rARsh!

Do you know where your daughter is?

Trick or treat is a delightful American custom, a staple of horror films. Where would we be if a group of “actresses” in their late twenties weren’t wandering around pretending to be in their mid-teens and jollily getting butchered for our amusement? Exactly. However, the key word in the first sentence is the seventh one: American. Not “East Anglian”, American.

Ignoring that, though, you’ve clearly seen these films or, at least, innocent versions thereof with only minimal blood and gore and agreed, therefore, that your little girl could go trick or treating tonight. That’s nice of you.

If your little girl was out trick-or-treating tonight in, for the sake of argument, Aaalburgh I do hope that you were accompanying her as she innocently approached the homes of complete strangers down unlit cul-de-sacs demanding sweeties via the medium of the thinly veiled threat of “tricks”.

If, on the other hand, you decided she’d be perfectly safe on her own as she is, after all, at least seven years old (give or take) and is very sensible for her age, then you must be very proud of her maturity. And possibly her costume (I’m assuming she made it herself, because it was, to tell the truth, a bit crap). You should, however, be a little ashamed of yourself.

How do you think children go missing? Do you think that wandering around dark roads all alone is a sensible course of action at that age? Were you, perhaps, a little surprised that little Tiffnay came home at all tonight? You should be, you blithering idiot.

I’ve been tagged

Damn Alan and his meme. Well, not his meme.

1. Name the person who tagged you
2. 8 things about you
3. Tag 6 people.

Ok then.

1. Alan tagged me (dangnabbit).
2. Eight things? I assume I can’t just point you to the About Me page?
   1. Five feet seven and a bit inches tall, and not far short of that in girth.
   2. Seemingly going through a mid-life crisis
   3. I have a nice collection of scars from childhood
   4. I would be a world champion prevaricator but I’ve not got around to posting the entry form yet
   5. Pedantic to a fault
   6. Very resistible to young, single ladies
   7. Delusions of being a professional photographer
   8. Definitely an “ideas man”. What I need are people to put my ideas into practice (as long as I get a fair share of profits).
3. Tag six people? Okeydokes:
   1. Daisy
   2. Croila
   3. Suzy Snow
   4. Briggy, and
   5. Mr and Mrs McMuffin

I’m an idiot. Again.

If you’re taking the rARshMobile out for a spin to Tesco (to keep the battery topped up and the engine, um, mobile), do not try to drive it as if it was as agile and nippy as the WTB otherwise you’ll be relying on others’ reactions being rather better than yours.

It does feel bizarre to drive something that big – I’ve hired small lorries before now for house moving and the like and I’m not getting the same feeling when sitting behind the wheel of the rARshMobile as I’d get sitting behind the wheel of a Luton van. Most odd.

I’m planning to take the rARshMobile down to Torchwood Town this weekend instead of the WTB. Partly to postpone the next visit to Constipation Motors (the 6,000 mile visit is a full service rather than just an oil change), partly because it’s easier for both dad and I to get in and out (especially if the weather’s foul) but mostly because – now that dad’s got a tumble drier – I can catch up on my own washing while I’m there! Cunning, eh?

After yesterday’s post I met a suicidal cyclist this morning, albeit one falling foul of Diamond Geezer’s gripe rather than my own.

There I was, sitting quitely at the front of the queue at the traffic lights at the foot of Grapes Hill when the lights went through their sequence. I waited – quite properly – for the lights to turn green and duly set off once they’d done so … only to slam the brakes on almost immediately when an idiot on a bike came out of Dereham Road at least 15 seconds after their lights had turned red. His face, as I came to a halt six inches from him, was a picture and he scurried backwards out of the way. Fortunately it was a beautifully sunny day (blue sky, fluffy white clouds, birds singing, etc.) so there was no glass or metal to hinder his hearing every word of my comments. Let’s just say he may have learned a number of rude words.

It was our second day in the new orifice and it’s certainly not as spacious as it appeared before everyone moved in. To tell the truth, it’s a bit dark and dismal – and, looking around, we’re actually sitting in the brightest corner. Goodness only knows how the others are feeling because it’s really getting me down. A bit.

Stubby’s a bit glum too, but not glum enough to take me up on my offer of a life home (maybe “Want a ride in my car, little girl?” wasn’t the best way to phrase the offer).

Tall Andy’s feeling rather unwell after a delayed return from Sri Lanka. I rang Kitten tonight to find he’d gone back to bed.

“Doesn’t he know you don’t jetlag when you’re heading west?”

“It’s not jetlag. He’s feeling very unwell.”

Oops. Poor Tall Andy.

It’ll be just like in the movies

You may have noticed the link in the sidebar to the 27th National Narrow Gauge Convention next August/September.

To keep costs to a minimum, my good friend CC and I had agreed to share accommodation (separate beds, hopefully) and I’ve tonight booked said accommodation. Hurrah!

I’d intended to meet up with CC in Maine as the convention kicked off but correspondence this week has floated the suggestion of my travelling, instead, to Ontario and that we drive to Portland from there.

A road trip! Like in the movies! More “National Lampoon’s Vacation” than, say, “Thelma and Louise” but still a Road Trip.

This is all, of course, subject to approval of the management Chez CC (which is why I’ve only reserved the rooms, not the flights ).

Three hundred and one days and counting ….

Good news / Bad news

Good news: I’ve come up with an idea to solve the global warming idea once and for all and, best of all, it won’t require any of us “normal” folk to actually do anything at all.

Bad news: My plan does actually call for some unusual circumstances – a couple of idiots in positions of power with access to thermonuclear weapons of some description, followed by pathetic sabre rattling on both sides leading to a nice nuclear winter to lower the global temperature.

Perfect, eh? It’s just a shame that such a combination of factors would never be allowed … um …

If I ruled the world

I had an idea for a meme – I’d start off the “If I ruled the world” song, adding my own law, then someone else would pick up the baton and add their own law, etc., the rule being that the laws would have to scan.

But I can’t get them to scan, so …

• Pedestrians will be allowed … no, encouraged to set upon cyclists riding on pavements

Over to you to pick up the baton and add your own.

His Eminence, Rye observations and a brisk walk

To the south, then, to Littesham and a visit to The Bishop and Joanie.

Now there are some of you who have expressed some doubts as the actual bishopicity of The Bishop. Some have even gone so far as to imply, quite unfairly, that he may not even be ecclesiastical at all.

Not you, of course. I know you‘d never have doubted a fellow visitor and perhaps even a fellow commenter (commenting is a Good Thing To Do) but if you’re one of those who did harbour doubts, see the end of this post.

First, though, we headed into Rye where the mighty(ish) Rye United were attempting to dump Wealden out of the John O’Hara Cup. Yes, that’s right – the John O’Hara Cup! Only top quality competition for this blog, I assure you.

.Before then, though, we had to stop off at a local supermarket where I noticed that you’ve really got to plan your day very carefully if you want to shop during the week (right).

How did Rye United fare? You can find out at the official website.

Now for some photos from around the Bishopage (or whatever a bish’s gaff is called) and from our walk to Winchelsea and back this morning.

And finally, the evidence for all those doubters: More »

We’re off to see the wizard Bishop

ExpoNG comes but once a year. For just one day.

It’s a gathering of those with a modelling interest in narrow gauge modelling and the unwashed throngs flock to Swanley in Kent.

This, then, is what brought me to a bland box with a bed just outside Sevenoaks last night, ready for just a short trip up the M20 to Swanley and the show (avoiding a far-too-early start from Aaalburgh this morning).

Except (and this is the odd thing) I just can’t be bothered. It’s not a return of the avoiding people, I assure you. I just can’t be bothered with a model railway show. Which is a little odd, to tell the truth.

Oh well.

Anyway, the weather forecast implies that this morning’s weather’s going to be much better than this afternoon’s, so I’m going to head off to visit The Bishop and Joanie earlier than originally planned.

So there.