Chrome

Not in the Cyprus Hill "Stay away from my chrome fool" sense, the Catherine Wheel album. It's every bit as fabulous as when I first heard it at around 15 / 16. Catherine Wheel are one of a few bands who can really make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end - on this album it's the way a clean, beautiful note or vocal or chord will slowly rise from the wall of sound they create with guitars - it can be intensely euphoric at times.

N O here we go

Flying out tomorrow at 09:00 from Birmingham Airport - the first of three flights in a journey totalling over eighteen hours. I'm excited but dreading all that flying as I found the four hours to Greece bad enough a few years back. Still, it will be worth it. According to the BBC it will be 36 degrees Celsius (that's 97 degrees Fahrenheit in old money) in New Orleans tomorrow - scorchio!

Over the last week I've continued to cycle to and from work, round Sutton Park and anywhere else I can manage. This has saved me a fortune in petrol and parking but not given me the beach body I was hoping for, although, I am losing weight. The plan is to swap cycling for swimming in the hotel pool whilst we're away, so hopefully I can continue the downward curve in the size of my stomach.

There have been some family and friend episodes of late which have occupied some of my time - not altogether as serious as they at first seemed - but a timely reminder that all is not as it appears on the surface. Relationships are complicated, turbulent things at the best of times but it is still surprising to discover what lies beneath the united front couples present in public. Hopefully all concerned will be in a happier place when we get back.

My parents fly back from Mexico tomorrow so we may pass one another over the Atlantic.

Yesterday I stayed after work for a beer in the sunshine with a colleague. A beer turned into six or seven, followed by cycling home in the gathering dark. Weirdly I found myself powering up hills in one of the highest gears - the same hills that sober I would take my time over in a low gear and still find exhausting. The ale I had consumed was like Optimax for cyclists and I made it home in record time. I fully expected to find the arduous homeward journey utterly debilitating after drinking so I was a little confused by my performance. Either I'm actually much fitter than I thought and the alcohol relaxed my inhibitions, allowing me to release my potential or I'm a hopeless alcoholic who needs a drink to do anything well.

Disabled people

are on the TV right now in a fashion show style thing. It shouldn't be weird, but it is - which I guess is a testament to the brainwashing of media.

I'm not going to post much because I've just got back from the pub and I need to go to sleep:

Cycled to work today. On the way there I was like a raging bull, on the way home I was like an apologetic kitten. Thursday I spent all day on the damnable CIV IV. I do mean all day too: started at about 08:00 ish and finished at 21:00 ish - what a waste.

Watched a few more films over the last few days. The Unforgiven is one of the best films I've seen in a long time. I love Clint Eastwood.

Odd jobs

On Tuesday I fitted a new bracket to our garden gate which had been coming away from the wall. It proved quite challenging because the wood the gate post is made of is too tough too screw into by hand, or with a battery powered drill. This meant using my heavy duty Black and Decker mains powered drill - which is kind of like a hand held road drill! The screws were going in just fine, but if I held the trigger down for a fraction too long they would over-tighten and the screw heads would twist off. Eventually I had to settle for three out of four screws holding the bracket in place, it seems fairly stable... for now.

Yesterday my girlfriend needed a little IT help at work. Her company only employ one IT guy for the whole country so he is understandably busy, but the level of support she received from him was pretty woeful: having taken delivery of a refurbished PC for the office, set it up and connected all the cables, she was still unable to access the Internet. In IT support, second only to "turn it off and on again" is " are all the cables connected at both ends?". This guy didn't ask the second question, so I cycled into Sutton and connected the other end of an Ethernet cable to a router and hey presto - Internet access. For this arduous task I was rewarded handsomely with a pub lunch and a pint of Amstel - now that's the kind of IT support I could cope with!

There has been another addition to my playing roster of late, one that has swelled to take up a vast amount of my time and replace all others: Sid Meier's Civilisation IV. Lots of games are described as addictive, but this genuinely is digital crack. I am currently cultivating a most English empire; Christianity, naval prowess and commerce are the order of the day and it is a difficult balance to maintain. I'm certainly the richest of the competing nations, but my forces are spread far and wide due to the various trade outposts I need to protect. I think next I might try my hand at Communism.

Eastern Promises

Very different to the last David Cronenberg film I watched, Naked Lunch! I enjoyed the gritty, oft disturbing look at a Russian maffia family in London and thought Viggo Mortensen made an excellent fixer. Vincent Cassel was also very convincing as the lunatic son with too much power. Didn't enjoy it as much as I might have as I saw the twist coming a mile off.

The Night of the Hunter

This 1955 film noir features some gorgeous and striking cinematography. The night time shots, with their harsh moonlight and stark shadows, bring out the horror of killer Reverend Harry Powell (played by Robert Mitchum). His haunting singing and call of "children" is very unnerving.

The psychological response of the children to the awful things which happen to them is somewhat less convincing, however, and towards the end preachy sentimentality replaces the earlier suspense, but it's not enough to spoil an entertaining film. Nice to see the MGM lion again too!

Thirteen Days

Had a nice evening out with friends we haven't seen in a while in the Station pub on Saturday night, cooked a Sunday dinner for my girlfriend's parents and last night did the pub quiz at the Horse and Jockey. The quiz was quite fun until the quiz master made a total hash of one of the rounds and we lost track and gave up. From that point on his amplified drone became unbearable - harmless when you're involved in what he's saying but try having a conversation with an insistent quiz master for a soundtrack - we very quickly finished our drinks and moved on to the the Station.

The bar was almost empty - it being a nice night everybody was outside - and there was a barman on duty we had not seen there before. He was noteworthy for several reasons; firstly because he told us off for ruminating on the possible reasons for naming a particularly nice ale Black Sheep, and secondly because he refused to serve a young punter who had been at the bar longer than us. We thought it was odd when he asked the guy for his order three times - it was quiet in there and he was speaking clearly. After the third time he turned to us instead and, armed with the magic word, our order was successful. I was quite pleased with the scrawny, beatnik barman standing up to the chavy young customer for not being polite - he looked like the sort who wouldn't think twice about spilling your pint before happy slapping you in the car park and yet he didn't know where to put himself when required to produce manners.

I've been doing plenty of cycling and working out in the gym too (although I've not cycled to work again yet, maybe Friday...) and generally getting in shape for our holiday - which is now just under two weeks away. It's been some time (five years in fact) since my girlfriend and I jetted off somewhere exotic for a holiday, so this year we decided: to hell with the overdrafts, we're off to New Orleans! We've both been fascinated by the place for some time, mostly from reading about it in Anne Rice and Poppy Z Brite books, but also because of the Voodoo / Hoodoo business, the Blues and Jazz music and of course the wonderful Cajun style cooking. Gumbo here we come!

There and back again

Got up this morning and the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and everything was right with the world - the perfect day to make good on my plans to cycle to work. It took less than fifty minutes and I arrived at work feeling like superman. Fast forward to the end of the day, though, and I was feeling decidedly human: after a long and boring shift, and with the knowledge that the heavens had opened outside, I wondered why the hell I'd done it to myself.

It was a hard and soggy slog home but the feeling of achievemnet when I made it was immense. Aside from a quick shower I've barely moved since getting in - I haven't even the energy to clean my bike using the shiny new outside tap and hose. Will I do it all again tomorrow? Rather depends on the weather I think.

Odyssey

This morning I decided to see how long it would take to cycle to Tamworth with a view to taking my bike to work on fine days, rather than the car. I had a vague idea that if I made it to Drayton Bassett - a little village about half way to Tamworth - I could join the Birmingham and Fazely Canal and avoid the busy roads. The distance is about 12 miles from my house, so I figured it should take me an hour each way tops. Over three hours later I arrived at my destination; parched, sun burnt and exhausted.

My first mistake was heading up the Birmingham and Fazely Canal in the direction of Birmingham instead of Fazely. I made it as far as Curdworth before asking for directions from two highly amused barge owners. I then set off in the direction of Fazely, took the correct turn towards Tamworth up the Coventry Canal, but then managed to overshoot it by miles - making it almost as far as Alvecote.

A kindly elderly gentleman pointed me back towards Tamworth when we were both stopped at a gate. He was cycling to a nearby Abbey where he worked as a translator of ancient scripture for the United Nations - I had no idea they were involved in such things! He told me that he was nearly eighty and that people didn't like his translations much, but that he was too old to care. He had a radio in the basket on the front of his bike, which was playing a haunting female operatic vocal the whole time we were talking. He asked me to accompany him for a cup of tea at the Abbey, but I felt as though I had lost enough time already so I declined. Perhaps I will head out that way again one day and buy him a cup of tea.

Next my half baked internal homing pigeon led me to get off the canal too early, at Amington, leaving me with a long stretch of fairly busy road into the city centre. Several wrong turns later I had made it to the park outside the shopping centre - hurrah!

The return journey did take just under an hour but towards the end it became extremely painful: after four hours my saddle felt like the pointy end of a pike and and my legs were like leaden weights I could barley move. Still, I made it home in one piece, and now that I know the route (which does take in some glorious scenery) I'll be cycling in tomorrow if the weather holds.

Farewell to summer sun and warm ale

St Swithun's day if thou dost rain
For forty days it will remain
St Swithun's day if thou be fair
For forty days 'twill rain na mair

It is getting perilously close to the 15th of July (St Swithun's Day) and the old adage proved to be miserably accurate the last two years. This year it wasn't looking so bad, but the last week or so we've not seen much sun - and weather reports today are warning of "a month's rain in 24 hours".

One of the consequences of the wet weather is that my bike and I get absolutely caked in mud when I go to the park. Having no outside tap - I am forced to rely on the kindness of the lady who lives below us: if the old dear is in, she gladly lets me use her hose pipe, which she connects to her kitchen tap and trails out the window into our back garden. It does make me feel a little guilty bothering her for this purpose though - she is getting on a bit and has problems with her back. A more permanent solution should be in place either this afternoon or tomorrow in the form of an outside tap, which the chap who fitted our central heating system is installing for us.

On Monday evening I met up with one of my best friends from school who now lives down south. He was incredibly stressed (as he often is) and I was still feeling pretty wiped out from my parents barbecue the day before. Mainly for those reasons, I hope, the conversation was a little stilted. I do find it difficult with friends that I don't see very often to just pick up where we left off. Email correspondence might make things a little easier, but I think that has more or less been destroyed by the evil of Faceboook - it's very difficult to have any kind of meaningful discourse using the painfully self aware public showboating of the wall post.

We decided yesterday evening to make the most of the failing summer sun and take a walk through the park to a pub on the other side and get some tea. The meal itself was a little disappointing but my girlfriend was impressed with the Guinness. At first I was pleased to note that they served Green King IPA, but unfortunately that was off. The only alternative was a "superchilled" Pedigree - cold enough to remove all flavour - genius.

Scabby knee

Yesterday I got my girlfriend back - she has finally finished marking GCSE exam papers for another year. It's been weird the last few weeks sharing a house but not really seeing very much of each other. My parents were having a barbecue on Sunday which gave us a chance to clelbrate - we spent a pleasant afternoon burning food, getting alternately soaked or sunned (British summertime) and drinking copious amounts of Cava and little stubby french lagers.

Whilst the nuclear furnace that is my Dad's barbecue was getting up to temperature I witnessed a very special thing: Bilbo, the German Shepherd, eating an apple!



I had decided to cycle over to my parents house and maybe leave my bike if we took a taxi home. Unfortunately when it was time to go my sozzled brain told me that cycling home in the dark with no lights after an afternoon's drinking was a brilliant idea. My reward for such clarity of thought was a full on, over the handlebars spill - and the scabby knee to prove it.

Fear of Sharia

Just like the Lord Chief Justice I am far from an expert on Sharia law - but I wish to register my deep unease at the idea of its enshrinement in law in this country in any way shape or form - which is what he seems to be recommending this week. Surely the answer to extremism is integration? Not furthering the segregation that results from the failed experimentation in multiculturalism we've seen in this country.

How can a group of people who work and worship seperately; (and because of this have no need to learn their country's language) are subject to different laws, judged by different courts, how can they feel any empathy for their fellow Britons? Won't this further division of cultures simply intensify the kind of seperatism that can lead to extremism?

Will British courts now uphold Polygamy? Is the repression of women to be recognised in law? I'm sure there are perfectly sensible elements of Sharia law, but surely it is not racist to ask those who wish to prectise it to move to a country where it is legally recognised?

At a time when our government is presiding over a veritable fire sale of this country's hard won civil liberties - in the name of protecting us from the threat of terrorism - it seems that a small minority of Britons are to benefit from greater freedom over their everyday lives, with the same aim in mind. In what twisted universe could that possibly be considered either fair or right?

As predicted

My final three essays all scored a 2:1. It's completely my fault for not spending enough time on them and not doing adequate secondary reading, but I'm still feeling a bit glum about it. It's frustrating to think that with just a little more effort I could have maintained my average. Still, hopefully it's given me the kick up the arse I needed to really knuckle down in the second year, and get on with some preparatory reading this summer!

At lunch time today, sat on a bench by the river in the park - having eaten my Boots meal deal and attempted to read a little more North and South - I decided to get out my compact camera and take a few shots. As I composed on the LCD screen I began to feel a little uncomfortable about the fact that there were young children playing near by. I've read a number of articles recently about photographers being hassled by police and other officials when using their cameras in public places. Obviously there's no law against taking photographs in public, but I felt as though my intentions might be viewed suspiciously by those around me - especially with the current insanity regarding the CRB checking of any adult who may come into contact with children, professionally or otherwise. What a sad world - what could be more innocent than taking a picture of a child playing happily in the park on a sunny day? I decided to turn around and photograph the swans on the river instead - they didn't seem to mind.

Nervous anticipation

Today was a lazy day, only managed to get out to on my bike for a brief trip to Sainsburys - spent the rest of it lounging around with my siblings playing games. There was much laughter over a game called PAIN which involves launching your character from a giant slingshot into a populated city. Points are scored by inflicting maximum damage to yourself and the surroundings, with bonus points for feats of skill such as landing on your testicles. The room for experimentation within fairly tight boundaries produced some humorous impromptu contests, the best of which was attempting to land ass-first on a sunbathing lady atop a skyscraper. Fun times.

Tomorrow morning, before work, I'll be heading off to pick up my end of year results from Birmingham City University. I'm hoping I've managed to maintain my average which had me on course for a 1st, but I've a feeling the last three essays will have dragged me down to a 2:1.

Bad sport

That's me. I really can't stand being forced to do something that I'm bad at in front of people. Tonight we came home from eating out in Sutton and before long Singstar came out, which in theory is fun, but not if you can't sing for toffee. So I have gone to bed in a strop. Childish? Probably. But it's a bit disheartening when everybody else has an excellent singing voice and you are tone deaf. Goodnight.