it all started this day last week, the day after the visit to the Lord Bar. Or, at least, it was supposed to. Dr Collins is on the run from his post in Sweden. Okay, "on the run" is a bit dramatic :) but he was in Argentina and Brazil for a few weeks after we were both last in the 'Fast. Then he was planning to stop here en route to France (but that all changed for reasons I won't go into here -- get well, Mrs Corr, though).

Anyway, last Thursday I was waiting all day for a call from him to tell me when I could pick him up from Heathrow, but he changed his mind and went to stay with the Italian GF. I heard nothing from him Saturday, when arranged to meet up with himself and herself at 2pm in a cavernous pub by the Watherloo. I hadn't been on the beers the night before, which is always a blunder when a London session is arranged, as it means I haven't innoculated my system. But anyway, the craic was good. Two of herself's friends turned up and we mosied on around to a couple of places near and on the Strand and then — with blind inevitability — to Waxy's. The lights were going out by that stage (about 11:30 pm) so we headed back to the Watherloo and I got my nice slow train home to Gilferd.

On Sunday morning, I looked at my wallet with some dismay. As always happens after a London seshun. So I was in two minds about going up to meet G'n'V. But when Dr Collins sent a text to come up because Mr Castles was en route, I couldn't in good conscience say no :)

This time, the meeting point was Westminster. I've never been to Westminster, but Dr C is a history geek, so it fitted... And I didn't know whereabouts the Tube spat you out. Needn't have worried. Taking the Houses of Parliament exit throws you out immediately beneath Big Ben. No mistaking it at all. We wandered back to Waterloo to meet Mr Castles — in my case for the first time — and rendezvous-ed with him at Bonaparte's, where he promptly threw back the remaining beer in the glass and we mosied on to the pub by the Globe. Can never remember its name, that one... Anyway, we basically stayed there from about 4:30 til chucking out time, and had a very quite civilised afternoon! Good craic, that Mr Castles.

So, I went home, and we'd already arranged for G'n'V to come and stay in Aggy because of their slightly cramped conditions, at least as long as Dr C was around. I'd had a wasted trip to Wimbledon DVLA because that silly little girl (who couldn't speak) at the DVLA call centre (yeah, she was at a call centre and couldn't speak clearly, getting annoyed with me — and I can understand all Welsh accents) (breath, Dave) hadn't told me about the last thing I needed to bring to change the Plan B over to a British log book. I was already pissed off. When they came down on Monday night, they found me stressed because I was about to go on local radio to talk about the Shuttle.

I do not study the Shuttle.

Spaceflight became my favourite site within seconds, and I raced home to get to town and pick up a Wanadoo CD before the shops closed (yeah, no internet connection at home). Anyway, we went to Café Rouge for a bite to eat, then back to the Hice to let them settle in, head fer bed, and let me do a bit of emergency reading-up. Up with the dawn at 5 am. More cramming. Then rang to see if I could park and thereby save myself ten minutes' walk (i.e. have ten minutes more cramming). I felt like I was about to do an exam in something I knew very little about...</far from the truth?>

It went remarkably well. So well, in fact, that when I rang up to ask for a tape of my stint, they askeed me to commentate on the landing. That went with... measured success, owing to NASA TV disappearing from my screen just 90 seconds before the Shuttle landed. Feck. Still, the Old Class was on... :)

Back home early, I kipped for an hour and a half to top up on the sleep I hadn't really been getting since before the last post. Met themselves in the Brit, gave Lucie a ring to see how she'd got on on National TV, and then rang Age to see if he wanted to join us in a drink. Plus, I was feeling a little out-numbered. He came down when we were quiz-machining, and was a star. Nice night, actually. We headed home before chucking out time, I seem to remember. (Was actually really drunk pretty much every night, owing to lack of sleep and food mostly.)

Wednesday started off with a chat at work to the Old HOD about a new project that I'd postponed after the previous day's sleepiness. Then the Funny German came down to talk at great length about the semantics of all the wording in the poster. Still, even though it was knackering, it was useful.

Anyway, I was feeling really really run-down at this stage. So when I went home, I ate before meeting the two of them inside in the White House. The Aussie was in the neighbourhood and called in — feeling really awkward, he later said, because he thought he'd intruded. I was glad he showed up, though, because he'd lifted herself's mood the previous day, and was suffering a reaction to a pastie, so she was even lower. His police mates turned up, too, and the policelady was on good form. I even learned a bit more about The Cricket... Which'll probably leak from my head after a while, like all pretend-sport information :)

We didn't stay. Dr C had sorted out a flight to Oireland, by the way. Instead, we left Age and we headed home fer a pizza and some gin. Very serious conversations were had. By feck, Italians can talk. I have noticed this. And himself fell asleep. I packed it in about 1:30am.

I dropped them off at the station the next morning, thinking that — although one of my best mates had been around for five days — I never got to have a decent conversation with him...

Anyway, a few notes on lastnight. The Aussie called round with a Chinese and big bottles of beer, and I fired up Lost from the previous night — very good by the way — with smatterings of Big Brother Craig's eviction in between. Was just about the most I could managed lastnight. Packed it in, didn't sleep great, woke up wondering what the best course of action would be (feign illness? go in for a few hours? ...sleep in car?? Dismissed that thought easily), then got up at 7:45 and fished around in my hastily discarded jeans for my phone. Found it. With a stunningly abusive message from Lord Simon's number! I got really worried. He gets lairy when drunk, but never nasty. It was sent at 4:56 am. Weird, I thought, because he always gets up around that time... So I texted back "Er... what? :o)", but the message didn't arrive. Then tried ringing him back instead to ask if he was in a bad mood (either because he was drunk at that hour or because he'd had to get up). Straight to answer-phone. Weird. Tried him again after I rang Neilo from outside the orifice. Number not in service.

Answer?

He'd got really drunk and lost his phone. Someone obviously half-inched it and decided to go through the inbox. And they're not a fan of lords, whoever they are. The message made that abundantly clear.

But today's been a weird one after all the overexposure to people. After a chat with the boss, I decided I'd better clear up how to edit and create pages on the group webshite. That took about most of the morning to write (never overestimate people's knowledge). Then did some poster tinkering, unenthusiastically (conferences must die). The lab's been nearly dead all day. Neilo's been posting grumpy texts from Wales</no change there, then>... But folks are hanging around now for the BBQ. Food cooking's starting in about 45 mins. Mmmmm... sausages...

Off of the Isle of Wight

I like these pics. Cheers to the Eenglish for them. What a service!

Return of the evening

SO...

after three twelve/thirteen hour days, and a full day at work yesterday, my brain gave up all hope of interpreting words, and I went home to pay the Aussie a visit for dinner. After a brief sojourn to Tesco's, he cooked lamb. Niiiiice. I never have lamb unless I'm at home-home! :)

Half a bottle of Pinot down each, he suggests that — as there's not really anyone else around — we pay a visit to Gilferd's lord bar. The immortal words "fuck it" sprang instantly to mind... so we did.

Bit of a random evening, actually. I wasn't in the mood for getting drunk originally, but half a bottle of white wine went down exceedingly well. Much more easily than the food, although that was really nice.

But here's the weirdest thing. Eenglish, when he was round at the Aussie's on Wednesday night, said the new tenant was 9.5 on the scale. Vee nice. But later that evening, he texted to say that he hadn't been made aware that Age was gay, and that he wouldn't be moving in now because of it. Even though he seemed "really cool". Brilliant.

Admittedly, I was disappointed that I didn't get to see the guy wandering through the living room in a towel... bad dave... but that wasn't actually what had me reeling. What made me quite speechless was the mixture of self-justification and homophobia. The guy was apparently 23 and a design graduate, with a girlfriend in Hampshire. Now, if he's managed to get through life so far without any gaylord friends or colleagues, I'll be amazed. So how did he think that what he was writing was going to help? So when the Aussie's landlord came round with a prospective new tenant (female this time), he introduced her as "not homophobic(!)".

I think it knocked me a bit sideways — the fact that there were people younger than me in professional careers with that attitude — because I've had an almost uniformly good experience since I came out. At least, if many people have changed their attitude to me, I don't know about it, so I'm in blissful ignorance... Maybe it's my first brush with real life, or the experiences you read about occasionally from very angry people in the lord mags... It's just left me feeling a bit odd, and bad for Age, too, that he feels that he might have to declare his leanings to all new housemates.

Years ago, when I worked in that restaurant, the owner mentioned that the other waiter was gay. This was eight years ago, in a corner of the country which is not known for its liberal views on poofs, but I still felt surprised that she'd felt the need to mention it. So perhaps that's why I feel it's so strange that in this opposite corner, which isn't exactly bible-belt, someone had such strong feelings...

Anyway, maybe I should end on some happy notes.
First, I got the car MOT'd (though not all sorted out), thanks to those absolute stars in Cranners.
Second, this lord pub was actually alright lastnight. Much to our surprise. We stayed for three drinks, which always means a place can't be that bad. Then back to the Aussie's for a beer and — randomly — a Southern Comfort and coke. Until about 1:30 am.

Then I went back and stared at the Geordie totty on Big Brother for five minutes before I realised I was pissed and needed sleep.

It's only bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey Friday.

Promotion du jour...

Well, I was going to start today's posting with chat about the Isle of Wight working holiday trip that myself and Lord Simon embarked on Friday. And I will later, if only because he very kindly span all his photos onto CD for me yesterday afternoon.

Harever....

After months of us joking about another promotion for my recently-former line manager, she's actually got another one. This time to deputy. Which means that when our new glorious leader is away, she'll be in charge. I'm stunned at the speed she's climbed the ladder. Frankly, if I were in her shoes, I wouldn't be in her shoes at all. I'd have given them back and asked for a size that fits me, and then held back from the admin duties aplenty until absolutely necessary.

But that's just me.

From my position to deputy top-dog in the space of six years! Feck... The e-mail only came round this morning (when I was still in Aggy enjoying a leisurely morning before a lift from Lucie), so the various "reaction" conversations are still being had. I'm reeling a little, but it's not completely unexpected. Our new glorious leads takes over today, so he's left a power vacuum which needed to be filled. I'd just like to know what the power structure is. They obviously do, but our old "organogram" </careful now> needs updating by an almost comedy amount...

Hmmm....