27 June 2005
SEPTEMBER 2004: UPDATE
28 September 2004 - ipod fun
Well, I've finished editing M's book. In the end it was simple: I just arranged an absurdly soon meeting at which I'd have to hand over the final edit, and sure enough the universe warped itself around me to ensure I met the deadline. I'm pleased with the end result, and even more pleased with the fact it's all finished.
To celebrate I bought a mini ipod. I am furious to discover it has to live unplayed with for the rest of the day whilst it charges up. This is so unfair. I've also had to endure people telling me how crap ipods are, and how I should have bought a Ramon Rivero or a Haymarket Riot, but that ignore the simple facts: I hardly ever listen to music, and I'm buying the ipod purely as a passing fad. It's the cheapest and prettiest option, and it will look lovely languishing in the bottom of my sock drawer once I'm bored of it.
24-26 September 2004 - Parents On The Town
My parents came to visit London last weekend, and so naturally at the first chance we drove off to Canterbury to see what that was like instead. They have great tapas in Canterbury, and everyone is really nice and well spoken. It's clean and pretty too. If I had to bring up a child then Canterbury would be my absolute third choice, after Hawaii and a space station. I also met the man who invented "Belleplates[tm]", a series of large metal musical instruments that make all the noise of a xylophone with all of the inconvenience of fifteen grand pianos. Still, he confidently assured me that it was God's will that he should invent them, and in this respect I cannot thank God enough for socking it to the dumb old sap.
On the Sunday, we went to see the stage version of the Lion King. Even as I booked the tickets last week I suspected that it was utterly pointless to attempt to portray a big-budget animation about wild animals on stage - after all, that's about as absurd as adapting Toy Story 2 as an ice-capade (showing at the Wembley Arena next month). I was, of course, proved completely correct by the tragic efforts portrayed on stage. Afterwards, my mum asked what I thought, and the shortest answer was 'dreadful': dreadful plot, dreadful acting, dreadful singing, dreadful songs. Avoid at all costs. In fact, burn down the theatre at all costs.
23 September - Embarrasing drunk friends
I've never been so ashamed of my friends as I was last night. They all refused to behave.
First, Arkansas kicked a full glass of wine over my feet at the dinner table, soaking my best shoes and trousers. Then Lani poured wine into the wine cooler and tried to decant it out of that into everyone's glasses. I tried to stop her, but the waitress got there first, and got a barrage of abuse off Seamus for her trouble.
Finally, as we settled up, the waiter quite reasonably asked for the £1.80 we were short for the bill, and Darien fired back "One pound fucking eighty!?" And then argued with the waiter over whether or not this was rude (as the waiter contended) or "simply a family tradition" (as Darien obtusely claimed).
Sometimes, I think I'm the only sane one in the group.
18 September - Spim's birthday party
Spim had a splendid 30th birthday party at which Bots and Tongs alike met and danced like crazy (I exclude here Dan, who danced not at all and opted instead to grope Helen in the corner, which frankly suited him better). There was some good gin on offer, and wine, and cider, and beer, until we all grew too tired to stay at the party. Back at MnkiFrki house, we drank the most unnecessary bottle of wine ever, and waited until 3:20 to toast the ageing Spim. So, Darien 30 next?
11 September - Week report
This weekend is devoted to editing M's book. In this dedicated spirit I am having dinner at wTim's and Bobbie's house this evening, heading to a 9/11 party after than, and then meeting catan bots for lunch tomorrow.
In other news:
1. I'm in b3ta's newsletter this week - for hugging policewomen, riding in a rickshaw and posing with an insect on my shoulder about two years ago.
2. I went to see They Might Be Giants who were very affable and played pleasant music. I didn't recognise any of their songs - apart from Constanstinople and Bird Cage - but it was a pleasant evening. They really know how to play their audience. The finale was a triumphant exponential growth of noise and speed.
3. It turns out All Bar One is not as evil as I had hitherto believed - there is waiter service, you can get tapas for six for £20, and the wine isn't all that bad.
4. Last night I was asked for age ID to buy beer in Sainsburies. This is the first time in nine years. I would have been flattered if I hadn't been laughing so much. Although I had no id on me (possessing at that moment only a fiver, pajama bottoms, a hooded top and slippers), my astonished amusement and assurances that I had a good ten year buffer seemed to reassure the assistant.
5. On the bus this morning, I couldn't work out if the woman standing next to me was very very pregnant or very very fat. This threw me into a moral dilemma, since if I asked a fat woman if she wanted a seat she'd be offended, whilst if I didn't offer a pregnant woman a seat then she'd probably split open and abort her foetus there and then. I decided to forget the issue and read the Metro letters page instead (disappointing today). Sure enough, as I left I got a menacing glare from the woman. In conclusion, I think she was just a very fat pregnant woman, and the exercise of standing will do her good. Besides, do we really need yet more screaming balls of bone, fat and blood cluttering up the streets?
6. My chilis have grown. Each one is hot enough to generate a year's electicity for a small Welsh village. If anyone likes unfeasibly hot fresh chilis, tip me the wink and I'll furnish you with some.
Update: The 9/11 party was a resounding success, and included the filming of the September 11th Memorial Video, a reconstruction of the harrowing scenes from that fateful day, including discussions with many powerful political leaders and an exclusive interview with the terrorist leader.
5 September - Tong's farewell BBQ
A splendid Tong bbq was held to wish a fond farewell to the days of plenty, as MnkiFrki move out to enjoy homeless wedded bliss. The event was a roaring success. Ellie entertained all with her tales of waking up covered in blood, and later vommitted on the duvet; Deepa entertained us all with tales of camping in Kenya and made a most amazing salad; Fergal entertained us all with occasional whoops and made splendid lamb burgers ; spim entertained us all with the bbq, and earlier vommitted in the bathroom; Lucy entertained us all with tales of surfing; and Rick quietly got drunk on cider. We also discovered the first Tongs uberword: Skateboarding [Skate (a fish) + Boa (a snake) + Boar (a pig)]
28 September 2004 - ipod fun
Well, I've finished editing M's book. In the end it was simple: I just arranged an absurdly soon meeting at which I'd have to hand over the final edit, and sure enough the universe warped itself around me to ensure I met the deadline. I'm pleased with the end result, and even more pleased with the fact it's all finished.
To celebrate I bought a mini ipod. I am furious to discover it has to live unplayed with for the rest of the day whilst it charges up. This is so unfair. I've also had to endure people telling me how crap ipods are, and how I should have bought a Ramon Rivero or a Haymarket Riot, but that ignore the simple facts: I hardly ever listen to music, and I'm buying the ipod purely as a passing fad. It's the cheapest and prettiest option, and it will look lovely languishing in the bottom of my sock drawer once I'm bored of it.
24-26 September 2004 - Parents On The Town
My parents came to visit London last weekend, and so naturally at the first chance we drove off to Canterbury to see what that was like instead. They have great tapas in Canterbury, and everyone is really nice and well spoken. It's clean and pretty too. If I had to bring up a child then Canterbury would be my absolute third choice, after Hawaii and a space station. I also met the man who invented "Belleplates[tm]", a series of large metal musical instruments that make all the noise of a xylophone with all of the inconvenience of fifteen grand pianos. Still, he confidently assured me that it was God's will that he should invent them, and in this respect I cannot thank God enough for socking it to the dumb old sap.
On the Sunday, we went to see the stage version of the Lion King. Even as I booked the tickets last week I suspected that it was utterly pointless to attempt to portray a big-budget animation about wild animals on stage - after all, that's about as absurd as adapting Toy Story 2 as an ice-capade (showing at the Wembley Arena next month). I was, of course, proved completely correct by the tragic efforts portrayed on stage. Afterwards, my mum asked what I thought, and the shortest answer was 'dreadful': dreadful plot, dreadful acting, dreadful singing, dreadful songs. Avoid at all costs. In fact, burn down the theatre at all costs.
23 September - Embarrasing drunk friends
I've never been so ashamed of my friends as I was last night. They all refused to behave.
First, Arkansas kicked a full glass of wine over my feet at the dinner table, soaking my best shoes and trousers. Then Lani poured wine into the wine cooler and tried to decant it out of that into everyone's glasses. I tried to stop her, but the waitress got there first, and got a barrage of abuse off Seamus for her trouble.
Finally, as we settled up, the waiter quite reasonably asked for the £1.80 we were short for the bill, and Darien fired back "One pound fucking eighty!?" And then argued with the waiter over whether or not this was rude (as the waiter contended) or "simply a family tradition" (as Darien obtusely claimed).
Sometimes, I think I'm the only sane one in the group.
18 September - Spim's birthday party
Spim had a splendid 30th birthday party at which Bots and Tongs alike met and danced like crazy (I exclude here Dan, who danced not at all and opted instead to grope Helen in the corner, which frankly suited him better). There was some good gin on offer, and wine, and cider, and beer, until we all grew too tired to stay at the party. Back at MnkiFrki house, we drank the most unnecessary bottle of wine ever, and waited until 3:20 to toast the ageing Spim. So, Darien 30 next?
11 September - Week report
This weekend is devoted to editing M's book. In this dedicated spirit I am having dinner at wTim's and Bobbie's house this evening, heading to a 9/11 party after than, and then meeting catan bots for lunch tomorrow.
In other news:
1. I'm in b3ta's newsletter this week - for hugging policewomen, riding in a rickshaw and posing with an insect on my shoulder about two years ago.
2. I went to see They Might Be Giants who were very affable and played pleasant music. I didn't recognise any of their songs - apart from Constanstinople and Bird Cage - but it was a pleasant evening. They really know how to play their audience. The finale was a triumphant exponential growth of noise and speed.
3. It turns out All Bar One is not as evil as I had hitherto believed - there is waiter service, you can get tapas for six for £20, and the wine isn't all that bad.
4. Last night I was asked for age ID to buy beer in Sainsburies. This is the first time in nine years. I would have been flattered if I hadn't been laughing so much. Although I had no id on me (possessing at that moment only a fiver, pajama bottoms, a hooded top and slippers), my astonished amusement and assurances that I had a good ten year buffer seemed to reassure the assistant.
5. On the bus this morning, I couldn't work out if the woman standing next to me was very very pregnant or very very fat. This threw me into a moral dilemma, since if I asked a fat woman if she wanted a seat she'd be offended, whilst if I didn't offer a pregnant woman a seat then she'd probably split open and abort her foetus there and then. I decided to forget the issue and read the Metro letters page instead (disappointing today). Sure enough, as I left I got a menacing glare from the woman. In conclusion, I think she was just a very fat pregnant woman, and the exercise of standing will do her good. Besides, do we really need yet more screaming balls of bone, fat and blood cluttering up the streets?
6. My chilis have grown. Each one is hot enough to generate a year's electicity for a small Welsh village. If anyone likes unfeasibly hot fresh chilis, tip me the wink and I'll furnish you with some.
Update: The 9/11 party was a resounding success, and included the filming of the September 11th Memorial Video, a reconstruction of the harrowing scenes from that fateful day, including discussions with many powerful political leaders and an exclusive interview with the terrorist leader.
5 September - Tong's farewell BBQ
A splendid Tong bbq was held to wish a fond farewell to the days of plenty, as MnkiFrki move out to enjoy homeless wedded bliss. The event was a roaring success. Ellie entertained all with her tales of waking up covered in blood, and later vommitted on the duvet; Deepa entertained us all with tales of camping in Kenya and made a most amazing salad; Fergal entertained us all with occasional whoops and made splendid lamb burgers ; spim entertained us all with the bbq, and earlier vommitted in the bathroom; Lucy entertained us all with tales of surfing; and Rick quietly got drunk on cider. We also discovered the first Tongs uberword: Skateboarding [Skate (a fish) + Boa (a snake) + Boar (a pig)]
UPDATE: AUGUST 2004
As the end of June approaches, one's thoughts naturally turn to August of the previous year; so here is an update of what I did in that month:
27-30 August 2004: Edinburgh Festival Fun
Spim, David Starkey and I boarded an early morning BMI flight to Edinburgh, and the resulting August bank holiday weekend was a mere blur:
1. a girl's breasts so startled spim, we had to leave the bar
2. a man we didn't like - whose wife we liked but it transpired was far worse - bought us all a seemingly endless amount of alcohol
3. we went to a tiny island in the the estuary with my brother and family, and lurked in the cloisters of a ruined monastery to hide from the sleet; Melanie had wisely brought an emergency bottle of wine, so all was not lost.
4. spim refereed a wrestling match between Chloe and Anja, and lost
5. we ate hotdogs whilst two of Olivia's favourite celebrities sauntered by, and I didn't even point them out
6. we found a spiegeltent, where spim urinated
7. we ate a hearty breakfast at EH1 and wished we had not drunk so much the night before
8. Helen and Hat's train to Edinburgh had been delayed, and took over eight hours. Our flight back to London took twice as long as it should have, and was still just 120 minutes.
We also saw some shows. Count Arthur Strong verged on genius - his song "I Knew an Old Lady who Swallowed a Horse" was a real show stopper. Next was Noble and Silver, who have really gone downhill. Their show stopper was a man ejaculating over a radio. The Tiger Lillies: Punch and Judy was just the early draft of what will hopefully be a wonderfully dark show, and was still fantastic. Flight of the Conchords was weak - all the new material was abysmal.
25 August 2004: Arkanlaura
So last night we all went to the cocktail bar to meet Arkansis and Arkanlaura. Hannah spent a lot of the time talking about how much she wanted to sleep with Darien*, and we all ate Vietnamese food - which is like Chinese food, only with a different alphabet.
*Not much at all, as it turned out.
Set report: Star Warz Episode 3 - 21-22 August
A barrel full of bots boarded the Etchingham express after work and - after a brief champagne train party and an argument over the appropriate policy on providing company salaries to manager-shareholders - arrived fresh and ready to launch a mammoth movie making weekend.
Sight and Sound recently lamented the fact that - despite the availability of relatively cheap recording and editing equipment - there has not yet been a great homemade movie. Sight and Sound need look no further, as in a mere weekend the Bots produced Star Warz III: a Sithward Lurch. Tired of waiting for George Lucas to unveil his own episode three, the Bots sat down in the conservatory with some cans of beer, and within twenty minutes had on their hands a hit script with all the elements of a summer blockbuster: from the execution of Darth Lani at the hands of the Emperor, to the thrilling battle between Darth Helen, Anakin and a cartwheeling Amidala, to the terrifying spilling of a nice cup of tea that leads to the creation of Darkansas. Ten out of ten. A surefire, feel good movie.
17 August 2004: Palestine
I met up with former housemate Steve at the Coal Hole, to talk through his ideas for a new comic book about Palestine. The idea seemed rather similar to the current comic book Palestine, but this did not seem to faze him. It was nice to see him again, and be bought endless beers for 'helping', but since I know nothing about the comics business I'm not sure what my role was.
13-15 August 2004: Trip up Yorkshire
I left work at 5:30 on Friday with the full intention of heading down to the Coal Hole to drink beer with friends, on the understanding I would be getting up early the next day to go visit my parents in Leeds. Alas, as I left work the information came to me (via a chance encounter with a random piece of paper in my bag) that I had precisely one hour and ten minutes to get from work to King's Cross Station in order to catch the train I had wisely prebooked but completely forgotten. Furthermore, the ticket was valid only on that train, and failure to catch it would mean having to buy an extra ticket at some ludicrous sum.
This would not have been a problem if I didn't first have to go home to Forest Hill to pick up the tickets and pack some things. Cue an amusing montage of me running across London, chasing after buses, checking my watch impatiently on the train, throwing socks out of my drawers in high-comedy fashion, racing up escalators during rush hour, etc. I scheduled myself a full three minutes at home to find my tickets and pack, which was pushing things. Still, I eventually reached my train with a comfortable two minutes to spare, despite the best efforts of a gigantic fat fuck on the stairs, and sank comfortably into my seat...
... all of which makes it all the more frustrating that on my return journey my aunt's hopelessly cautious driving (30mph in a 40mph zone) meant I missed my train back to London by a vast margin, had to pay £70 for a single ticket (original was £28 return) and was left waiting alone in the cold on the platform for an hour and a half. Hmph.
In other news, life in Otley was good. The road at the bottom of the hill had been washed away in the floods, which my father noted was "an inconvenience". We ate the best fish and chips in the world, and my gran and aunt came to stay. We didn't do many actual walks in the countryside, but we did sit around lots, and go to a play park with the kids.
Update one week later: This aunt who cost me £70, through weak driving last Sunday, was stung by a wasp not two hours later. The wasp caught her right on a nerve ending, and she went into some sort of fit. She spent a while in hospital until she could breathe properly again, but has ultimately made a full recovery.
I'd say we're even now, then.
Dream diary: 11 August 2004
I slept well for the first time in ages last night. But it was not peaceful sleep. In the first dream I was at snowboarding camp in Valmorel, however the camp was run by an elemental form of pure evil who brainwashed its members into complete obedience, and no one could be trusted. One by one the camp attendees were taken over and turned against me, and whenever I put trust in anyone it was always broken in spectacular form. The dream ended with the camp Kapo hunting me down in the foothills and shooting me through the forearm and jaw. I didn't even get to go snowboarding. Growl.
So this dream was pretty usual - those who have been reading my diary for a long time will recognise it as my experience at American sales camp in 1997, relocated to France (although in that case it was the police who shot at me, and I was not hit). However, it was the second dream that disturbed me most (after a glass of water in the real world, and 30 minutes of Radio London). In this dream the searing pain of the gunshot wound to my wrist actually turned out to be an insect bite. Over the course of the dream a small bamboo-like plant began to grow out of the bite, until there was a stalk about two inches long in my skin, roots running down through the veins in my wrist and grassy leaves poking out of the skin. I fiddled with it a bit and it did not hurt, but still figured I should do something about it.
When I told my father I was going to the hostpital to have it removed, the plant seemed to sense this and started writhing its roots inside my arm. The pain was indescribable - and only got worse when it sent out delicate, writhing green shoots through the ends of my thumb and fingers. If this was not bad enough (I was at this point screaming at my father to amputate my arm just to stop the pain), the roots somehow started flushing the blood from my system, so that every pore in my forearm started flooding blood.
Anyway. So now I'm not so rested. I don't know what you somniacs see in sleep.
Time for some redbulltopia.
6-8 August 2004: Ferg and Deepa's Wedding
On the Friday lunchtime we all bailed into a gigantic minibus and drove a bus full of jolly Kenyans down to Stroud. Our mission was to get Tongs hitched, and said mission was completed with complete success - despite an emergency diversion on the way to the reception, when a mini-bus full of wedding guests were taken through the drive-thru at McDonald's.
Deepa looked statuesque whilst Ferklau looked delighted. Spimcoot entertained and enlightened the crowd with a magnificent speech. Deepa's sisters paraded by, a blur of exotic names and big smiles. The crowd gradually dwindled as the night grew on and the guests got drunker until - right at the end - it was a Tongs-only event. A perfect opportunity to open the wedding presents, and for Frki to break down in tears over a set of napkin rings.
Over 48 hours of splendid fun were finally brought to a magnificent close in Addlestone, where Sammy the tortoise performed some spectacular and unscheduled high-pressure pissing.
3 August 2004: Ferkel's Stag Afternoon
With Fergal and Deepa's wedding fast approaching, Fergal, spim and I took the afternoon off as a matter of urgency to celebrate his last days of freedom. Deepa came along in the evening too, to celebrate her last days of freedom.
We decided it would be a nice idea to have a picnic in Brompton cemetery and then amble over to the British Beer Festival in the evening for some delicious ales. The cemetery was eerily silent, but for the men cruising for action in the bushes and the occasional burst of semi-public urination. We settled in a spot in the children's section, in the company of Little Phil and Our Poppet. As we tucked into our humous, the skies opened and so we celebrated Ferg's last days of freedom picnicing in the thunder storm that wiped out most of South London's transport system and left three children dead, presumably left to join Little Poppet at the Bromp.
In the evening, joined by Deepa and Lucy, we drank as much beer and ate as many pork scratchings as we could before the roof of Earl's Court gave way and a veritable tsunami of water engulfed the room, rendering most of the hall unusable. Still, the transport system was now officially dead, so we stayed at our tables drinking whatever beer we could and trying to ignore the raw sewage now pumping up onto the floor from the flooded washrooms.
A splendid day.
As the end of June approaches, one's thoughts naturally turn to August of the previous year; so here is an update of what I did in that month:
27-30 August 2004: Edinburgh Festival Fun
Spim, David Starkey and I boarded an early morning BMI flight to Edinburgh, and the resulting August bank holiday weekend was a mere blur:
1. a girl's breasts so startled spim, we had to leave the bar
2. a man we didn't like - whose wife we liked but it transpired was far worse - bought us all a seemingly endless amount of alcohol
3. we went to a tiny island in the the estuary with my brother and family, and lurked in the cloisters of a ruined monastery to hide from the sleet; Melanie had wisely brought an emergency bottle of wine, so all was not lost.
4. spim refereed a wrestling match between Chloe and Anja, and lost
5. we ate hotdogs whilst two of Olivia's favourite celebrities sauntered by, and I didn't even point them out
6. we found a spiegeltent, where spim urinated
7. we ate a hearty breakfast at EH1 and wished we had not drunk so much the night before
8. Helen and Hat's train to Edinburgh had been delayed, and took over eight hours. Our flight back to London took twice as long as it should have, and was still just 120 minutes.
We also saw some shows. Count Arthur Strong verged on genius - his song "I Knew an Old Lady who Swallowed a Horse" was a real show stopper. Next was Noble and Silver, who have really gone downhill. Their show stopper was a man ejaculating over a radio. The Tiger Lillies: Punch and Judy was just the early draft of what will hopefully be a wonderfully dark show, and was still fantastic. Flight of the Conchords was weak - all the new material was abysmal.
25 August 2004: Arkanlaura
So last night we all went to the cocktail bar to meet Arkansis and Arkanlaura. Hannah spent a lot of the time talking about how much she wanted to sleep with Darien*, and we all ate Vietnamese food - which is like Chinese food, only with a different alphabet.
*Not much at all, as it turned out.
Set report: Star Warz Episode 3 - 21-22 August
A barrel full of bots boarded the Etchingham express after work and - after a brief champagne train party and an argument over the appropriate policy on providing company salaries to manager-shareholders - arrived fresh and ready to launch a mammoth movie making weekend.
Sight and Sound recently lamented the fact that - despite the availability of relatively cheap recording and editing equipment - there has not yet been a great homemade movie. Sight and Sound need look no further, as in a mere weekend the Bots produced Star Warz III: a Sithward Lurch. Tired of waiting for George Lucas to unveil his own episode three, the Bots sat down in the conservatory with some cans of beer, and within twenty minutes had on their hands a hit script with all the elements of a summer blockbuster: from the execution of Darth Lani at the hands of the Emperor, to the thrilling battle between Darth Helen, Anakin and a cartwheeling Amidala, to the terrifying spilling of a nice cup of tea that leads to the creation of Darkansas. Ten out of ten. A surefire, feel good movie.
17 August 2004: Palestine
I met up with former housemate Steve at the Coal Hole, to talk through his ideas for a new comic book about Palestine. The idea seemed rather similar to the current comic book Palestine, but this did not seem to faze him. It was nice to see him again, and be bought endless beers for 'helping', but since I know nothing about the comics business I'm not sure what my role was.
13-15 August 2004: Trip up Yorkshire
I left work at 5:30 on Friday with the full intention of heading down to the Coal Hole to drink beer with friends, on the understanding I would be getting up early the next day to go visit my parents in Leeds. Alas, as I left work the information came to me (via a chance encounter with a random piece of paper in my bag) that I had precisely one hour and ten minutes to get from work to King's Cross Station in order to catch the train I had wisely prebooked but completely forgotten. Furthermore, the ticket was valid only on that train, and failure to catch it would mean having to buy an extra ticket at some ludicrous sum.
This would not have been a problem if I didn't first have to go home to Forest Hill to pick up the tickets and pack some things. Cue an amusing montage of me running across London, chasing after buses, checking my watch impatiently on the train, throwing socks out of my drawers in high-comedy fashion, racing up escalators during rush hour, etc. I scheduled myself a full three minutes at home to find my tickets and pack, which was pushing things. Still, I eventually reached my train with a comfortable two minutes to spare, despite the best efforts of a gigantic fat fuck on the stairs, and sank comfortably into my seat...
... all of which makes it all the more frustrating that on my return journey my aunt's hopelessly cautious driving (30mph in a 40mph zone) meant I missed my train back to London by a vast margin, had to pay £70 for a single ticket (original was £28 return) and was left waiting alone in the cold on the platform for an hour and a half. Hmph.
In other news, life in Otley was good. The road at the bottom of the hill had been washed away in the floods, which my father noted was "an inconvenience". We ate the best fish and chips in the world, and my gran and aunt came to stay. We didn't do many actual walks in the countryside, but we did sit around lots, and go to a play park with the kids.
Update one week later: This aunt who cost me £70, through weak driving last Sunday, was stung by a wasp not two hours later. The wasp caught her right on a nerve ending, and she went into some sort of fit. She spent a while in hospital until she could breathe properly again, but has ultimately made a full recovery.
I'd say we're even now, then.
Dream diary: 11 August 2004
I slept well for the first time in ages last night. But it was not peaceful sleep. In the first dream I was at snowboarding camp in Valmorel, however the camp was run by an elemental form of pure evil who brainwashed its members into complete obedience, and no one could be trusted. One by one the camp attendees were taken over and turned against me, and whenever I put trust in anyone it was always broken in spectacular form. The dream ended with the camp Kapo hunting me down in the foothills and shooting me through the forearm and jaw. I didn't even get to go snowboarding. Growl.
So this dream was pretty usual - those who have been reading my diary for a long time will recognise it as my experience at American sales camp in 1997, relocated to France (although in that case it was the police who shot at me, and I was not hit). However, it was the second dream that disturbed me most (after a glass of water in the real world, and 30 minutes of Radio London). In this dream the searing pain of the gunshot wound to my wrist actually turned out to be an insect bite. Over the course of the dream a small bamboo-like plant began to grow out of the bite, until there was a stalk about two inches long in my skin, roots running down through the veins in my wrist and grassy leaves poking out of the skin. I fiddled with it a bit and it did not hurt, but still figured I should do something about it.
When I told my father I was going to the hostpital to have it removed, the plant seemed to sense this and started writhing its roots inside my arm. The pain was indescribable - and only got worse when it sent out delicate, writhing green shoots through the ends of my thumb and fingers. If this was not bad enough (I was at this point screaming at my father to amputate my arm just to stop the pain), the roots somehow started flushing the blood from my system, so that every pore in my forearm started flooding blood.
Anyway. So now I'm not so rested. I don't know what you somniacs see in sleep.
Time for some redbulltopia.
6-8 August 2004: Ferg and Deepa's Wedding
On the Friday lunchtime we all bailed into a gigantic minibus and drove a bus full of jolly Kenyans down to Stroud. Our mission was to get Tongs hitched, and said mission was completed with complete success - despite an emergency diversion on the way to the reception, when a mini-bus full of wedding guests were taken through the drive-thru at McDonald's.
Deepa looked statuesque whilst Ferklau looked delighted. Spimcoot entertained and enlightened the crowd with a magnificent speech. Deepa's sisters paraded by, a blur of exotic names and big smiles. The crowd gradually dwindled as the night grew on and the guests got drunker until - right at the end - it was a Tongs-only event. A perfect opportunity to open the wedding presents, and for Frki to break down in tears over a set of napkin rings.
Over 48 hours of splendid fun were finally brought to a magnificent close in Addlestone, where Sammy the tortoise performed some spectacular and unscheduled high-pressure pissing.
3 August 2004: Ferkel's Stag Afternoon
With Fergal and Deepa's wedding fast approaching, Fergal, spim and I took the afternoon off as a matter of urgency to celebrate his last days of freedom. Deepa came along in the evening too, to celebrate her last days of freedom.
We decided it would be a nice idea to have a picnic in Brompton cemetery and then amble over to the British Beer Festival in the evening for some delicious ales. The cemetery was eerily silent, but for the men cruising for action in the bushes and the occasional burst of semi-public urination. We settled in a spot in the children's section, in the company of Little Phil and Our Poppet. As we tucked into our humous, the skies opened and so we celebrated Ferg's last days of freedom picnicing in the thunder storm that wiped out most of South London's transport system and left three children dead, presumably left to join Little Poppet at the Bromp.
In the evening, joined by Deepa and Lucy, we drank as much beer and ate as many pork scratchings as we could before the roof of Earl's Court gave way and a veritable tsunami of water engulfed the room, rendering most of the hall unusable. Still, the transport system was now officially dead, so we stayed at our tables drinking whatever beer we could and trying to ignore the raw sewage now pumping up onto the floor from the flooded washrooms.
A splendid day.
