Have you heard of War Horse? It’s a book, that was turned into a play, that was turned into a film.
My wife (she of the always original, always excellent birthday gifts), treated me to a visit to the New London Theatre (which is at least 40 years old) to see the play.
Amazing. Its about a horse and a boy that end up on the front line in World War I. The boy was played by a boy. Not surprising. But the horse was played by two actors manipulating a massive horse shaped frame; they were brilliant – they made the contraption move like a horse and you actually forgot you weren’t watching an actual horse.
But naturally this blurb is not about the play, the horse, or my 34th birthday (ha! ha!). No this was about the intermission refreshments.
Now the wife is not only an excellent picker of surprises, she also has a handy knack of picking perfect seats; right by the exit, which was right by the loos, which were right by the stairs, which led right to the bar. Perfect! And that’s where we headed at half-time. To purchase this…
10 years. I’ve been driving for 10 years along the same bloody road to the same bloody office and back again. And in all that time I’ve never once, not once, complained about the arse-wipe thought police that see the solution to traffic congestion as being to make things even more difficult for the motorist.
I can imagine traffic planning meetings as being like something from the crisis meeting room in that Dr. Strangelove film with Peter Sellers….
It’s happened – I’ve gone mad with power!!!
‘Right ladies and gentlemen, the traffic situation is becoming worse. Too many people trying to get to work and go shopping. SOMETHING HAS TO BE DONE!’
It’s 3 O’Clock on Halloween. We have pumpkins. We have fake blood. We have sweets and chocolate. And we have to go trick-or-treating. So we have to get busy. First off we need a Jack-o’-lantern (that word is not easy to type BTW).
So busy we got. Preparation is the key. Scaring children is the objective! So to get to this:
Three years ago we got married. In the run up to that event I got myself a rowing machine. I mean I wasn’t going to spend my honeymoon in St. Lucia blubbering about like a beached whale. Sadly I didn’t stick with it. Once the ring was on it was all downhill. The night of the wedding we ended up eating pizza in a pub in Henley on Thames. You get the idea.
Fast forward to 2013. My ‘emergency diet’ did a job in the fourth quarter of 2012 but things aren’t going well now. I mean last night I ate pork belly and breast-of-duck; and a bottle of wine. And then fell asleep. So today I made a decision – out with the old….
Check out the magic bucket
In this wonderful Isle we aren’t allowed to shop before 11am or after 5pm on Sundays (except in little shops for some wierd reason) – even on the day before Christmas Eve.
The only person I know who still goes to church is my mother, and, given the rapture, armageddon, doomsday (call it what you will) didn’t come to pass two days ago, i doubt whether many people will be swapping a trip to the local supermarket for a session on their knees praising the almighty.
Anyway, obviously today is going to be hell on earth for those foolhardy enough to venture out. Of course there are some who have no choice. Like me. I needed brussel sprouts and I needed the ingredients for Pigs-In-Blankets – two essential Christmas meal items.
I’d been awake since about 3am since our opposite-neighbours introduced us to the concept of 24 hour daylight with their latest festive lighting arrangement (it’s getting more outrageous each year), so by 10am I was getting bored has hell: