My Mind Resides In A Pumpkin Lantern
It took a while for Jacob (nephew) to get to bed last night. Like all kids at that age (3), he didn't want to go to sleep as he felt he was missing out on what the adults were doing downstairs. He came up with a whole host of excuses to try and get out of bed: he was afraid of the dark, there was a monster in the backgarden, he wasn't tired, etc. It was quite difficult to convince him that he was not actually missing out on any "play" - we were only talking and eating downstairs, that I'd have liked him to be downstairs just as much as he would, but unfortunately sleep came first. After a little ten minute one-on-one chat, he eventually admitted that he wasn't afraid of the dark, that there wasn't a monster in the garden, and he just wanted to rejoin the party (in the end I convinced him to accept a cuddle from his mummy instead). It's ironic that when he hits my age, he'll want to leave parties as soon as the clock strikes bedtime...
Jacob did manage to escape from his bedroom Colditz for five minutes, which was cool and well timed, as I was putting the final touches to my pumpkin lantern. I'd forgotten how much of a simple pleasure something as crude as carving a stupid face into a vegetable can be. I don't do much art or tangible creativity these days, so I really relished the chance to make the lantern. Bottomline, pumpkin lanterns are basic primitive artwork, and I think I've got a basic primitive need to create things running through my mind, body and soul.
I think this blog is a sad manifestation of that need.
The Yellow and Blue Army Strikes North!
After cancelling the planned trip last season, Scott and I (and the ladies) are making the big road trip up North today in order to see the mighty Oxford United play away at Carlisle. The trip represents a bit of a pilgrimage, and I'm looking forward to joining the rest of the away fan nutters who have made the ten hour round trip to watch football. Being an away fan at the best of times can induce a feeling of camaraderie, but Saturday should be quite a special Yellow and Blue Army atmosphere.
We're bound to lose 1-0 to a last minute penalty, after a terrible game, and thoroughly lacklustre Oxford performance. It will rain and be bloody chilly too.
Friday, November 01, 2002
Thursday, October 31, 2002
I've not had much time over the last couple of days to write, so here is some cheapskate cutting, pasting and ripping off of other people's emails instead...
Potter Totter
Is what the internet bookie Blue Square calls its latest special betting opportunity. JK Rowling (author of the Harry Potter books) is apparently pregnant and due to pop in the Spring. You can gamble on what you think she will name her bonny new arrival. All the names you'd expect are there including:
Harry, at a generous 33-1
and
Voldemort, at 200-1
Larry's Good News - Update
Background Info: See my last post. Larry is 40 going on 22. He looks like an East End villian, but is a big softie. I emailed him to get the news straight from the horses mouth. His response (slightly edited) was as follows:
"Gonna get married in Scotland next September/October. There has been no great announcement and the news is just getting round. As for the proposal - top brownie points for me! I am now viewed in a completely new - and thus, favourable - light by all the women on the planet, or the ones that have spoken to Carole in the last week or so at least. The long version of events is ..... [and it is really long before I get to the point] .... Carole was away on a pampering week in a Scottish castle and I was at home on my Todd. For a couple of weeks I had a really annoying bunged up nose and I was sniffing, snorting and clearing my throat all the time and as a consequence I got only a couple of hours sleep for two nights running. So, I went to the doctor and he gave me some goo to settle me down and some penicillin to clear up the throat problem. Unfortunately by about 7pm I was climbing the walls. I've never had anything like this before but I was sweating, had a dry throat, my arms were flapping, I wanted to run out into the street, basically I was having a panic attack. I had enough wherewithal to phone for a doctor who spoke to me and told me what was happening and to blow into a bag, etc, etc. Anyway, a couple of days later Carole comes home and I'm still not sleeping properly (in fact I'm still not and am on double tamazipan, but I hope it's all clearing up), I wake up at 4:30am and decide to make the most of being up at that hour. I had planned how to propose for some time and it involved being up at that time of day so, I thought that there really was no time like the present - and the lack of sleep was clearly interfering with my reasoning processes. I woke Carole, told her not to argue and to just trust me this once, bundled her into the car, wrapped her in a blanket and drove into central London. She was well behaved considering the unreasonable nature of my actions and just thought that we were going for a walk down the Thames as I couldn't sleep. So, when we got to the middle of the Millennium (wobbly) Bridge and the dawn was rising behind Tower Bridge, I asked her. No audience, just me, her and the dawn over London. Romantic, huh?"
As I said, a big softie.
Congratulations Lazza.
Halloween Update
It's my mum and dad's wedding anniversary.
I bought a pumpkin to make a lantern - I haven't sculpted one since I was about six.
Vic has banned me from wearing my hobgoblin mask in case it scares the crap out of my 3 year old nephew (who we're seeing tonight). She reminded me that he freaked out in a farm shop when his dad tried on an innocent plastic sheep mask. My life-like goblin visage could permanently scar him.
James sent me an email earlier today relating a Halloween-themed story that seems very close to my own kid-scaring fantasties (related a few postings ago):
Read a funny interview with George Romero (director of night of the Living
Dead, etc) recently. He said he was preparing for his annual halloween party which he invites all his industry friends to. He says none of them dress up except for Tom Savini, who is a special effects wizard working primarily in the horror industry.
Have you seen from Dusk Till Dawn?
That film was developed as a showcase for Tom's company's work - he also
played Sex Machine in the film.
Apparently every year Tom goes all out to put himself in the scariest
costume he can create and spends all evening terrorising the children in
George Romero's neighbourhood!
How cool is that!"
If I was a special FX wizard, that's exactly what I would do too.
Potter Totter
Is what the internet bookie Blue Square calls its latest special betting opportunity. JK Rowling (author of the Harry Potter books) is apparently pregnant and due to pop in the Spring. You can gamble on what you think she will name her bonny new arrival. All the names you'd expect are there including:
Harry, at a generous 33-1
and
Voldemort, at 200-1
Larry's Good News - Update
Background Info: See my last post. Larry is 40 going on 22. He looks like an East End villian, but is a big softie. I emailed him to get the news straight from the horses mouth. His response (slightly edited) was as follows:
"Gonna get married in Scotland next September/October. There has been no great announcement and the news is just getting round. As for the proposal - top brownie points for me! I am now viewed in a completely new - and thus, favourable - light by all the women on the planet, or the ones that have spoken to Carole in the last week or so at least. The long version of events is ..... [and it is really long before I get to the point] .... Carole was away on a pampering week in a Scottish castle and I was at home on my Todd. For a couple of weeks I had a really annoying bunged up nose and I was sniffing, snorting and clearing my throat all the time and as a consequence I got only a couple of hours sleep for two nights running. So, I went to the doctor and he gave me some goo to settle me down and some penicillin to clear up the throat problem. Unfortunately by about 7pm I was climbing the walls. I've never had anything like this before but I was sweating, had a dry throat, my arms were flapping, I wanted to run out into the street, basically I was having a panic attack. I had enough wherewithal to phone for a doctor who spoke to me and told me what was happening and to blow into a bag, etc, etc. Anyway, a couple of days later Carole comes home and I'm still not sleeping properly (in fact I'm still not and am on double tamazipan, but I hope it's all clearing up), I wake up at 4:30am and decide to make the most of being up at that hour. I had planned how to propose for some time and it involved being up at that time of day so, I thought that there really was no time like the present - and the lack of sleep was clearly interfering with my reasoning processes. I woke Carole, told her not to argue and to just trust me this once, bundled her into the car, wrapped her in a blanket and drove into central London. She was well behaved considering the unreasonable nature of my actions and just thought that we were going for a walk down the Thames as I couldn't sleep. So, when we got to the middle of the Millennium (wobbly) Bridge and the dawn was rising behind Tower Bridge, I asked her. No audience, just me, her and the dawn over London. Romantic, huh?"
As I said, a big softie.
Congratulations Lazza.
Halloween Update
It's my mum and dad's wedding anniversary.
I bought a pumpkin to make a lantern - I haven't sculpted one since I was about six.
Vic has banned me from wearing my hobgoblin mask in case it scares the crap out of my 3 year old nephew (who we're seeing tonight). She reminded me that he freaked out in a farm shop when his dad tried on an innocent plastic sheep mask. My life-like goblin visage could permanently scar him.
James sent me an email earlier today relating a Halloween-themed story that seems very close to my own kid-scaring fantasties (related a few postings ago):
Read a funny interview with George Romero (director of night of the Living
Dead, etc) recently. He said he was preparing for his annual halloween party which he invites all his industry friends to. He says none of them dress up except for Tom Savini, who is a special effects wizard working primarily in the horror industry.
Have you seen from Dusk Till Dawn?
That film was developed as a showcase for Tom's company's work - he also
played Sex Machine in the film.
Apparently every year Tom goes all out to put himself in the scariest
costume he can create and spends all evening terrorising the children in
George Romero's neighbourhood!
How cool is that!"
If I was a special FX wizard, that's exactly what I would do too.
Tuesday, October 29, 2002
Great Coleman Balls Of Fire
Top quote from Radio 5 last night. News lady is reporting on the latest IVF mix-up story (Lady 1 has four eggs removed, the two bad ones are put back inside her and the two good ones are put inside Lady 2. Lady 2's two good eggs are put inside Lady 3. The doctors involved clearly shouldn't be playing God - they can't even play Doctors without f*cking things up...)
The presenter asks the reporter: "Should all people currently having IVF treatment be worried by this story?"
Reporter replies - totally deadpan: "Well we don't want to put the willies up people having IVF, but..."
Classic.
The Latest Poor Sucker...
...searched for "Guy Fawkes face masks".
A Bit Of A Teaser
Something which always conjures up a range of emotions and excitement, is when someone sends you an email with the final tag line of:
"Trust you've heard [so and so's] good news."
And you have no idea what they are talking about and cannot immediately email - or phone - them back to find out what this good news is. You're left in this limbo of not knowing, where your imagination goes to work dreaming up all of the possible good news options available. You're naturally happy that [so and so] has had some good news (if they are a friend and you care), but this joy is offset by the feeling that you've been left out of their loop: How come the guy who emailed you knows and you don't?! What makes it worse is that he expects you to know, hasn't given you a clue, and therefore you risk a loss of face having to email him back asking "What good news?". What if it's a wind-up?
Darren emailed me this morning with "Trust you've heard Larry's good news."
Having not yet been able to verify the facts, my imagination has come up with the following options:
1) Larry's going to be a daddy.
2) He's won the Lottery.
3) He's starring as a villian in the new James Bond film.
4) He and Carol are getting married.
5) They are moving to a huge house in France and he is planning to make wine.
6) His hair has spontaneously starting growing again.
7) His new teaching career is being accelerated and he has a headmastership of some top school lined up.
8) The rugby team he coaches - Burnham D team - has won some cup or something and he has been offered the job of head coach of his beloved Saracens.
As soon as I get the result, I'll let you know. It's quite exciting isn't it!
Top quote from Radio 5 last night. News lady is reporting on the latest IVF mix-up story (Lady 1 has four eggs removed, the two bad ones are put back inside her and the two good ones are put inside Lady 2. Lady 2's two good eggs are put inside Lady 3. The doctors involved clearly shouldn't be playing God - they can't even play Doctors without f*cking things up...)
The presenter asks the reporter: "Should all people currently having IVF treatment be worried by this story?"
Reporter replies - totally deadpan: "Well we don't want to put the willies up people having IVF, but..."
Classic.
The Latest Poor Sucker...
...searched for "Guy Fawkes face masks".
A Bit Of A Teaser
Something which always conjures up a range of emotions and excitement, is when someone sends you an email with the final tag line of:
"Trust you've heard [so and so's] good news."
And you have no idea what they are talking about and cannot immediately email - or phone - them back to find out what this good news is. You're left in this limbo of not knowing, where your imagination goes to work dreaming up all of the possible good news options available. You're naturally happy that [so and so] has had some good news (if they are a friend and you care), but this joy is offset by the feeling that you've been left out of their loop: How come the guy who emailed you knows and you don't?! What makes it worse is that he expects you to know, hasn't given you a clue, and therefore you risk a loss of face having to email him back asking "What good news?". What if it's a wind-up?
Darren emailed me this morning with "Trust you've heard Larry's good news."
Having not yet been able to verify the facts, my imagination has come up with the following options:
1) Larry's going to be a daddy.
2) He's won the Lottery.
3) He's starring as a villian in the new James Bond film.
4) He and Carol are getting married.
5) They are moving to a huge house in France and he is planning to make wine.
6) His hair has spontaneously starting growing again.
7) His new teaching career is being accelerated and he has a headmastership of some top school lined up.
8) The rugby team he coaches - Burnham D team - has won some cup or something and he has been offered the job of head coach of his beloved Saracens.
As soon as I get the result, I'll let you know. It's quite exciting isn't it!
Monday, October 28, 2002
Home Is Where The Hearth Is
HIP #4 is coming along quite nicely now. The new fireplace hearth is bedded down in cement, and the wooden flooring is shaping up around it. Once Tony the Werewolf boxes in the pipework, we'll be able to finish lying the floor and the skirting boards.
The hearth was eventually purchased from Site 77 - a reclaimation yard in Aston Clinton - on Friday. It is a reproduction - a single piece of black granite polished to a beautiful shiny surface. It catches and reflects the light, and if you gaze upon it, you can see your face looking back from its dark depths. If you stood it on its side, it would look like the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey.
After putting the floor down, we crashed out on the sofa and sat open-mouthed, gazing upon the granite hearth like primitive apemen. Vic even picked up a large thigh bone, bashed the granite with it, and roared with primal rage.
"Rah!"
You probably don't realise how frustrating it is getting these things straight and level...
Spelling Correction
There's only one L in cassoulet.
Signs
Watched the movie Signs on Friday night. Pretty good. Well-acted, nicely paced, understated, and apart from the rather obvious Sixth Sense style twist, just unpredictable enough to keep you guessing. It was also notable in that it managed to make me jump - something very few films do. The poor skewered doggy now finds himself on a short-list with:
The head in the small boat with the hole in its hull in Jaws.
Something stupid - perhaps a squeeling cat - in the original Halloween.
The zombie that jumps out of the bedroom cupboard in the first Resident Evil PS1 game.
Vic when telling me to pick up my dirty socks and pants and put them in the washing basket.
HIP #4 is coming along quite nicely now. The new fireplace hearth is bedded down in cement, and the wooden flooring is shaping up around it. Once Tony the Werewolf boxes in the pipework, we'll be able to finish lying the floor and the skirting boards.
The hearth was eventually purchased from Site 77 - a reclaimation yard in Aston Clinton - on Friday. It is a reproduction - a single piece of black granite polished to a beautiful shiny surface. It catches and reflects the light, and if you gaze upon it, you can see your face looking back from its dark depths. If you stood it on its side, it would look like the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey.
After putting the floor down, we crashed out on the sofa and sat open-mouthed, gazing upon the granite hearth like primitive apemen. Vic even picked up a large thigh bone, bashed the granite with it, and roared with primal rage.
"Rah!"
You probably don't realise how frustrating it is getting these things straight and level...
Spelling Correction
There's only one L in cassoulet.
Signs
Watched the movie Signs on Friday night. Pretty good. Well-acted, nicely paced, understated, and apart from the rather obvious Sixth Sense style twist, just unpredictable enough to keep you guessing. It was also notable in that it managed to make me jump - something very few films do. The poor skewered doggy now finds himself on a short-list with:
The head in the small boat with the hole in its hull in Jaws.
Something stupid - perhaps a squeeling cat - in the original Halloween.
The zombie that jumps out of the bedroom cupboard in the first Resident Evil PS1 game.
Vic when telling me to pick up my dirty socks and pants and put them in the washing basket.
