rARsh!

If a picture can paint 1,000 words …

… what’s the value of a Venn diagram?

Let’s see:

Put another way, just like George Lucas, I keep having another episode. Hopefully, though, mine won’t come in threes.

And won’t feature Jar-Jar Binks.

Stephen Fry’s series The Secret Life of the Manic Depressive was interesting but worrying last night. Interesting because of the personal angle and worrying for the same reason - especially the obsessive impulse purchases and disclination to interact socially when “episoding”.

Yesterday, for example, I just couldn’t leave the house until the anonymity of night had fallen - at which time I felt ok, of course, so headed over to Tall Andy. Luckily Kitten answered the phone so I was able to asked whether Tall Andy could come out to play. We had a chat while I took him for a spin around the city centre (and while he checked in vain whether there was space in a Copen for Sam’s pushchair).

It was a different matter this morning, though. My trio of alarm clocks did their job and woke me in plenty of time but the idea of going in to work made me literally ill. After an hour of failing to psych myself up, I spoke to Tall Andy. He wasn’t at all surprised, apparently, and clear hadn’t believed my parting “See you tomorrow” lsat night.

I was determined to leave the house before nightfall, though, and so set off through the twisty lanes to who-knows-where. I was heading towards Earlsham on the A143 when I spotted a sign to The Otter Trust [map]. It had been shut the last time I came this way (and it’s only open until Friday) so I took this as an omen and turned off.

I was there before the trust itself opened at 10:30 but the information room was open and it was there that I met some friendly little harvest mice. The main doors were soon open (admission £6, btw, which works out at less than 50ppo). There are a lot of grounds to cover with an assortment of ducks and geese but the stars of the show are, of course, the otters.

So there I was, enjoying the empty fields and the company of my new hairy friends when I felt a tugging on my jacket.

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Who’s Peta Wilson? and other midnight minutae

I don’t know who he or Peta Wilson is (but suspect from the context it’s a “she”), not why people seem so keen to leave links to a site about her on a certain other railway modelling forum (other than that they’re friendless saddo’s).

It seems somewhat incongruous, thought, that the latest spammer used a freebiblemail.com address.

Have slept intermittently since this afternoon I’ve been for a pootle to Tesco. As it’s no longer raining I jammed on a chavcap and lowered the roof before zipping there through the wonderfully empty and twisty Norfolk lanes - just me and a bunch of wildlife. I’m delighted to say that, in spite of the local wildlife appearing to be manically suicidal, not one perished at my hands - the road holding allowing me to swerve around stoats, voles and even a stupid fox who decided that the perfect time to step out into the road was just as I approached. At speed.

I’m getting used to the interest the car’s getting now - people seem to struggle to believe it exists and many of them stare open-jawed in awe at the beastlet.

I’d (casually and coolly) asked Stubby whether she was interested in going out for a spin at some time (to a romantic destination, of course, although I’ve kept that detail from her for obvious reasons).

“Is the Pope a Catholic?”

“I think so. Is that relevant?”

I seem to have pulled a muscle - at some stage during my early attempts to climb into the new car, I suspect. Ow, it smarts.

I’m not sure that my plan to sleep, eat and then sleep on until morning is going to work - I feel worryingly awake now.

I’m used to the slight delay between terrestial TV and its digital equivalent due to the time it takes signals to bounce back off the satellite. I’ve noticed recently, though, that my DAB radio lags behind both the analog radio signals and, more puzzlingly, the digital radio I get via Sky. It’s occurred to me, then, that I can no longer trust time signals on Radio 4, which is a worrying turn of events.

I must find another word to use instead of “worrying”.

That Andrex advert with the puppy. The one where the puppy has the “inspired” idea to “improve” the product by putting puppies on the roll. Why? It’s put better here.

Insufficiently Tiggry

Tall Andy (winning bidder of the work version of the auction, btw) took me to one side at lunchtime.

It seems I’ve been destinctly untiggry since I’ve weaned myself off the HappyPills^TM and he’s become concerned - possibly at the prospect of my “going postal”. Of course it would be more appropriate for me to “go postal” on my darling stepson but that’s another matter and young Grunt’s keeping a surprisingly low profile at the moment for some reason.

Anyway, I had a rather strange Hot Flush at lunchtime and was banished from the orifice to protect my colleagues, came home and headed up to bed to try to catch up on some sleep. Only partly successful, it would seem, but I seem to have reduced my sleep overdraft by five hours. Fine, as long as I can get some more creditting done this evening.

Here goes …

Stretching the truth a tad

As you may recall from yesterday’s post, Dad and I were looking forwards to tasting the “finest food served in the Vale of Glamorgan” as the sign outside The Star pub in Wick would have us believe.

I can only assume that there was a “Not” missing from the beginning of that sign - based on today’s fare, I’m not even sure it’s the finest food served in Wick (and there’s no other pub!).

Well, maybe that’s just a tad unfair. The food was edible (soup could have been a bit warmer and the penne pasta significantly less overcooked) and it seemed that the people at other tables were actually sending their meals back! I don’t think we’ll be back there again.

Copen off

I collected a woman just after eleven this morning and off we toddled for a meal in the marshlands between Torchwood Town and Newport, to the Six Bells in Peterstone Wentlooge, if you must know. I’ll let her tell you on her fun and games getting into and out of the Copen at her own place but I was getting increasingly concerned about getting Dad in and out.

My fears were completely unfounded - of the three of us he had the least trouble, even with the roof up. Mind you, I still wasn’t about to hand him the car keys.

This afternoon, then, was a motoring tour of the Torchwood Town area with a brief halt by Roath Park Lake.

Tomorrow’s “pub lunch” will be at The Star in Wick - as we drove past last week they claimed to serve the best food in the Vale of Glamorgan.

“We’ll see about that” I said to Dad at the time and he concurred.

More things I’ve learned about the Copen:

• The feed things for the seatbelts are a bit crap and keep needing to be disentangled
• Try to avoid being the first car at a set of traffic lights - unless there’s a set of repeaters on the far side you won’t be able to see the lights to tell when they’re changing!
• Try not to run into the back of any Renault Clios. Mind you, if it’s at a crawl you won’t make a mark (thank goodness as it was a Big Bloke who climbed out). Oops.
• Driving into the sun with the roof down is no fun, even with really dark glasses. I need a peaked cap of some sort.
• Just because it’s a good idea to travel light, forgetting the power cable for your laptop is a Bad Idea.

[Map of places mentioned]

“How was she to drive?”, asks Tall Andy

Fun, fun, fun, fun, fun.

With the foul weather heading relentlessly eastwards this meant that by the time I got to Cambridge the rain was gone so I pulled over, flicked the two catches and pressed the Magic Button. Twenty five seconds later I was back on the road with the wind whipping through what little remains of my hair. Wheeee. The top went back up for a while later when I found my course crossed the path of a raincloud that was straggling behind its mates but I reckon that I probably did 180 of the 313 miles with the roof off.

The “avoid motorways” route from the AA was a bit of a disappointment, though, as it was sending me down busy dual carriageways. I might as well be on the M4, I thought, and so half way there I veered a little to the south and joined the Road To Wales at Chieveley (having popped in at Wuglums Manor to see if he and LSLP had returned early from their holiday - they hadn’t).

Everything’s smaller in the Copen (myself excluded, of course), including the fuel tank. Yes, she’s more economical than the rARshMobile but with a smaller tank there’s just enough fuel to get me from Aaalburgh to Torchwood Town via the rather scenic route I took yesterday.

Three highlights to the trip:

• First, an open jawed grin-cum-stare from the passenger in a Maserati which breezed past me near Northampton
• Discovering that people let you out when you’re in a cute car
• A virtually empty M48 and a chance to floor it. I’m not sure what the Severn Crossing toll booth person thought about the acceleration but I certainly didn’t think it took 11 seconds to get to 60mph. Wheeeeeeeee.

It’s going to be interesting to see whether Dad’s going to be able to get into the car today, though. I’m gradually getting the hang of it - didn’t hit my head at all yesterday but it’s definitely not elegant and must look rather amusing.

Vroom, vroom!

The Noddycar is mine, all mine!

Collected it at lunchtime (in pouring rain, of course) and drove back to the office as Tall Andy, Flash, Leah, Joseph and Sticky had shown an interest in seeing it.

Getting in and out is going to take some getting used to, especially when the roof’s up - as Lucy Lastic mentioned in a recent phone conversation, I’ll not be wearing a kilt while driving it - but I haven’t knocked my head yet today.

Just got to work out how to get my luggage for the trip to Wales in. As Joseph pointed out, with the roof stowed there’s about enough room in the boot for a baguette and a bit of cheese :-).

The Pioneer stereo/iPod adapter seems to working like a dream, too - no more switching frequency as I wander the country. Marvellous.

I’ll let you know what the drive was like when I get to Torchwood Town. I’m planning to meet a woman for lunch, so I’m sure she’ll give her own unbiased review once she’s seen it.

Toot, toot.

Oh, and I rang the DVLA this afternoon to order a personalised plate after all. Not one of those expensive ones, mind. It’s just a pity that R4RSH wasn’t available.

Toot, toot.

All for a good cause

We’re having an auction for charity in work and I’ve ‘donated’ a 30×20 inch print of mine - the print to be chosen from those at pix.a-blog.org.

On the off-chance that one of my remaining readers might also care for a similar print, I’ll run the same offer here but based on the photos on pix.a-blog.org or my PhotoBox galleries.

How it works

1. The auction is open until midnight (BST) on 29th September.
2. Leave your bids as a comment on this post.
3. All monies raised by the auction will go to the Alzheimer’s Society.
4. As well as providing the print, I’ll match the winning bid!

Please support this very worthy cause. You know it makes sense (and it’ll give you an inner glow).