03 November 2003
Life note: Epping Forest
The Tongs had glorious fun in Epping Forest on Sunday. Tossing survial knowledge into the wind we parked the car by the forest and ran at random through the trees making monkey noises. Within one hour we were utterly lost and one hour from sundown.
Staggering in blind directions through the forest we found an old tree that had fallen over and been caught, balancing horizontally, on the forked bough of another tree. With Bear and Monkey sitting on one end, and Ferg and I pushing and pulling the trunk at the other, we had a natural see-saw. Playing with this helped pass another half hour of the rapidly dwindling time before nightfall.
As it became too dark to take photographs of our newfound treen plaything, the seriousness of encroaching death became slightly more real to us and we headed off in completely the wrong direction. After several mini-conferences, each of which both concluded with unanimous consent and contradicted our previous agreement, we found a main road and - better still - a pub. We rewarded ourselves with a strong drink until the night had finally fallen.
The Tongs had glorious fun in Epping Forest on Sunday. Tossing survial knowledge into the wind we parked the car by the forest and ran at random through the trees making monkey noises. Within one hour we were utterly lost and one hour from sundown.
Staggering in blind directions through the forest we found an old tree that had fallen over and been caught, balancing horizontally, on the forked bough of another tree. With Bear and Monkey sitting on one end, and Ferg and I pushing and pulling the trunk at the other, we had a natural see-saw. Playing with this helped pass another half hour of the rapidly dwindling time before nightfall.
As it became too dark to take photographs of our newfound treen plaything, the seriousness of encroaching death became slightly more real to us and we headed off in completely the wrong direction. After several mini-conferences, each of which both concluded with unanimous consent and contradicted our previous agreement, we found a main road and - better still - a pub. We rewarded ourselves with a strong drink until the night had finally fallen.
Life note: Skateboarding
Fergal and I were practising our skateboarding moves yesterday. We are both good at very different sk8er trix - e.g. Ferg is simply a whizz at 'coat coasting' (gliding down a flat pavement, holding onto my arm for balance and propulsion) whilst I chose to take greater risks and have mastered the 'triple-flip elbow hop' (skateboard goes three times faster than Rickbot; Rickbot catapults backwards into air; Rickbot elbow takes full brunt of collapse onto concrete).
Tomorrow we tackle the 'half pipe' (filling the bowl with five pinches of Aromatic Cavendish, relaxing into a leather armchair and puffing away until the pain fades).
Fergal and I were practising our skateboarding moves yesterday. We are both good at very different sk8er trix - e.g. Ferg is simply a whizz at 'coat coasting' (gliding down a flat pavement, holding onto my arm for balance and propulsion) whilst I chose to take greater risks and have mastered the 'triple-flip elbow hop' (skateboard goes three times faster than Rickbot; Rickbot catapults backwards into air; Rickbot elbow takes full brunt of collapse onto concrete).
Tomorrow we tackle the 'half pipe' (filling the bowl with five pinches of Aromatic Cavendish, relaxing into a leather armchair and puffing away until the pain fades).
Life note: Halloween
I went up to Cambridge for a Spooky Halloween Party in Luke's rooms on Friday. It began with two mannish women who sat in a corner and refused to employ more than one word to answer my questions. Abi and I then drank lots of cheap dark rum to pass the time, and Abi taught me all about modern music. The mannish women conspired to steal my entire box of mini-cheddars. Rio turned up halfway through and I showed her how to crack a whip. In return, she showed me how to break a whip. She drank pineapple juice and then vanished. Things began to get spookier after midnight, with three hours and significant quantities of cheap dark rum vanishing without trace.
At three thirty two burly porters appeared at the door with bureaucratic frowns decorating their faces. Abi and I were the first to greet them and they did not much seem to like us. When I took a photograph for my records they became enraged - I have heard porters believe cameras can steal their souls - and so Abi and I beat a hasty retreat to our bedroom. As we staggered through the courtyard we could make out the porters lurking in the shadows, keeping careful watch over us.
We got to bed at about four o'clock, and almost immediately a bedder came in at nine thirty to make sure we were up and ready to vacate the room. With porters and bedders getting in the way all the time, I am very glad I do not employ my own servants.
I went up to Cambridge for a Spooky Halloween Party in Luke's rooms on Friday. It began with two mannish women who sat in a corner and refused to employ more than one word to answer my questions. Abi and I then drank lots of cheap dark rum to pass the time, and Abi taught me all about modern music. The mannish women conspired to steal my entire box of mini-cheddars. Rio turned up halfway through and I showed her how to crack a whip. In return, she showed me how to break a whip. She drank pineapple juice and then vanished. Things began to get spookier after midnight, with three hours and significant quantities of cheap dark rum vanishing without trace.
At three thirty two burly porters appeared at the door with bureaucratic frowns decorating their faces. Abi and I were the first to greet them and they did not much seem to like us. When I took a photograph for my records they became enraged - I have heard porters believe cameras can steal their souls - and so Abi and I beat a hasty retreat to our bedroom. As we staggered through the courtyard we could make out the porters lurking in the shadows, keeping careful watch over us.
We got to bed at about four o'clock, and almost immediately a bedder came in at nine thirty to make sure we were up and ready to vacate the room. With porters and bedders getting in the way all the time, I am very glad I do not employ my own servants.
Life note: The ravens
Birds have evolved a special way of eating snails - they capture them in their beaks, fly very high, and then drop the poor creatures over rocks so their shells shatter and the birds can eat the delicious meaty pay load.
It seems Darwin has been working extra hard on the evolution of birds in the past hundred years, since this morning I was walking down Chancery Lane and saw a couple of ravens using exactly this technique to break into a vacuum-sealed sandwhich pack. Sadly the plastic pack did not burst open when it hit the ground. It just sort of fell there and looked sorry for itself, and in the end I had to go over and give the ravens a helping hand, but I was very impressed they were trying.
Thought on evolution: perhaps sandwiches have evolved these strong shells to protect them from predators? Back in the 1930s sandwiches would just sit on plates and get snuffled up in seconds (see: Algernon's rapid consumption of cucumber sanwiches in Act One of the Importance of Being Earnest). Their current carapace protects them from the weak fingers of children and pensioners - after a few more years of evolution, I confidently predict no one will be able to eat sandwiches. They will effectively be Daleks.
Birds have evolved a special way of eating snails - they capture them in their beaks, fly very high, and then drop the poor creatures over rocks so their shells shatter and the birds can eat the delicious meaty pay load.
It seems Darwin has been working extra hard on the evolution of birds in the past hundred years, since this morning I was walking down Chancery Lane and saw a couple of ravens using exactly this technique to break into a vacuum-sealed sandwhich pack. Sadly the plastic pack did not burst open when it hit the ground. It just sort of fell there and looked sorry for itself, and in the end I had to go over and give the ravens a helping hand, but I was very impressed they were trying.
Thought on evolution: perhaps sandwiches have evolved these strong shells to protect them from predators? Back in the 1930s sandwiches would just sit on plates and get snuffled up in seconds (see: Algernon's rapid consumption of cucumber sanwiches in Act One of the Importance of Being Earnest). Their current carapace protects them from the weak fingers of children and pensioners - after a few more years of evolution, I confidently predict no one will be able to eat sandwiches. They will effectively be Daleks.
Shorts review: Small Stories
After cockroach dinner fun, we went to see a series of short films by fledgling directors at the London Film Festival. This is a fun way to watch movies because it doesn't matter if you get bored, another one will be on in ten minutes. I would guess the common theme of these movies was childhood, or growing up, or something about Irish baby beaters - here are my short shorts reviews:
My Blind Brother - a blind man swims across the sea with the help of his clumsy brother. Well shot but a bit of a one joke pony.
Shade - a boy likes sitting under a tree. It transpires his younger sister feels the same way. Comical and well filmed.
Bye-Child - a girl likes sitting in a shed. The local priest does not feel the same way. Over the top Irish nonesense, with the twist seeping out days before the climax.
Dead Roosters - a Ukrainian man kills his brother whilst they are both naked in a swimming pool. Sub-Tarantino crap.
Spin - an adolescent boy tries to resist the urge to kiss his slightly ugly male friend. He succeeds. Probably the most visually ingenious short.
Houdini’s Hound - a young boy impresses his cousin with escapology. Charming, witty and pointless.
What About Me? - harrowing propoganda funded by eighteen seperate anti-drug agencies. A good cameo by an hermaphrodite gym teacher. There was a good bit with a bin bag at the end, apparently.
After cockroach dinner fun, we went to see a series of short films by fledgling directors at the London Film Festival. This is a fun way to watch movies because it doesn't matter if you get bored, another one will be on in ten minutes. I would guess the common theme of these movies was childhood, or growing up, or something about Irish baby beaters - here are my short shorts reviews:
My Blind Brother - a blind man swims across the sea with the help of his clumsy brother. Well shot but a bit of a one joke pony.
Shade - a boy likes sitting under a tree. It transpires his younger sister feels the same way. Comical and well filmed.
Bye-Child - a girl likes sitting in a shed. The local priest does not feel the same way. Over the top Irish nonesense, with the twist seeping out days before the climax.
Dead Roosters - a Ukrainian man kills his brother whilst they are both naked in a swimming pool. Sub-Tarantino crap.
Spin - an adolescent boy tries to resist the urge to kiss his slightly ugly male friend. He succeeds. Probably the most visually ingenious short.
Houdini’s Hound - a young boy impresses his cousin with escapology. Charming, witty and pointless.
What About Me? - harrowing propoganda funded by eighteen seperate anti-drug agencies. A good cameo by an hermaphrodite gym teacher. There was a good bit with a bin bag at the end, apparently.
Life note: Italian roaches
Last Tuesday I met up with Deepa and Fergal to go to the cinema, and we sought a spot to eat beforehand. Although this was not officially Ferg's slap up birthday meal, it was still a meal on his birthday and so we thought we should go somewhere nice. We ended up in the arse-end of Waterloo. I began to suspect the restaurant we found ourselves sitting in was more cordon bleugh than cordon bleu when Ferg wondered "Is that a cockroach on the wall?" and Deepa sighed, "It's certainly of the cockroach family".
I thought I had eaten the world's worst pizza in 1996, when I was squandering my annual student loan on a long trip around Central Europe. The pizza I was presented there was so far removed from any western understanding of food that I suspected the chef had only heard of the "pizza" through ancient folklore. The topping was tomato paste and raw garlic. When I stuck my knife into the base, it shattered into thousands of shards that cut the tongue. On that occasion we stole the key to the toilet, snuck out without paying, and cackled as we raced over the Charles Bridge to Bar Bar.
Last Tuesday night I met the first true contender to the claim for Worst Ever Pizza. I had ordered spinach, ricotta and anchovy pizza but what came was a lumpen piece of dough covered in waxy cheddar cheese, slices of ham and one anchovy fillet. This made for good table conversation since we got to debate whose fault it was that we ended up there (I think I won).
Last Tuesday I met up with Deepa and Fergal to go to the cinema, and we sought a spot to eat beforehand. Although this was not officially Ferg's slap up birthday meal, it was still a meal on his birthday and so we thought we should go somewhere nice. We ended up in the arse-end of Waterloo. I began to suspect the restaurant we found ourselves sitting in was more cordon bleugh than cordon bleu when Ferg wondered "Is that a cockroach on the wall?" and Deepa sighed, "It's certainly of the cockroach family".
I thought I had eaten the world's worst pizza in 1996, when I was squandering my annual student loan on a long trip around Central Europe. The pizza I was presented there was so far removed from any western understanding of food that I suspected the chef had only heard of the "pizza" through ancient folklore. The topping was tomato paste and raw garlic. When I stuck my knife into the base, it shattered into thousands of shards that cut the tongue. On that occasion we stole the key to the toilet, snuck out without paying, and cackled as we raced over the Charles Bridge to Bar Bar.
Last Tuesday night I met the first true contender to the claim for Worst Ever Pizza. I had ordered spinach, ricotta and anchovy pizza but what came was a lumpen piece of dough covered in waxy cheddar cheese, slices of ham and one anchovy fillet. This made for good table conversation since we got to debate whose fault it was that we ended up there (I think I won).
Life notes:Music man
After spending half an hour in Bar 38 trying to persuade Toph to give up his job and become a professional musician, on the grounds he is very good and halfway there already, I got very drunk, took the wrong train home, and two hours later found myself somewhere in the bowels of Kent.
It having been the last train that night, I caught a taxi back to London with a woman who had made the same mistake as me. It turned out she was from Brasenose college - just like Toph - and she had studied music - just like Toph - and she had thrown her real job in and become a professional musician - just like I was telling Toph to - and now, even though she is well respected, performs internationally and works every bloody hour god sends, she earns sod all.
I decided I was glad I don't play a musical instrument, paid for her share of the taxi, and skipped drunkenly to bed.
After spending half an hour in Bar 38 trying to persuade Toph to give up his job and become a professional musician, on the grounds he is very good and halfway there already, I got very drunk, took the wrong train home, and two hours later found myself somewhere in the bowels of Kent.
It having been the last train that night, I caught a taxi back to London with a woman who had made the same mistake as me. It turned out she was from Brasenose college - just like Toph - and she had studied music - just like Toph - and she had thrown her real job in and become a professional musician - just like I was telling Toph to - and now, even though she is well respected, performs internationally and works every bloody hour god sends, she earns sod all.
I decided I was glad I don't play a musical instrument, paid for her share of the taxi, and skipped drunkenly to bed.
