Yes. I know I am about to talk yet another night out, but like I said a few weeks ago. Life is work, cricket and wastedness, and seeing as this blog is about the Life of Mitten, those are the subjects I shall speak of! To be fair however, this was probably going to be my last night out before the night that shall be dubbed, 'The Return of the Moomin'... What with early starts at work falling on the most vital of days plus a severe lack of funds, I reckon I might need a break from the alcohol scene for a while.
After completely rejecting the prospect of a MONDAY night out, (if they ever existed), we, myself and Rob, tried to round up as many people as possible for a Wednesday night out. Before this however, I needed to stray into the minimal savings I possess to get some money. I risked parking outside the bank, (completely illegal), and after waiting in the queue for 15 minutes, finally getting my money, I walked outside to be greeted by a plump gentleman, wearing a green-ish jacket and holding a little machine. Damn it. A traffic warden. My risk hadn't paid off, but as I went up to him, I was polite and simply said, "I was hoping not to bump into you!".. I was polite, didn't go off the handle, like some people would, and I reckon this played a part in him letting me off! "Just drive off now, and I won't finish it..." Good!
Anyway. Despite many, many, many changes of heart from a few people, we managed to get a respectable 6 people out to try and make something of a night that is usually full of students on their impossibly long summer breaks. It took a long, long time to get going, and after going to Litten for a considerable amount of time, and a short stop off at the colour changing bar, we headed to Elements at around 12.30, to see what was happening. As we approached, we sensed the silence, and it wasn't boding well. We paid £2 to get in, walked into the main area, and noticed about 10 people standing around, not looking particularly interested. Oh dear. For the first time in a long time, maybe this was going to be a dreaded, "Fail Night". We walked straight back out again.
As we walked around Bedford Town Centre, like a small group of homeless drunks, we tried different places that were even more dead, or even worse, closed, before deciding on going back to Elements, trying to wangle our way in for free, claiming we had already paid once, and if this didn't work. Go home.
In some ways, I wish we hadn't been allowed in. What followed, after taking a while to warm up, was, believe it or not, a money making mission that didn't really go to plan. I had hoped not to take any money out of my account, and rely completely on the money I had risked a parking ticket for, earlier in the day, but it didn't really work out that way..
It nearly did. Many drinks were brought, with the primary purpose of getting Rob as drunk as humanly possible, as he was already much worse for wear, but after he started refusing them on the grounds of, "I'm finished", there was only one person to step up to the plate. Me. Now. I didn't have a lot of money. I remember being "OK" drunk, but not drunk enough, (I said to myself), so what I tried to do, was simply mind boggling. After accidentally stealing some guy's shot of vodka, (and some quick thinking to respond to the guy who was looking for it), I went on a mission to try and scam the barmaid, (who was drunk by the way), out of as much money as humanly possible. Here's an example:
I bought 2 drinks. At a good price of £2 each, I gave the barmaid my only £10 note, and received, rightly so, £6 in change. A fiver and a £1 coin. I quickly stuffed the fiver in my pocket, and showed her the £1 coin, claiming she had forgotten to give me a fiver. I'll be honest, I didn't expect it to work, but without any hint of an argument, she opened the till and gave me ANOTHER fiver. So, in short, I had been paid £5 to buy 2 drinks.
I did this again. The very same combination, about half an hour later, and yet again, it worked. I had bought 4 drinks at the price of -£10. I had been given money to drink! It was incredible...
I had met a couple of friends in there, a couple of referees I know, and I coaxed one of them, Charlie, into giving me a £20 note, (he owed me a drink anyway), and told him I might be able to get him £10 profit. I aimed high, but I think the barmaid had stopped drinking for a while, and I was that bit more drunk, so it didn't work, but I still got a free drink out of it, thanks to Charlie paying, of course!
However, even after scamming the barmaid out of a tenner for the whole night, I still ended up paying £43 for the night. The £30 I got out of savings plus spending £13 on a couple of drinks and the food that was bought on possibly the longest trip home in human history. We left the club at about 3am, and with the others getting a cab, it was left for me and Rob, by far the 2 drunkest people, to make the long walk home. The phone calls made, at the dizzy hour of 4.15am, were... interesting. A couple of disgruntled people even picked up, wondering what the hell was going on at this time of morning, but to those who sensibly didn't, we left them some amusing messages! It was all good fun, and even the trip to BP was a good laugh, as I embarrassed myself highly in front of a couple of colleagues. Was a laugh..
However, the hour or so walk home from there wasn't. I was on my own, (as Rob lived in the opposite direction), and after having a minor argument with Kettle, (which we have agreed to put down to drunken behaviour), I walked home... Ok... I stumbled home, and walked in the front door at God Knows O'clock.
The hangover in the morning was acceptable. Of course, it had been a good night. My philosophy of, "If there's a story to tell, you can't lose", stays on track, but now I have to accept that I might not have some fun on the alcohol front for a few weeks now. This is a good thing I suppose. My liver, and the bank balance, needs a break from losing my head for a while. Today is Friday, and a huge, busy weekend coming up on the work and cricket front... What I'd pay for a 'BTW'...
Well, not a lot actually. I can't afford it!
Friday 29 July 2011
Wednesday 27 July 2011
How To Ruin The Pub Quiz
The last couple of days have been largely unspectacular. No stories of wild parties, crazy car crashes or tons. Work on Monday was of the 'distinctly average' variety, and the Chicken Chow Mein that I bought afterwards, simply was not. It tasted more like the bottom of the wheelie bin if I'm honest with you. Today has been full of laziness, despite waking up at 8:45 to deliver the Mittenmobile to Uncle Mick, (who doesn't do exhausts), to fix a squeaking wheel nut. This was before a quick cricket practice facing a bouncy new cherry that proceeded to hit my thigh, my thumb and the peak of my helmet before I came out citing, 'Shitting My Pants' as an excuse. I know it's useless, but no pitch in Bedford bounces as high as that net, rendering that net as, 'completely pointless'.
Anyway. I have not come on here to complain about the heap of junk that is, to be honest, the Mittenmobile, (shhh, don't tell anyone!), or the bouncy nature of the nets at Bedford Cricket Club, but instead the awkward and annoying atmosphere surrounding what used to be a fun and enjoyable event. The pub quiz. It used to be a bi-weekly event, with the same small group of people, that was a laugh and although we rarely won anything due to our age being a steep barrier amongst questions that required wisdom, it was good fun.
Now, about 12 people come along, making the deciding of teams seem like picking the teams in a Year-4 lunchtime football match. The battle of the minds would begin in deciding who would get the brainbox of the group, (Adam), before the non-verbal fighting would take place to decide who would avoid being with the certain people of the group who are not as intelligent as the others. What we usually end up with, is one team of fairly clever people, (including Mr.Brainbox), and another team of, "the rest". It is quite harsh to use the term, "the rest", as our intelligence levels aren't exactly galaxies apart. Tonight, we ended up in 2 seperate sides of the room with myself, Brainbox, Kettle and 3 others against the other team that shall remain nameless, except for their team name, which was, "It's Not Having Adam, But The Taking Part That Counts"... How childish.
And ironic. Throughout the pub quiz, as I glanced across at their table, I saw one particular person constantly on their phone. They claim they are texting, but if you're texting for the whole duration of the quiz, you either have a particular emergency to deal with, or you are cheating. Now, I won't lie, I have texted someone for an answer before, on a couple of occasions, but not every single week. Every single week, this team somehow get a good amount of points, (by using Google on their smartphones), that puts them in contention for money, and every single week, this team answers questions correctly that very few other teams get right. For example, tonight, they somehow managed to know a 1960's TV programme that starred some guy called Millicent Martin and Shirley Ann Field. The film was called 'Alfie', (yes, I have just researched that). There is no way on God's Green Earth that someone aged between around 20 years old, can possibly get that. And then they have the cheek to claim they were texting someone. It's just stupid.
I'm contemplating not going again. I don't see why I should waste money in participating and buying drinks etc, when an argument almost breaks out over teams, and then they go and cheat anyway. It makes the whole event really very awkward and annoying, and most importantly, takes the fun out what should be a good, sociable evening.
Rant over.
Anyway. I have not come on here to complain about the heap of junk that is, to be honest, the Mittenmobile, (shhh, don't tell anyone!), or the bouncy nature of the nets at Bedford Cricket Club, but instead the awkward and annoying atmosphere surrounding what used to be a fun and enjoyable event. The pub quiz. It used to be a bi-weekly event, with the same small group of people, that was a laugh and although we rarely won anything due to our age being a steep barrier amongst questions that required wisdom, it was good fun.
Now, about 12 people come along, making the deciding of teams seem like picking the teams in a Year-4 lunchtime football match. The battle of the minds would begin in deciding who would get the brainbox of the group, (Adam), before the non-verbal fighting would take place to decide who would avoid being with the certain people of the group who are not as intelligent as the others. What we usually end up with, is one team of fairly clever people, (including Mr.Brainbox), and another team of, "the rest". It is quite harsh to use the term, "the rest", as our intelligence levels aren't exactly galaxies apart. Tonight, we ended up in 2 seperate sides of the room with myself, Brainbox, Kettle and 3 others against the other team that shall remain nameless, except for their team name, which was, "It's Not Having Adam, But The Taking Part That Counts"... How childish.
And ironic. Throughout the pub quiz, as I glanced across at their table, I saw one particular person constantly on their phone. They claim they are texting, but if you're texting for the whole duration of the quiz, you either have a particular emergency to deal with, or you are cheating. Now, I won't lie, I have texted someone for an answer before, on a couple of occasions, but not every single week. Every single week, this team somehow get a good amount of points, (by using Google on their smartphones), that puts them in contention for money, and every single week, this team answers questions correctly that very few other teams get right. For example, tonight, they somehow managed to know a 1960's TV programme that starred some guy called Millicent Martin and Shirley Ann Field. The film was called 'Alfie', (yes, I have just researched that). There is no way on God's Green Earth that someone aged between around 20 years old, can possibly get that. And then they have the cheek to claim they were texting someone. It's just stupid.
I'm contemplating not going again. I don't see why I should waste money in participating and buying drinks etc, when an argument almost breaks out over teams, and then they go and cheat anyway. It makes the whole event really very awkward and annoying, and most importantly, takes the fun out what should be a good, sociable evening.
Rant over.
Sunday 24 July 2011
A Competitive Nature
I have written ferociously at my dislike of competiveness in this blog a fair bit. Ever since I was about 13, I've played a lot of sport simply for the sake of enjoyment. I learnt very quickly that winning isn't everything. However, I have a small gut feeling that this may be about to change..
This weekend, after some hurried shift changing, I was available to play in 2 out of 2 matches, and with no risk of the horrible weather we've been having recently making a re-appearance, I was very much looking forward to it. After the fiasco of Friday night, I was awake at midday for the long journey down to Dunstable for this strangely arranged friendly against some mystery select XI. Upon roughly reaching our destination, we found out that there were 2 cricket clubs next to each other. 1 of them looked like Lords, and the other looked like a farm where a dog had relieved itself. Naturally, we presumed we were playing on the latter. However, there was already a match going on...
It turns out, after a few phone calls, that we were playing at the better of the 2 grounds. Albeit not on the main pitch, but the reserve pitch was still as good as any pitch I have played on this season. When we walked the major miles to this pitch, (it felt like it), we were greeted by a team who had about 4 youngsters, and a few geriatrics. The rumours that we were playing a rather good team seemed wrong..
Thankfully, we batted first and, without going into too much detail, Andy Collins' hit his 2nd ton, I hit 80 and Sofee nearly caught me up with a quickfire 43. To be honest, I can't really boast about what is my 3rd highest score. The bowling was pretty poor, and except for 1 legspinner, who was bought on too late, they had nothing that could get me out. Not that I didn't give them the chance. They may have dropped around 5 catches off my bat, and when I was finally run out for a snail-paced 80, I was sort of relieved for the rest. We ended up with 284, and bowled them out pretty quickly, before driving home completely blinded by the setting Summer sun.
No competitiveness was needed yesterday. It was a friendly, the opposition would of been better if they were a bunch of pandas, and we didn't really need to win, although it was technically impossible not to.
Today was a bit different. Back to the humdrum of the Beds and County league, and with a very, very competitive captain, it's very hard to not feel like you should be thinking of winning all the time. I do usually try and relax the atmosphere by cracking a couple of jokes from the slip cordon and creating a few laughs, but today, after a very disappointing innings where I played on to my own stumps, I was keeping. We had made 197, and they were looking rather comfortable on 100-2. By this stage, I was angry. The field settings were all wrong, people kept dropping the simplest of catches and no one looked as if they could be bothered. It really, really annoyed me for some reason, and although I tried to not let it show, I would of been majorly pissed off if we didn't win. Luckily, we did, as the rest of their order collapsed in quick succession. But that stage of about 10 or 15 overs, where catches were being dropped and bowlers were bowling rubbish, was probably the most competitive and... flustered, I've ever been on a sports field. Especially in what is considered the "Gentleman's Game".
It wouldn't be a bad thing to become more competitive. To be honest, I would like to be a little bit more competitive, without taking it too far. It would certainly be good for next year, but I never have been. Even after today, my attitude of competitiveness has gone from 'Idiotic' to 'Bearable'. I can now see why people are competitive. I think I can now appreciate competitiveness. Because spending the whole day in the Sun, when you've personally played crap, and losing? What a waste of a day.
Seeing as I swapped shifts so I can play like a retarded salmon this afternoon, I now have to work tonight which will undoubtedly be very long. I'm already yawning, and in 9 hours time, when I can walk out the door and go to sleep, I will be as happy a Mitten as I have this last 6 weeks or so.
This weekend, after some hurried shift changing, I was available to play in 2 out of 2 matches, and with no risk of the horrible weather we've been having recently making a re-appearance, I was very much looking forward to it. After the fiasco of Friday night, I was awake at midday for the long journey down to Dunstable for this strangely arranged friendly against some mystery select XI. Upon roughly reaching our destination, we found out that there were 2 cricket clubs next to each other. 1 of them looked like Lords, and the other looked like a farm where a dog had relieved itself. Naturally, we presumed we were playing on the latter. However, there was already a match going on...
It turns out, after a few phone calls, that we were playing at the better of the 2 grounds. Albeit not on the main pitch, but the reserve pitch was still as good as any pitch I have played on this season. When we walked the major miles to this pitch, (it felt like it), we were greeted by a team who had about 4 youngsters, and a few geriatrics. The rumours that we were playing a rather good team seemed wrong..
Thankfully, we batted first and, without going into too much detail, Andy Collins' hit his 2nd ton, I hit 80 and Sofee nearly caught me up with a quickfire 43. To be honest, I can't really boast about what is my 3rd highest score. The bowling was pretty poor, and except for 1 legspinner, who was bought on too late, they had nothing that could get me out. Not that I didn't give them the chance. They may have dropped around 5 catches off my bat, and when I was finally run out for a snail-paced 80, I was sort of relieved for the rest. We ended up with 284, and bowled them out pretty quickly, before driving home completely blinded by the setting Summer sun.
No competitiveness was needed yesterday. It was a friendly, the opposition would of been better if they were a bunch of pandas, and we didn't really need to win, although it was technically impossible not to.
Today was a bit different. Back to the humdrum of the Beds and County league, and with a very, very competitive captain, it's very hard to not feel like you should be thinking of winning all the time. I do usually try and relax the atmosphere by cracking a couple of jokes from the slip cordon and creating a few laughs, but today, after a very disappointing innings where I played on to my own stumps, I was keeping. We had made 197, and they were looking rather comfortable on 100-2. By this stage, I was angry. The field settings were all wrong, people kept dropping the simplest of catches and no one looked as if they could be bothered. It really, really annoyed me for some reason, and although I tried to not let it show, I would of been majorly pissed off if we didn't win. Luckily, we did, as the rest of their order collapsed in quick succession. But that stage of about 10 or 15 overs, where catches were being dropped and bowlers were bowling rubbish, was probably the most competitive and... flustered, I've ever been on a sports field. Especially in what is considered the "Gentleman's Game".
It wouldn't be a bad thing to become more competitive. To be honest, I would like to be a little bit more competitive, without taking it too far. It would certainly be good for next year, but I never have been. Even after today, my attitude of competitiveness has gone from 'Idiotic' to 'Bearable'. I can now see why people are competitive. I think I can now appreciate competitiveness. Because spending the whole day in the Sun, when you've personally played crap, and losing? What a waste of a day.
Seeing as I swapped shifts so I can play like a retarded salmon this afternoon, I now have to work tonight which will undoubtedly be very long. I'm already yawning, and in 9 hours time, when I can walk out the door and go to sleep, I will be as happy a Mitten as I have this last 6 weeks or so.
Saturday 23 July 2011
Caerdydd
As I sit here, eating the £1 bar of Galaxy Caramel, that has been sitting on my chair for 3 days now, I can't help but feel that I'm making all the right decisions at the moment. All of these right decisions are leading to a life I didn't think was possible a couple of years ago.
It all started off about a month ago I suppose, where I chose to buy a ticket for Sister Mitten's graduation from Cardiff University. On that day, I was home alone, with my Sister on her travels and the Parents Mitten on their holidays, and I have to admit I was severely undecided on whether I wanted to go to this Graduation ceremony or not. I mean, at the end of the day, it's just a couple of hours of a man reading some names out. What can be that special about it, unless you're the person taking part? However, I felt I must be there for my Sister on her special day so decided to spend 10 of my precious pounds to buy a ticket.
As we left for this Graduation on Thursday morning, at 11am precisely, I knew I had made the right decision. I was looking forward to this couple of days across the border, with the sheep, and I don't think I was disappointed. The journey there was largely uneventful, unless you count the bizarre stop off, where a girl, no older than 6, ordered a double macchiato with cream and the even more bizzare event of an incredible amount of emergency services attending what was no more than an incident involving a caravan that had rolled on its side. I have since learnt however, that 5 other cars and a truck were involved, although where they ended up I don't know. As we drove past though, they were nowhere to been, suggesting they had been cataclysmically blown apart by the caravan. It seems the only solution.
When we finally got there, at around 3pm, we parked in completely the wrong place and hauled our luggage to Lenny Henry's Premier Inn, where we were welcomed by a young lady who had the strongest Welsh accent imaginable. She checked us in, and before I knew it, I was in my own room, 306, on the 3rd floor, lounging on my huge, delectably comfortable double bed, watching the TV. I think I may have dozed off for 20 minutes before receiving a phone call from Father Mitten inviting me down to the bar, with the promise of Live Test Match cricket on the idiot box. What we were greeted with however, was BBC News on a widescreen, so after a brief walk around the city centre, that included trying to find a single person who actually spoke Welsh, (of which there were none), we made our way back to give ourselves plenty of time to prepare for our posh dinner that evening.
That particular dinner was, interesting. We got the small train to Cardiff Bay and eventually found the restaurant we had booked, Bayside Brasserie, and were shown to our seats by your stereotypical Frenchman, and were then greeted with the largest menu's you are ever going to see. Seeing as we were ordering from the 'Graduation Special Menu', this seemed rather needless. If you would like to know, I had the Ham Terrine with Fruit Chutney, (good), the Steak Burger and Homemade Chips, (very average) and the Chocolate Fondent dessert, (incredible), before we were being ushered out to make room for more graduates and their families. I guess they had a busy night...
I was SUPPOSED to be going out with Sister Mitten that night to enjoy a few drinks and to see what Cardiff, (or Caerdydd), had to offer, but I was absolutely cream crackered. Even the promise of 50p Jagerbombs from some place failed to change my mind, and by 9.30pm, I was flat out on my incredible double bed, out for the count. Somehow, I woke up at 2.30am, answered a couple of texts from people who were expecting me to be ruined, and went back to sleep, with the alarm set for a very solid 7am.
I've never had a better night's sleep than I did last night. It felt like I was sleeping on a cloud, and having to get off that cloud for 7am was quite possibly the most difficult thing ever. Sitting on my own bed at the moment, feels like sitting on a slab of concrete. Or maybe sitting on Alan Sugar... However, the breakfast that was waiting downstairs definitely made up for that, and I fully indulged on what was practically a free-for-all on the breakfast bar. Cereals, croissants, muffins, yoghurts, crumpets, toast, sausages, eggs, bacon, beans, mushrooms, more muffins, a never ending amount of fruit juice... It was... amazing. I lived up to my reputation of being a, "fat git", and then we had to get changed into our suits and smart attire for the main event, which I have to admit, was fairly dire.
A lot of waiting around happened, as Sister Mitten got our tickets and then her Graduation gown and then a lot of messing around with her hair, after she noticed her ears were sticking out. Before long though, we were seated right at the back of St.David's Hall ready for the ceremony. Now, I don't know how many of you have been to a Graduation ceremony, but they do... Go on a bit. Seeing as this was Wales however, it went on even longer, seeing as everything was said in English THEN Welsh. I still maintain that no one in Wales, actually speaks Welsh, begging the question, "What is the point in the Welsh language?", but there we are. The ceremony took forever. I was nearly falling asleep, only being entertained by the poor announcer trying to say names from obscure places in Asia and Africa, and students with 245 middle names. A lot of hanging around then happened after, with only the photos being taken the only activity I really got involved in.
However, we eventually found ourselves going back to the Premier Inn, and after a baguette that we waited nearly half a century for, we were on our way home, through the Friday night traffic, back to Bedford.
That wasn't the end of my day though. Oh no. As soon as I got home, I was off out again for Master Kettle's birthday celebrations that didn't exactly go to plan in my own head. My "strategy" for the night was to try and get drunk as quickly as possible, so I could ignore the tiredness so obviously plaguing me after such a tiresome couple of days. This worked to an extent, before we reached a place called Hi-Fi, which was as dead as Michael Jackson, and all the alcohol, (including 9 out of 20 Jagerbombs bought by myself and Marriott), plus the tiredness, all caught up with me at once and I just wanted to go home. I am a bit ashamed at how I left, sort of feigning being stupidly, stupidly drunk, (yep, sorry!), but I didn't want to just leave Kettle's birthday on a whim. He was enjoying himself anyway, so I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have minded too much! I got a Subway with Magic Man and got a cab home.
Yep, that was 90 minutes ago, and I still find myself awake. My brain is a strange, strange place, but I have enjoyed the majority of the last couple of days immensely, and I'm very, very pleased I went to my Sister's graduation in the end. The ceremony itself might have dragged, but otherwise we had fun. A full weekend of cricket awaits, and with the promise of a good forecast and hopefully not a hangover in the morning, life just keeps carrying on with that good vibe...
How strange.
It all started off about a month ago I suppose, where I chose to buy a ticket for Sister Mitten's graduation from Cardiff University. On that day, I was home alone, with my Sister on her travels and the Parents Mitten on their holidays, and I have to admit I was severely undecided on whether I wanted to go to this Graduation ceremony or not. I mean, at the end of the day, it's just a couple of hours of a man reading some names out. What can be that special about it, unless you're the person taking part? However, I felt I must be there for my Sister on her special day so decided to spend 10 of my precious pounds to buy a ticket.
As we left for this Graduation on Thursday morning, at 11am precisely, I knew I had made the right decision. I was looking forward to this couple of days across the border, with the sheep, and I don't think I was disappointed. The journey there was largely uneventful, unless you count the bizarre stop off, where a girl, no older than 6, ordered a double macchiato with cream and the even more bizzare event of an incredible amount of emergency services attending what was no more than an incident involving a caravan that had rolled on its side. I have since learnt however, that 5 other cars and a truck were involved, although where they ended up I don't know. As we drove past though, they were nowhere to been, suggesting they had been cataclysmically blown apart by the caravan. It seems the only solution.
When we finally got there, at around 3pm, we parked in completely the wrong place and hauled our luggage to Lenny Henry's Premier Inn, where we were welcomed by a young lady who had the strongest Welsh accent imaginable. She checked us in, and before I knew it, I was in my own room, 306, on the 3rd floor, lounging on my huge, delectably comfortable double bed, watching the TV. I think I may have dozed off for 20 minutes before receiving a phone call from Father Mitten inviting me down to the bar, with the promise of Live Test Match cricket on the idiot box. What we were greeted with however, was BBC News on a widescreen, so after a brief walk around the city centre, that included trying to find a single person who actually spoke Welsh, (of which there were none), we made our way back to give ourselves plenty of time to prepare for our posh dinner that evening.
That particular dinner was, interesting. We got the small train to Cardiff Bay and eventually found the restaurant we had booked, Bayside Brasserie, and were shown to our seats by your stereotypical Frenchman, and were then greeted with the largest menu's you are ever going to see. Seeing as we were ordering from the 'Graduation Special Menu', this seemed rather needless. If you would like to know, I had the Ham Terrine with Fruit Chutney, (good), the Steak Burger and Homemade Chips, (very average) and the Chocolate Fondent dessert, (incredible), before we were being ushered out to make room for more graduates and their families. I guess they had a busy night...
I was SUPPOSED to be going out with Sister Mitten that night to enjoy a few drinks and to see what Cardiff, (or Caerdydd), had to offer, but I was absolutely cream crackered. Even the promise of 50p Jagerbombs from some place failed to change my mind, and by 9.30pm, I was flat out on my incredible double bed, out for the count. Somehow, I woke up at 2.30am, answered a couple of texts from people who were expecting me to be ruined, and went back to sleep, with the alarm set for a very solid 7am.
I've never had a better night's sleep than I did last night. It felt like I was sleeping on a cloud, and having to get off that cloud for 7am was quite possibly the most difficult thing ever. Sitting on my own bed at the moment, feels like sitting on a slab of concrete. Or maybe sitting on Alan Sugar... However, the breakfast that was waiting downstairs definitely made up for that, and I fully indulged on what was practically a free-for-all on the breakfast bar. Cereals, croissants, muffins, yoghurts, crumpets, toast, sausages, eggs, bacon, beans, mushrooms, more muffins, a never ending amount of fruit juice... It was... amazing. I lived up to my reputation of being a, "fat git", and then we had to get changed into our suits and smart attire for the main event, which I have to admit, was fairly dire.
A lot of waiting around happened, as Sister Mitten got our tickets and then her Graduation gown and then a lot of messing around with her hair, after she noticed her ears were sticking out. Before long though, we were seated right at the back of St.David's Hall ready for the ceremony. Now, I don't know how many of you have been to a Graduation ceremony, but they do... Go on a bit. Seeing as this was Wales however, it went on even longer, seeing as everything was said in English THEN Welsh. I still maintain that no one in Wales, actually speaks Welsh, begging the question, "What is the point in the Welsh language?", but there we are. The ceremony took forever. I was nearly falling asleep, only being entertained by the poor announcer trying to say names from obscure places in Asia and Africa, and students with 245 middle names. A lot of hanging around then happened after, with only the photos being taken the only activity I really got involved in.
However, we eventually found ourselves going back to the Premier Inn, and after a baguette that we waited nearly half a century for, we were on our way home, through the Friday night traffic, back to Bedford.
That wasn't the end of my day though. Oh no. As soon as I got home, I was off out again for Master Kettle's birthday celebrations that didn't exactly go to plan in my own head. My "strategy" for the night was to try and get drunk as quickly as possible, so I could ignore the tiredness so obviously plaguing me after such a tiresome couple of days. This worked to an extent, before we reached a place called Hi-Fi, which was as dead as Michael Jackson, and all the alcohol, (including 9 out of 20 Jagerbombs bought by myself and Marriott), plus the tiredness, all caught up with me at once and I just wanted to go home. I am a bit ashamed at how I left, sort of feigning being stupidly, stupidly drunk, (yep, sorry!), but I didn't want to just leave Kettle's birthday on a whim. He was enjoying himself anyway, so I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have minded too much! I got a Subway with Magic Man and got a cab home.
Yep, that was 90 minutes ago, and I still find myself awake. My brain is a strange, strange place, but I have enjoyed the majority of the last couple of days immensely, and I'm very, very pleased I went to my Sister's graduation in the end. The ceremony itself might have dragged, but otherwise we had fun. A full weekend of cricket awaits, and with the promise of a good forecast and hopefully not a hangover in the morning, life just keeps carrying on with that good vibe...
How strange.
Wednesday 20 July 2011
I Remember!
You know you're tired when you think a bin is actually a Dalek.. Night shifts knock the living daylights out of you, screwing up your body clock like a thin piece of A4 paper and then throwing it in the trash. These last 2 nights have made me remember how painful, dismembering and sad my life was at this time last year and I'm very, very happy that I have done something about it, and won't be doing them for much longer.
Looking at the rota for the next couple of weeks showed that I am due to be doing more nights than I had anticipated, including some at the weekend, which will be as nice as a particularly large bogey. I have just returned from the 2nd of my 2 night shifts this week and am very pleased that I got through them both largely unscathed from the lashing claws of the Goddess of All Evil, and home in just about one piece, even if I am ready to collapse in a heap on my bed, that seems more comfortable than usual. And while I sit here, listening to the Lion King soundtrack, (why not?), I am looking forward to what the next 4 days will bring. I have not a spare moment to think, which is always good, and I cannot see a moment in which I will be bored.
Tomorrow, if I wake up in time of course, I have offered myself for Aspen CC's midweek cup semi-final against some team I don't know the name of yet. I will, no doubt, play little part in what will probably be an Aspen victory, before I move on to some crazy idea of a movie night at Moomin's. Sorry. I really shouldn't call dear Billie a 'moomin', but Beddoe did instigate this idea, and I'm sorry to say, it has stuck! And when I say, "crazy idea", I do mean, "brilliant idea". Of course I do!
This is all before the main event of the week, the 2-day trip to the Valleys! Otherwise known as Sheepland, or Wales, the Family Mitten are embarking on the drive west to Cardiff to enjoy Sister Mitten's graduation ceremony, plus a slap-up meal somewhere and maybe a drink or 9. I am looking forward to this trip immensely. This time last year, I think I would of seen this trip as a useless family outing and I wouldn't really want to go, imagining being home alone as a much better prospect, but it's good to get out of your hometown occasionally, even if the travelling part is going to be deathly boring. As is the actual ceremony probably, but you can't win them all.
Hopefully, we will be back in time for Friday evening, where Master Kettle's birthday celebrations begin with the usual pre-drinks and wasted times that are almost not worth explaining these days, as you now all know the drill. If I am not too hungover, I have decided I will play in this nonsensical cricket friendly in Dunstable on Saturday, as it's something to do, before going back to work on Sunday. D'oh...
Things are great at the moment though. They really, really are. This is by far the longest passage of time I can remember where I have been truly happy, but the thing that is different here is that I think... I THINK... it may never end. By the time Winter comes round, I will be immersed in my new life, surrounded by the brand new, and I will be concentrating too much on survival to think about surviving my own brain. Unlike previous times, I do not presume that this good patch will end.
Maybe, just maybe, I'm winning.
Looking at the rota for the next couple of weeks showed that I am due to be doing more nights than I had anticipated, including some at the weekend, which will be as nice as a particularly large bogey. I have just returned from the 2nd of my 2 night shifts this week and am very pleased that I got through them both largely unscathed from the lashing claws of the Goddess of All Evil, and home in just about one piece, even if I am ready to collapse in a heap on my bed, that seems more comfortable than usual. And while I sit here, listening to the Lion King soundtrack, (why not?), I am looking forward to what the next 4 days will bring. I have not a spare moment to think, which is always good, and I cannot see a moment in which I will be bored.
Tomorrow, if I wake up in time of course, I have offered myself for Aspen CC's midweek cup semi-final against some team I don't know the name of yet. I will, no doubt, play little part in what will probably be an Aspen victory, before I move on to some crazy idea of a movie night at Moomin's. Sorry. I really shouldn't call dear Billie a 'moomin', but Beddoe did instigate this idea, and I'm sorry to say, it has stuck! And when I say, "crazy idea", I do mean, "brilliant idea". Of course I do!
This is all before the main event of the week, the 2-day trip to the Valleys! Otherwise known as Sheepland, or Wales, the Family Mitten are embarking on the drive west to Cardiff to enjoy Sister Mitten's graduation ceremony, plus a slap-up meal somewhere and maybe a drink or 9. I am looking forward to this trip immensely. This time last year, I think I would of seen this trip as a useless family outing and I wouldn't really want to go, imagining being home alone as a much better prospect, but it's good to get out of your hometown occasionally, even if the travelling part is going to be deathly boring. As is the actual ceremony probably, but you can't win them all.
Hopefully, we will be back in time for Friday evening, where Master Kettle's birthday celebrations begin with the usual pre-drinks and wasted times that are almost not worth explaining these days, as you now all know the drill. If I am not too hungover, I have decided I will play in this nonsensical cricket friendly in Dunstable on Saturday, as it's something to do, before going back to work on Sunday. D'oh...
Things are great at the moment though. They really, really are. This is by far the longest passage of time I can remember where I have been truly happy, but the thing that is different here is that I think... I THINK... it may never end. By the time Winter comes round, I will be immersed in my new life, surrounded by the brand new, and I will be concentrating too much on survival to think about surviving my own brain. Unlike previous times, I do not presume that this good patch will end.
Maybe, just maybe, I'm winning.
Monday 18 July 2011
Hand-Carved Vietnamese Elephant
Don't worry. All will be explained in due course.
Firstly however, I would like to announce a phenomonal change in the House of Mitten. Our internet is back! After many phone calls to the God-awful customer care service that TalkTalk possess, many pointless pieces of information and even a desperate "Tweet" from Phil, The TalkTalk Man, we are back online! I am sitting on my own bed, with no fat man staring over my shoulder, reading what I am typing about him, and I can't hear the sound of me typing, because a particularly loud someone has returned home...
Yep. Sister Mitten has returned from the latest leg of her globetrotting antics, conveniently in time for her own graduation from Cardiff University on Friday, and the return home was a mild celebration mixed in with jetlag and tiredness. I trotted downstairs to greet her with a hug and was greeted with a huge purple suitcase and a tired looking sister. I hung around a bit, looking at the photos from her elephant trekking, where it looks like she nearly died due to 'stampede injuries', and generally discussing her trip.
I was then greeted with a small package, covered in a Vietnamese newspaper, (which could well be valuable in 14 years time). I opened it to find a tiny, tiny bag with two miniscule tusk-shaped horns, apparently made of ivory... I was a little bit surprised, wondering what on Earth they are for, but the picture was completed as I opened the 2nd package to find a beautiful hand-carved elephant, with 2 small holes where the tusks should be. Picture perfect. It lies on my bedroom shelf, along with Mr.Potato Head and countless sporting trophies to complete one of the best-looking bedroom shelves you're ever going to see.
But now, I must get ready for work, and what will no doubt be a deathly long night-shift full of boredom and loneliness. Tonight and tomorrow night, before 4 days off, (including a 2-day trip to Cardiff), and a strangely organised cricket friendly in Dunstable, (for some reason, and weather permitting, of course). I have a busy week in store...
... But the clock is counting down.
Firstly however, I would like to announce a phenomonal change in the House of Mitten. Our internet is back! After many phone calls to the God-awful customer care service that TalkTalk possess, many pointless pieces of information and even a desperate "Tweet" from Phil, The TalkTalk Man, we are back online! I am sitting on my own bed, with no fat man staring over my shoulder, reading what I am typing about him, and I can't hear the sound of me typing, because a particularly loud someone has returned home...
Yep. Sister Mitten has returned from the latest leg of her globetrotting antics, conveniently in time for her own graduation from Cardiff University on Friday, and the return home was a mild celebration mixed in with jetlag and tiredness. I trotted downstairs to greet her with a hug and was greeted with a huge purple suitcase and a tired looking sister. I hung around a bit, looking at the photos from her elephant trekking, where it looks like she nearly died due to 'stampede injuries', and generally discussing her trip.
I was then greeted with a small package, covered in a Vietnamese newspaper, (which could well be valuable in 14 years time). I opened it to find a tiny, tiny bag with two miniscule tusk-shaped horns, apparently made of ivory... I was a little bit surprised, wondering what on Earth they are for, but the picture was completed as I opened the 2nd package to find a beautiful hand-carved elephant, with 2 small holes where the tusks should be. Picture perfect. It lies on my bedroom shelf, along with Mr.Potato Head and countless sporting trophies to complete one of the best-looking bedroom shelves you're ever going to see.
But now, I must get ready for work, and what will no doubt be a deathly long night-shift full of boredom and loneliness. Tonight and tomorrow night, before 4 days off, (including a 2-day trip to Cardiff), and a strangely organised cricket friendly in Dunstable, (for some reason, and weather permitting, of course). I have a busy week in store...
... But the clock is counting down.
Follow The Leader
I find myself in the apparent silence of Putnoe Library once more, just like I was this time last year, due to a disappointing and expensive problem with our internet service provider, (or if you're Stuart Baggs 'The Brand', our "ISP"), and I have been desperate to bloggle since the frustration of Saturday and the frankly annoying afternoon I experienced yesterday. It's safe to say then, I have had better weekends.
After the longest morning in living history on Saturday, where I spent 8 hours putting things out for people to buy, without any consideration of how much hard work had been put into it, I found out that cricket had been called off due to the Vietnamese like monsoons that we experienced all morning, so thought that I would get a few hours much needed kip in preperation for what was surely going to be an epic night. A joint 21st birthday, surrounded by people with an eccentric and frankly strange sense of humour? What could possibly go wrong?
Well, at about 7pm, obviously nothing. I went to the cash point, the 'Hole In The Wall', the ATM, whatever you will call it these days, and withdrew £20. Except I didn't. The machine gave me £30 instead, and despite me quite clearly clicking on '20', it gave me a tenner more. I have since checked, and my account has been de-credited 30. Oh well. I then went on to buy a small(ish) bottle of Chekov, (Yeah, I use brand names now, get used to it!), and then for some reason, decided to go into a shop and buy a £2 scratchcard. Why not? I went back to the car, 1p coin in hand, and scratched away. 'Winner'.... 'Winner'.... 'Winner'.... 'Winner'... I had won £30, and this, plus the £21 I had remaining meant I was going to enjoy a rather good night. Things were looking up.
As myself and Master Kettle made our way to Watty's for "Pre Wennys", (1), we discussed many things, such as the new and last Harry Potter film, (which was of course, incredible), and a particular Hawker's inability to pick up the concept of punctuality. On arrival, we found a gaggle of people situated in the back garden to begin celebrations, and a massive game of 'Ring of Cya' (2), began in earnest before it ended with Master Kettle seeing off the King of All Dirty Pints, as he usually has to when the game is played at Watty's, and then I think I may have despatched a extra cover drive over the garden fence for a huge 6 before the arrival of all the taxis.
This is where things turned a bit rubbish. The pre-arranged meeting place was Bankers, which is as dull as watching Geoffrey Boycott, and drinks aren't exactly on the cheap side. As Honks' found out when he ordered a cup of tea... (3)! A few more people turned up, wearing their '21' t-shirts that had been proudly designed by the birthday boys, (even if they did mis-spell 'Mitten'...), and as everyone started to sink lower and lower into their drinking trousers, I just had that funny feeling that this night wasn't going to be like the nights I have recently experienced. This was just going to be your average night out on Bedford town, no hot tubs, no water, no bouncy castle boxing ring... No hawkers...
I lie actually, because even if a pair of Hawkers were away getting malformed in Norfolk, I did see a hawker out with his friends, Mr Mason, but I hardly saw him again. After Bankers, we had a brief stay in Chameleon, which is somewhere I would have preferred to stay for a bit longer, seeing as drinks are as cheap as penny sweets, and the atmosphere is always loud. Not before long though, we were on our way to Saints. Or was it The Rose? Or maybe Litten Tree? No, this is not me being wasted, this is the massive indecision and stupidness of going to random places. With the Hawkers, everyone agrees on places with no word of an argument or discussion. With this lot, it took us 20 minutes to decide on where to go, and trying to round everyone up, like shepherds trying to round up sheep. It was exasperatingly frustrating. In the end, we managed to get everyone around and agreed on Saints, after a bit of shouting from me, and before we knew it, we were in. For free, thanks to Kenco's weird queue jump thing.
As soon as we stepped foot inside, everyone went haywire. A small group went left, a small group went outside, a small group went to the dancefloor, some of us hitched up the bar, and a small number were still outside. Answer me this. How, oh How, are you supposed to enjoy a night out when you spend literally the whole time chasing around for other people? Everyone was trying to look for each other, and in a club that was packed to the rafters, like sardines in an especially small tin can, that is nearly impossible. And when a select number of these people didn't really know their own location and kept wandering off to nowhere, it becomes stupid. After an hour and a half of being in this place, (about 10 minutes of which was spent dancing, and 30 minutes stood waiting for a drink), I had had enough. Why should I waste my time going on a search and rescue mission and playing 'Follow The Leader', when I could be at home catching up on lost sleep in time for work the following afternoon. I was so frustrated, and it's a shame it ended like it did. Getting a taxi home at 1.30am, alone.
Work yesterday was of the very average kind, but right now, I'm being pressured to get off this library computer as I have spent an hour talking to you. And seeing as one of these people is of the particularly large variety, I suppose I'd better leave you to it.
After the longest morning in living history on Saturday, where I spent 8 hours putting things out for people to buy, without any consideration of how much hard work had been put into it, I found out that cricket had been called off due to the Vietnamese like monsoons that we experienced all morning, so thought that I would get a few hours much needed kip in preperation for what was surely going to be an epic night. A joint 21st birthday, surrounded by people with an eccentric and frankly strange sense of humour? What could possibly go wrong?
Well, at about 7pm, obviously nothing. I went to the cash point, the 'Hole In The Wall', the ATM, whatever you will call it these days, and withdrew £20. Except I didn't. The machine gave me £30 instead, and despite me quite clearly clicking on '20', it gave me a tenner more. I have since checked, and my account has been de-credited 30. Oh well. I then went on to buy a small(ish) bottle of Chekov, (Yeah, I use brand names now, get used to it!), and then for some reason, decided to go into a shop and buy a £2 scratchcard. Why not? I went back to the car, 1p coin in hand, and scratched away. 'Winner'.... 'Winner'.... 'Winner'.... 'Winner'... I had won £30, and this, plus the £21 I had remaining meant I was going to enjoy a rather good night. Things were looking up.
As myself and Master Kettle made our way to Watty's for "Pre Wennys", (1), we discussed many things, such as the new and last Harry Potter film, (which was of course, incredible), and a particular Hawker's inability to pick up the concept of punctuality. On arrival, we found a gaggle of people situated in the back garden to begin celebrations, and a massive game of 'Ring of Cya' (2), began in earnest before it ended with Master Kettle seeing off the King of All Dirty Pints, as he usually has to when the game is played at Watty's, and then I think I may have despatched a extra cover drive over the garden fence for a huge 6 before the arrival of all the taxis.
This is where things turned a bit rubbish. The pre-arranged meeting place was Bankers, which is as dull as watching Geoffrey Boycott, and drinks aren't exactly on the cheap side. As Honks' found out when he ordered a cup of tea... (3)! A few more people turned up, wearing their '21' t-shirts that had been proudly designed by the birthday boys, (even if they did mis-spell 'Mitten'...), and as everyone started to sink lower and lower into their drinking trousers, I just had that funny feeling that this night wasn't going to be like the nights I have recently experienced. This was just going to be your average night out on Bedford town, no hot tubs, no water, no bouncy castle boxing ring... No hawkers...
I lie actually, because even if a pair of Hawkers were away getting malformed in Norfolk, I did see a hawker out with his friends, Mr Mason, but I hardly saw him again. After Bankers, we had a brief stay in Chameleon, which is somewhere I would have preferred to stay for a bit longer, seeing as drinks are as cheap as penny sweets, and the atmosphere is always loud. Not before long though, we were on our way to Saints. Or was it The Rose? Or maybe Litten Tree? No, this is not me being wasted, this is the massive indecision and stupidness of going to random places. With the Hawkers, everyone agrees on places with no word of an argument or discussion. With this lot, it took us 20 minutes to decide on where to go, and trying to round everyone up, like shepherds trying to round up sheep. It was exasperatingly frustrating. In the end, we managed to get everyone around and agreed on Saints, after a bit of shouting from me, and before we knew it, we were in. For free, thanks to Kenco's weird queue jump thing.
As soon as we stepped foot inside, everyone went haywire. A small group went left, a small group went outside, a small group went to the dancefloor, some of us hitched up the bar, and a small number were still outside. Answer me this. How, oh How, are you supposed to enjoy a night out when you spend literally the whole time chasing around for other people? Everyone was trying to look for each other, and in a club that was packed to the rafters, like sardines in an especially small tin can, that is nearly impossible. And when a select number of these people didn't really know their own location and kept wandering off to nowhere, it becomes stupid. After an hour and a half of being in this place, (about 10 minutes of which was spent dancing, and 30 minutes stood waiting for a drink), I had had enough. Why should I waste my time going on a search and rescue mission and playing 'Follow The Leader', when I could be at home catching up on lost sleep in time for work the following afternoon. I was so frustrated, and it's a shame it ended like it did. Getting a taxi home at 1.30am, alone.
Work yesterday was of the very average kind, but right now, I'm being pressured to get off this library computer as I have spent an hour talking to you. And seeing as one of these people is of the particularly large variety, I suppose I'd better leave you to it.
Saturday 16 July 2011
05:15
I'm not sure whether it's the novelty of waking up at such a stupid time, simply to go to work, or whether I've matured since the days of waking up early to go to school, but I find waking up at around 5am as much easier than waking up at 8am. Everyone wakes up at 8am. If you tell people you wake up at 8am to go to work, you will receive nothing but a "meh". If you tell people you wake up at 5am, the reaction you get is one of heartwarming sympathy and genuine shock. This makes you feel a bit better about yourself.
Anyway, I'm sure it's just a novelty, but the sheer fact of the matter is, I'm only at BP for another 6 weeks. In 6 weeks, there or there abouts, I shall be on the M1 on my way down south to begin the promised life, and all of a sudden, typing this, has made me realise that it really isn't that far away.. A new place to live, new friends to make, new spots to chill out in, new things to learn, new drinks to discover... It's all becoming a reality, yet preperation still feels like it's a long way off... Like, MAJOR preperation.
Back to the present, and yes, once again, I did awake at 05:15, once again, strangely, without the use of the alarm clock I had sadly set at midnight the night before, and before I could say, "Geronimo", I was driving to work on a damp, grey, miserable bitch of a morning. Upon arrival, I got to work counting the safe, as I anticipated another day sat on Till 1, welcoming each customer with the dreaded line of, "Would you like a 5p bag?" and wistfully looking at the clock, waiting for 2pm, so I could rush out the door and get to cricket as soon as I could. Instead, as soon as Legend Alex turned up, he announced a bit of a change to normal and said I would be situated on the shop floor. Ok. A bit of a change I suppose, could be good. It wasn't. The first 2 hours were fine, as I just did general rubbish that you don't want to hear about, but as soon as that delivery came at 8am, (of which there were pallet loads), the morning went slower and slower and slower and slo....
Sorry, I drifted off there for a second. It was that boring, so much so, that I end up in a coma just thinking about this morning's shift. It went even slower, as I realised that cricket was a no-no thanks to the Vietnam-esque monsoon we had all morning, and by the time 2pm came round, I ran out the door and never looked back. Saying that, the final hour or so was interesting as Father Mitten turned up waiting for someone to come and look at the Mittenmobile. This man though, shifty looking, only offered 600 quid, and although I would of taken that a couple of months back, the ever ambitious Father Mitten laughed him off. 600 quid? No chance.
Anyway. Enough for today. I have a 21st to get ready for, and after waking up after a few hours kip this afternoon, I feel just about ready to go and give it a good shot. These guys are a bit different to the Hawkers however... These guys' sense of humour may just be enough to confuse the living daylights out of me! Never mind. I'm off to get ready, (a.k.a Buy some vodka), and have a good night.
I trust you will all have the same. (Maybe minus the vodka...)
Anyway, I'm sure it's just a novelty, but the sheer fact of the matter is, I'm only at BP for another 6 weeks. In 6 weeks, there or there abouts, I shall be on the M1 on my way down south to begin the promised life, and all of a sudden, typing this, has made me realise that it really isn't that far away.. A new place to live, new friends to make, new spots to chill out in, new things to learn, new drinks to discover... It's all becoming a reality, yet preperation still feels like it's a long way off... Like, MAJOR preperation.
Back to the present, and yes, once again, I did awake at 05:15, once again, strangely, without the use of the alarm clock I had sadly set at midnight the night before, and before I could say, "Geronimo", I was driving to work on a damp, grey, miserable bitch of a morning. Upon arrival, I got to work counting the safe, as I anticipated another day sat on Till 1, welcoming each customer with the dreaded line of, "Would you like a 5p bag?" and wistfully looking at the clock, waiting for 2pm, so I could rush out the door and get to cricket as soon as I could. Instead, as soon as Legend Alex turned up, he announced a bit of a change to normal and said I would be situated on the shop floor. Ok. A bit of a change I suppose, could be good. It wasn't. The first 2 hours were fine, as I just did general rubbish that you don't want to hear about, but as soon as that delivery came at 8am, (of which there were pallet loads), the morning went slower and slower and slower and slo....
Sorry, I drifted off there for a second. It was that boring, so much so, that I end up in a coma just thinking about this morning's shift. It went even slower, as I realised that cricket was a no-no thanks to the Vietnam-esque monsoon we had all morning, and by the time 2pm came round, I ran out the door and never looked back. Saying that, the final hour or so was interesting as Father Mitten turned up waiting for someone to come and look at the Mittenmobile. This man though, shifty looking, only offered 600 quid, and although I would of taken that a couple of months back, the ever ambitious Father Mitten laughed him off. 600 quid? No chance.
Anyway. Enough for today. I have a 21st to get ready for, and after waking up after a few hours kip this afternoon, I feel just about ready to go and give it a good shot. These guys are a bit different to the Hawkers however... These guys' sense of humour may just be enough to confuse the living daylights out of me! Never mind. I'm off to get ready, (a.k.a Buy some vodka), and have a good night.
I trust you will all have the same. (Maybe minus the vodka...)
Thursday 14 July 2011
The Inflatables
Here comes another story of drunken antics courtesy of myself and the "Hawkers", so apologies if you were looking for a change of subject in this thing I call my blog. This Summer has a particular pattern surrounding it. The adventures of the cricket season. The arduous and painstakingly long times at work. And the ridiculous habits of an intoxicated Mitten, and his merry followers.
I don't know what's happened to the night life in Bedford recently, but it's all become a bit surreal. Of course, a couple of weeks back, there was that week with rather insane additions in Saints that involved a lot of water, most of which ended up in my shoes, and then the 'Jagerbomb contest'. Now it seems, we are about to enter the 'It's A Knockout' stage. Quite literally. After a rather hurried pre-drinking session, which began with Magic Man rigging the deck of cards in favour of Beddoe getting the worst cards imaginable, naturally, and your average game of 'Ring of Bye', we were on our way to town. For some reason, due to unstable economic times in the wallets of all of us, we decided to use our own feet and walk to town. The phone calls that were made on this journey are too detailed and ... strange to get into. In short, I left the house in an apparently fine state. By the time I reached town, I was halfway to the Land of the Drunks. Well. I say, "halfway"...
When we reached the famed Bedford High Street, it didn't seem entirely busy. Ok, it was a Wednesday night, so we were not expecting it to be packed to the rafters, but it did seem genuinely... empty. I feared the worst. After finding a cash machine to release the last of the money I have, we went to Mitten Tree to top up on cheap(ish) drinks, where I also believe Kettle, Moo and Cob had their dosage of our dear cousins Mr Wray and Mr Nephews. Even the smell of that stuff leads me to physically gag. In a bottle of Wray and Nephews, I see flashes of an ambulance, the smell of a hospital, and the sounds of a vomiting man.
We spent a fair bit of time in that place. After welcoming Colin into our drinking party, for what he claimed was going to be, "a quick one", we headed off to Elements, (a change of scenery!), after hearing of a strange phenomonon within the compounds of the place! By this time, I was a good drunk, a happy drunk, as were many others. It still wasn't as busy as I would have liked, but beggars can't be choosers. I choose that line, simply because I hadn't spent a single penny of my money by the time we left Mitten Tree. I had bought 2 shots of Wray, with the change kindly offered by Mother Mitten's Pig, and manipulated everyone else into buying me 4 Jagerbombs, 2 shots of Corky's, a JD and coke and a VK.
Next series of The Apprentice maybe?
We reached Elements and paid a measly £2 to get in, (unfortunately, I had no choice but to delve deep into my wallet and fish out a £2 coin), and walked in to be greeted by what can only be described, as a bouncy castle. Now. Bouncy castles when your sober, are a lot of fun. Maybe I do sound like a bit of a peadophile saying that, but even if I am now in my 20's, you cannot deny that they are enjoyable! When you're drunk however, they are the absolute best thing to be in, bar nothing. Chuck in 2 pairs of the biggest boxing gloves you're ever going to see, plus a pair of really heavy headgear, that you couldn't see out of, and you have yourself the strangest event you're ever going to experience in a night club. Naturally, I had to have a go, so coaxed Kettle over from the bar, and all of a sudden, I was boxing. In a bouncy castle. Blind. In a nightclub. What sort of dream was I having here?
I won. Ok, I knocked Kettle down and then kept him down by punching him whilst he was on the floor while the man with the whistle counted to 10, but in Nightclub Rules, that goes down as a win. It was quite possibly the most tiring and scariest thing I have ever done. Bear in mind this huge headgear I was wearing, allowed very little room for sight, so you were practically boxing blind in a bouncy castle. Later on, I had a bout with Beddoe, but by this stage I could hardly stand on my own two feet whilst on solid ground, let alone on a bouncy castle wearing two boulders on my hands. I was a sitting duck during that match, and he knocked me down around 7 times! I stupidly, and somehow, managed to get up 6 times, but the 7th punch might aswell have genuinely knocked me out, and I was done. Kippered.
For the rest of the night, I went around trying to manipulate people into buying me drinks, and just dancing like the waster I am! When that didn't work as well as I had hoped, I went to the bar and stole them. Some guy was buying 10 or so Vodka Red Bulls and 5 VK's to himself, so I helped him out a bit and nicked 2 of each. He was already ruined, and obviously didn't notice, and he wouldn't need all that! My act of generosity may well have saved his life! Frankly, I deserve a knighthood.
It probably goes without saying I didn't need any more drink, and after a brief trip to Mario's, where Magic Man very kindly bought me a chicken burger and a bottle of much needed water, (that ended up being chucked at someone), we decided to walk home. Well, again, I say, "walk"... "Stumble home" may well be a better definition. Halfway home, I decided to "sod it", and ring a cab anyway.
I got home at 4:15, which is always good, and managed to lock the unlockable door, which didn't please Mother Mitten one bit, when I ended up ringing the doorbell. Never mind! The hangover today has been just about bearable, (I don't usually get them, amazingly), and I have spent the whole day being rather lazy.
In summary, good night.
P.S. If you've got a spare moment, follow my friend Clarky's world adventures as he starts his new photography job, travelling the length of the globe! http://cruisingclarky.blogspot.com/
I don't know what's happened to the night life in Bedford recently, but it's all become a bit surreal. Of course, a couple of weeks back, there was that week with rather insane additions in Saints that involved a lot of water, most of which ended up in my shoes, and then the 'Jagerbomb contest'. Now it seems, we are about to enter the 'It's A Knockout' stage. Quite literally. After a rather hurried pre-drinking session, which began with Magic Man rigging the deck of cards in favour of Beddoe getting the worst cards imaginable, naturally, and your average game of 'Ring of Bye', we were on our way to town. For some reason, due to unstable economic times in the wallets of all of us, we decided to use our own feet and walk to town. The phone calls that were made on this journey are too detailed and ... strange to get into. In short, I left the house in an apparently fine state. By the time I reached town, I was halfway to the Land of the Drunks. Well. I say, "halfway"...
When we reached the famed Bedford High Street, it didn't seem entirely busy. Ok, it was a Wednesday night, so we were not expecting it to be packed to the rafters, but it did seem genuinely... empty. I feared the worst. After finding a cash machine to release the last of the money I have, we went to Mitten Tree to top up on cheap(ish) drinks, where I also believe Kettle, Moo and Cob had their dosage of our dear cousins Mr Wray and Mr Nephews. Even the smell of that stuff leads me to physically gag. In a bottle of Wray and Nephews, I see flashes of an ambulance, the smell of a hospital, and the sounds of a vomiting man.
We spent a fair bit of time in that place. After welcoming Colin into our drinking party, for what he claimed was going to be, "a quick one", we headed off to Elements, (a change of scenery!), after hearing of a strange phenomonon within the compounds of the place! By this time, I was a good drunk, a happy drunk, as were many others. It still wasn't as busy as I would have liked, but beggars can't be choosers. I choose that line, simply because I hadn't spent a single penny of my money by the time we left Mitten Tree. I had bought 2 shots of Wray, with the change kindly offered by Mother Mitten's Pig, and manipulated everyone else into buying me 4 Jagerbombs, 2 shots of Corky's, a JD and coke and a VK.
Next series of The Apprentice maybe?
We reached Elements and paid a measly £2 to get in, (unfortunately, I had no choice but to delve deep into my wallet and fish out a £2 coin), and walked in to be greeted by what can only be described, as a bouncy castle. Now. Bouncy castles when your sober, are a lot of fun. Maybe I do sound like a bit of a peadophile saying that, but even if I am now in my 20's, you cannot deny that they are enjoyable! When you're drunk however, they are the absolute best thing to be in, bar nothing. Chuck in 2 pairs of the biggest boxing gloves you're ever going to see, plus a pair of really heavy headgear, that you couldn't see out of, and you have yourself the strangest event you're ever going to experience in a night club. Naturally, I had to have a go, so coaxed Kettle over from the bar, and all of a sudden, I was boxing. In a bouncy castle. Blind. In a nightclub. What sort of dream was I having here?
I won. Ok, I knocked Kettle down and then kept him down by punching him whilst he was on the floor while the man with the whistle counted to 10, but in Nightclub Rules, that goes down as a win. It was quite possibly the most tiring and scariest thing I have ever done. Bear in mind this huge headgear I was wearing, allowed very little room for sight, so you were practically boxing blind in a bouncy castle. Later on, I had a bout with Beddoe, but by this stage I could hardly stand on my own two feet whilst on solid ground, let alone on a bouncy castle wearing two boulders on my hands. I was a sitting duck during that match, and he knocked me down around 7 times! I stupidly, and somehow, managed to get up 6 times, but the 7th punch might aswell have genuinely knocked me out, and I was done. Kippered.
For the rest of the night, I went around trying to manipulate people into buying me drinks, and just dancing like the waster I am! When that didn't work as well as I had hoped, I went to the bar and stole them. Some guy was buying 10 or so Vodka Red Bulls and 5 VK's to himself, so I helped him out a bit and nicked 2 of each. He was already ruined, and obviously didn't notice, and he wouldn't need all that! My act of generosity may well have saved his life! Frankly, I deserve a knighthood.
It probably goes without saying I didn't need any more drink, and after a brief trip to Mario's, where Magic Man very kindly bought me a chicken burger and a bottle of much needed water, (that ended up being chucked at someone), we decided to walk home. Well, again, I say, "walk"... "Stumble home" may well be a better definition. Halfway home, I decided to "sod it", and ring a cab anyway.
I got home at 4:15, which is always good, and managed to lock the unlockable door, which didn't please Mother Mitten one bit, when I ended up ringing the doorbell. Never mind! The hangover today has been just about bearable, (I don't usually get them, amazingly), and I have spent the whole day being rather lazy.
In summary, good night.
P.S. If you've got a spare moment, follow my friend Clarky's world adventures as he starts his new photography job, travelling the length of the globe! http://cruisingclarky.blogspot.com/
Wednesday 13 July 2011
The Goddess of All Evil
Man, I have NOT missed those night shifts... Tonight bought me just the one-off, as someone who usually works them had booked holiday. Naturally, as the John O'Shea of BP, my versatility came in handy as I was shoved into a Tuesday night shift that turned out to be long and fruitless capped off with a ridiculous and trivial hammering from The Goddess of All Evil.
I seem to remember last week, telling you lot about how amusing it was about her getting highly disgruntled with the night shift people about, "not doing things properly". Obviously, it's funny when it's not aimed at you, but tonight, it was. What I was greeted with though was just a series of untrue and frankly unfounded claims that I hadn't worked anything. I told her to check the cameras and come back with an apology, which I don't think she took so well... How I coped for 9 months working just night shifts, I will never, ever know.
In response, she gave me a trolley full of half-filled boxes and was told to go and, "do what I should have done a few hours ago". Of course, these boxes were half-full because I had opened them and done them already, so I spent 20 minutes inspecting the work I had already done before taking these boxes back to their rightful position in the warehouse. What she had made me done then, was take out 10-15 boxes, look at some confectionary for 20 minutes, and take the boxes back again. What the actual f***?
It infuriates me. Sorry. There is no need to take out your early morning weariness and frustration on a pair of people who have been hard at work all night, through the most unsociable hours of the day, just because you can. I am so glad I don't have many of these night shifts to complete, otherwise I might just snap at any moment. Like I say, I'm amazed I lasted 9 months of this bull, complete with the troubles of The Wall, who is still nowhere to be seen. It also goes without saying that if the hours went by more slowly, they would have been going backwards.
And... breathe. I have 3 days off to enjoy now, including probable wasted antics tomorrow night, and a couple of hopefully, relaxing days before another weekend slog of work and cricket. I work Saturday morning, (with Legend Alex, phew), before cricket and Sunday afternoon, but luckily, I am missing no cricket whatsoever due to our team having a free week.
At least I don't have to put up with another night shift... Not until next week! And now, I am going to bed, with the alarm set for a respectable 3.15pm, before hearing about this... argument...
I seem to remember last week, telling you lot about how amusing it was about her getting highly disgruntled with the night shift people about, "not doing things properly". Obviously, it's funny when it's not aimed at you, but tonight, it was. What I was greeted with though was just a series of untrue and frankly unfounded claims that I hadn't worked anything. I told her to check the cameras and come back with an apology, which I don't think she took so well... How I coped for 9 months working just night shifts, I will never, ever know.
In response, she gave me a trolley full of half-filled boxes and was told to go and, "do what I should have done a few hours ago". Of course, these boxes were half-full because I had opened them and done them already, so I spent 20 minutes inspecting the work I had already done before taking these boxes back to their rightful position in the warehouse. What she had made me done then, was take out 10-15 boxes, look at some confectionary for 20 minutes, and take the boxes back again. What the actual f***?
It infuriates me. Sorry. There is no need to take out your early morning weariness and frustration on a pair of people who have been hard at work all night, through the most unsociable hours of the day, just because you can. I am so glad I don't have many of these night shifts to complete, otherwise I might just snap at any moment. Like I say, I'm amazed I lasted 9 months of this bull, complete with the troubles of The Wall, who is still nowhere to be seen. It also goes without saying that if the hours went by more slowly, they would have been going backwards.
And... breathe. I have 3 days off to enjoy now, including probable wasted antics tomorrow night, and a couple of hopefully, relaxing days before another weekend slog of work and cricket. I work Saturday morning, (with Legend Alex, phew), before cricket and Sunday afternoon, but luckily, I am missing no cricket whatsoever due to our team having a free week.
At least I don't have to put up with another night shift... Not until next week! And now, I am going to bed, with the alarm set for a respectable 3.15pm, before hearing about this... argument...
Sunday 10 July 2011
The Early Starts
If I was asked to wake up at 5.15am a couple of years ago, I would probably have tried every method in the book to avoid such a thing. Not even Alan Sugar wakes up at such an hour... But here I was, on Saturday morning, more thankful I had not decided to go out the night before, eating cornflakes and drinking my tea with milk and 2 sugars... Perfectly comfortable at 5.20 in the morning...
I found the art of waking up a little bit too simple this weekend. I thought I would find it increasingly difficult, what with my insane sleeping habits. I felt I was more likely to wake up at 5.15 in the afternoon, than in the morning.
However, what I found myself doing was getting to work a full 20 minutes early, which seemed to impress the early rising Goddess of All Evil, who has, strangely, become less evil since I have moved off nights. I found this out, I'm sorry to say, to my amusement, as she absolutely killed the night shift pair for not doing a good job. In fairness, the pair of them are awful, and, "Don't have enough time to do everything", despite the shop closing at 1am... Bull****!
Anyway. I survived the 8 hours of the morning rather easily, what with free coffees on the go, but when 2pm came, I was out the door quicker than you can say, "Steve Harmison", as Father Mitten was waiting to taxi me to the first leg of my cricketing weekend. I must point out, with the Mittenmobile up for sale, I planned to keep the car at home for as much of the weekend as possible, allowing any potential buyers to view it. Only one of which we have had....
Anyway. As we zoomed to the location of the cricket, discussing fridges, I was looking forward to the afternoon, despite a tinge of tiredness. Upon arrival, I was glad to see Beddoe back on the cricketing scene, and we won very comfortably, despite me being bowled for 17 by one that rolled. This pitch was more of a farm, but whatever. Win's a win. After much discussion about 15-year old Carpo's, 18th birthday bash, I was given a lift home by Joe The Beddoe, and after not much of an attempt to socialise a bit via my Internet Service Providings, I collapsed to sleep at around 7.30. I'm not sure I've been to sleep at 7.30 since I was about 6 years old.
As soon as I closed my eyes though, the alarm clock was wailing. It can't be that time already... It wasn't. It was 12 midnight, and I had set it wrong. Phew. I reset it, and went back to sleep, but all too soon it REALLY WAS 5.15am, and I was up and at them again. Another rollicking to the night shift pair from the Goddess of All Evil cheered me up, and despite a slow 2nd half to an otherwise distinct shift, I was running out the door again, to get to the 2nd leg of my cricketing weekend in good enough time.
Except, on arrival, there was no 2nd leg. I must have blinked at the wrong time, but apparently there was a downpour where we were playing, and the pitch was ruined. I was incensed. I had been looking forward to this for the whole day, imagining hitting some good runs on a usually good wicket, but I turned up and everyone was doing nothing. For some reason, we waited around for 2 hours waiting for it to dry, but obviously, to no avail. Whether we were waiting for the non-existent Sun's temperature to triple or a humungous hairdryer to apparate from thin air, I don't know, but those 2 hours were rather pointless. If the pitch was ruined, it was ruined. No U-turns.
So instead, we made our way back to The Bury, to try and enjoy the consolation prize of a net. We watched the 2nd XI's game, (which was going ahead despite having the same downpour...), and just mulled around. I would much rather have been playing in a proper game....
But, oh well. These things happen, and I am looking forward to departing for the pub quiz in about 15 minutes, where I will almost certainly devour my weekly chocolate fudge cake in style, and enjoy a not-so-winning effort, but where a laugh is had by all. I only have 1 shift at work next week, (before the weekend), albeit a night shift... I thought I had got rid of those damn things...
By the way, as mentioned earlier, the Mittenmobile is up for sale. £795.. A price set by the ever-ambitious and optimistic Father Mitten. Anyone interested....? You must be mad.
I found the art of waking up a little bit too simple this weekend. I thought I would find it increasingly difficult, what with my insane sleeping habits. I felt I was more likely to wake up at 5.15 in the afternoon, than in the morning.
However, what I found myself doing was getting to work a full 20 minutes early, which seemed to impress the early rising Goddess of All Evil, who has, strangely, become less evil since I have moved off nights. I found this out, I'm sorry to say, to my amusement, as she absolutely killed the night shift pair for not doing a good job. In fairness, the pair of them are awful, and, "Don't have enough time to do everything", despite the shop closing at 1am... Bull****!
Anyway. I survived the 8 hours of the morning rather easily, what with free coffees on the go, but when 2pm came, I was out the door quicker than you can say, "Steve Harmison", as Father Mitten was waiting to taxi me to the first leg of my cricketing weekend. I must point out, with the Mittenmobile up for sale, I planned to keep the car at home for as much of the weekend as possible, allowing any potential buyers to view it. Only one of which we have had....
Anyway. As we zoomed to the location of the cricket, discussing fridges, I was looking forward to the afternoon, despite a tinge of tiredness. Upon arrival, I was glad to see Beddoe back on the cricketing scene, and we won very comfortably, despite me being bowled for 17 by one that rolled. This pitch was more of a farm, but whatever. Win's a win. After much discussion about 15-year old Carpo's, 18th birthday bash, I was given a lift home by Joe The Beddoe, and after not much of an attempt to socialise a bit via my Internet Service Providings, I collapsed to sleep at around 7.30. I'm not sure I've been to sleep at 7.30 since I was about 6 years old.
As soon as I closed my eyes though, the alarm clock was wailing. It can't be that time already... It wasn't. It was 12 midnight, and I had set it wrong. Phew. I reset it, and went back to sleep, but all too soon it REALLY WAS 5.15am, and I was up and at them again. Another rollicking to the night shift pair from the Goddess of All Evil cheered me up, and despite a slow 2nd half to an otherwise distinct shift, I was running out the door again, to get to the 2nd leg of my cricketing weekend in good enough time.
Except, on arrival, there was no 2nd leg. I must have blinked at the wrong time, but apparently there was a downpour where we were playing, and the pitch was ruined. I was incensed. I had been looking forward to this for the whole day, imagining hitting some good runs on a usually good wicket, but I turned up and everyone was doing nothing. For some reason, we waited around for 2 hours waiting for it to dry, but obviously, to no avail. Whether we were waiting for the non-existent Sun's temperature to triple or a humungous hairdryer to apparate from thin air, I don't know, but those 2 hours were rather pointless. If the pitch was ruined, it was ruined. No U-turns.
So instead, we made our way back to The Bury, to try and enjoy the consolation prize of a net. We watched the 2nd XI's game, (which was going ahead despite having the same downpour...), and just mulled around. I would much rather have been playing in a proper game....
But, oh well. These things happen, and I am looking forward to departing for the pub quiz in about 15 minutes, where I will almost certainly devour my weekly chocolate fudge cake in style, and enjoy a not-so-winning effort, but where a laugh is had by all. I only have 1 shift at work next week, (before the weekend), albeit a night shift... I thought I had got rid of those damn things...
By the way, as mentioned earlier, the Mittenmobile is up for sale. £795.. A price set by the ever-ambitious and optimistic Father Mitten. Anyone interested....? You must be mad.
Friday 8 July 2011
General Life Stuff
I seem to remember a facebook status I wrote about a week ago. About the fact that life is good, and is only going to get better. Usually when I say these sorts of things, I place the curse on myself and something goes horribly, horribly wrong. This time has not come. I have not let my brain stray into complacency, relaxing when things go right, and letting things stroll back into my life. Even typing this, I feel that I have the perfect balance of work and life, and things, quite honestly, can only get one gear better.
Just you wait until University.
Just you wait until University.
Thursday 7 July 2011
Minefield
Right. Proper alcoholic talk coming up, and no, I am not pissed. I have been lying awake for nearly an hour now, trying (not very hard) to get to sleep so I can get up for work at 11am tomorrow as easily as possible. Yes, it is difficult for me to wake up before midday. Don't laugh.
Anyway. After I got a phone call from Mr.Wright earlier about his upcoming antics with alcohol, I have spent practically all night trying to think of a brand new and convenient "pre-drinking" game we can have on a night that will most definitely be coming up at some stage in the near future. What I came up with was brand new, but probably not convenient. I don't foresee, "convenience", as leaning over a bucket before you even reach town. Yep. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you. Minefield.
Now. I say, "not convenient" based around the fact that this game has the potential to not only make you drunk too quickly, ending in a puddle of vomit, but would also probably result in death if you drew the wrong numbers. The rules? I, hosting pre-drinks, would go out and buy 7 bottles of pre-selected spirits, a crate of beer and a crate of cider, (or if you're a Stella drinker, 'Cidre'). Along with this, I would also buy 461 shot glasses. I do admit, you would need a bit of money in the bank to play this game, but stick with me. And yes, you did read that right, 461 shot glasses..
... You would also need a plastic bag, to place 461 numbers in. Ranging from 1-10, with around 100 number 1's, 80 number 2's, 70 number 3's, 60 number 4's etc etc etc, ending in the single number 10. The participants brave enough to take part in this game, (quite obviously, the more the better), would take turns to draw a number, at random, with the general consensus of, "The higher the number, the more ruined you're gonna be". Below is a list of what number means what drink.
1 = A shot of water. (We want to keep this game relatively safe you know!)
2 = A shot of beer
3 = A shot of cider
4 = A shot of Sourz / Corky's
5 = A shot of Sambuca
6 = A shot of Vodka
7 = A shot of Jagermeister
8 = A shot of Jack Daniels (easy for me, seeing I am 85% Jack Daniels)
9 = A shot of Gordon's (Yes Marriott... Gin...)
10 = A shot of liquer from our Cousin's Mr.Wray and Mr.Nephews
Now, bear in mind, 100 of these 461 bits of paper result in shots of water, but if you were unlucky enough to draw for example 7,5,9,9,9,7,8,8,10 .... You are going to be arranging your own funeral.
Quite obviously, this is not going to happen. Not only would it cost the best part of £500 to buy the required amount of shot glasses, plus a fair amount of buying good size bottles of all the spirits required, the danger levels of playing such a game, (if you can call it a "game"), would border on being suicidal. I just can't get the image out of my head, however, of 461 shot glasses covering the surface of the kitchen table downstairs. I imagine, if you could get 50+ people to play the game, one of those having won the EuroMillions jackpot, it may be possible.
But for the time being, I think it's best to put it on the back burner. Ready for when I get more friends and a bank account that can accept such a ridiculous thing.
Anyway. After I got a phone call from Mr.Wright earlier about his upcoming antics with alcohol, I have spent practically all night trying to think of a brand new and convenient "pre-drinking" game we can have on a night that will most definitely be coming up at some stage in the near future. What I came up with was brand new, but probably not convenient. I don't foresee, "convenience", as leaning over a bucket before you even reach town. Yep. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you. Minefield.
Now. I say, "not convenient" based around the fact that this game has the potential to not only make you drunk too quickly, ending in a puddle of vomit, but would also probably result in death if you drew the wrong numbers. The rules? I, hosting pre-drinks, would go out and buy 7 bottles of pre-selected spirits, a crate of beer and a crate of cider, (or if you're a Stella drinker, 'Cidre'). Along with this, I would also buy 461 shot glasses. I do admit, you would need a bit of money in the bank to play this game, but stick with me. And yes, you did read that right, 461 shot glasses..
... You would also need a plastic bag, to place 461 numbers in. Ranging from 1-10, with around 100 number 1's, 80 number 2's, 70 number 3's, 60 number 4's etc etc etc, ending in the single number 10. The participants brave enough to take part in this game, (quite obviously, the more the better), would take turns to draw a number, at random, with the general consensus of, "The higher the number, the more ruined you're gonna be". Below is a list of what number means what drink.
1 = A shot of water. (We want to keep this game relatively safe you know!)
2 = A shot of beer
3 = A shot of cider
4 = A shot of Sourz / Corky's
5 = A shot of Sambuca
6 = A shot of Vodka
7 = A shot of Jagermeister
8 = A shot of Jack Daniels (easy for me, seeing I am 85% Jack Daniels)
9 = A shot of Gordon's (Yes Marriott... Gin...)
10 = A shot of liquer from our Cousin's Mr.Wray and Mr.Nephews
Now, bear in mind, 100 of these 461 bits of paper result in shots of water, but if you were unlucky enough to draw for example 7,5,9,9,9,7,8,8,10 .... You are going to be arranging your own funeral.
Quite obviously, this is not going to happen. Not only would it cost the best part of £500 to buy the required amount of shot glasses, plus a fair amount of buying good size bottles of all the spirits required, the danger levels of playing such a game, (if you can call it a "game"), would border on being suicidal. I just can't get the image out of my head, however, of 461 shot glasses covering the surface of the kitchen table downstairs. I imagine, if you could get 50+ people to play the game, one of those having won the EuroMillions jackpot, it may be possible.
But for the time being, I think it's best to put it on the back burner. Ready for when I get more friends and a bank account that can accept such a ridiculous thing.
Wednesday 6 July 2011
That EuroMillions Jackpot
No one won tonight's EuroMillions jackpot of £154million, which means that this coming Friday a mind-boggling £166million will be up for grabs. I'm happy, sad and feel slightly sick about this..
My own ticket, despite spending a tenner on, only brought me in a measly £2.80, but I do wonder how the chap I sold £200's worth of tickets got on... Obviously, he didn't win the jackpot, but if he won nothing, I wouldn't like to be sitting in the passenger seat of his Lamborghini for very long..
£166,000,000... It's almost too much isn't it? Everyone's had that little daydream. Wondering what you would do with all that money... Let's face it, in reality, you wouldn't only be winning £166,000,000... You would also be gaining over £7,000,000 a year interest from your bank account... My 'zero' key has stopped working..
If I won the money, the first thing I would do is go out and buy my Dad an Aston Martin. A brand new Aston Martin Virage V12, in black, and probably buy one for myself aswell before bringing it home and throwing the keys at him. I would envisage that I hadn't even told him I'd won and see the delight, surprise and tears in his eyes as he took me for a spin in his brand new motor! It is Father Mitten's dream to one day, own an Aston Martin...
In the long term, I would obviously buy myself a new house, with a built in golf course, a tennis court or 4 and a super-club with my own office where I can watch people partying whilst helping myself to free Jack Daniels and Jagermeister. I could employ my friends who are looking for work, as I am too greedy to give them any money myself, and sit back and relax. I don't think I would go to University either, as there would be no need to go and get a degree. No need to put yourself under needless pressure from coursework and exams. I could easily party without the hard work!
I would also go on at least a few holidays aswell. After purchasing the new passport I need, I would first go to somewhere exotic like Barbados or The Maldives for a fortnight, before going to somewhere random like New Zealand or Canada before buying me and all of my friends an elongated holiday in a party capital like Ibiza or Malia. I would plan to buy all the drinks of every round and flash the cash. Why not?
Even so, I can easily imagine that amount of money absolutely ruining a person. I mean, I wouldn't see myself going down the drugs route for example, but I reckon I may become a bit cocky and extravagent, and no one likes an arrogant bastard, do they?
Saying that, if I win on Friday, (A VERY BIG IF), I wouldn't exactly be complaining...
My own ticket, despite spending a tenner on, only brought me in a measly £2.80, but I do wonder how the chap I sold £200's worth of tickets got on... Obviously, he didn't win the jackpot, but if he won nothing, I wouldn't like to be sitting in the passenger seat of his Lamborghini for very long..
£166,000,000... It's almost too much isn't it? Everyone's had that little daydream. Wondering what you would do with all that money... Let's face it, in reality, you wouldn't only be winning £166,000,000... You would also be gaining over £7,000,000 a year interest from your bank account... My 'zero' key has stopped working..
If I won the money, the first thing I would do is go out and buy my Dad an Aston Martin. A brand new Aston Martin Virage V12, in black, and probably buy one for myself aswell before bringing it home and throwing the keys at him. I would envisage that I hadn't even told him I'd won and see the delight, surprise and tears in his eyes as he took me for a spin in his brand new motor! It is Father Mitten's dream to one day, own an Aston Martin...
In the long term, I would obviously buy myself a new house, with a built in golf course, a tennis court or 4 and a super-club with my own office where I can watch people partying whilst helping myself to free Jack Daniels and Jagermeister. I could employ my friends who are looking for work, as I am too greedy to give them any money myself, and sit back and relax. I don't think I would go to University either, as there would be no need to go and get a degree. No need to put yourself under needless pressure from coursework and exams. I could easily party without the hard work!
I would also go on at least a few holidays aswell. After purchasing the new passport I need, I would first go to somewhere exotic like Barbados or The Maldives for a fortnight, before going to somewhere random like New Zealand or Canada before buying me and all of my friends an elongated holiday in a party capital like Ibiza or Malia. I would plan to buy all the drinks of every round and flash the cash. Why not?
Even so, I can easily imagine that amount of money absolutely ruining a person. I mean, I wouldn't see myself going down the drugs route for example, but I reckon I may become a bit cocky and extravagent, and no one likes an arrogant bastard, do they?
Saying that, if I win on Friday, (A VERY BIG IF), I wouldn't exactly be complaining...
Tuesday 5 July 2011
Dying, Dying, Dead
Do you remember last Saturday night where I ended up going to sleep at 2.30am after writing a few strange words in here? Yeah? I didn't. That random coffee I had during the phase where I thought I would stay awake was a very bad idea. I ended up getting to sleep at 4am, and waking up at 5.15am, with the screaming of the alarm clock, was surprisingly easy. Yeah, you weren't expecting me to say that were you! Easy!
I think it must of been the fact that I never really went to sleep. Not really. I probably was properly ASLEEP for around 30 minutes. After a few cornflakes and another, properly timed coffee, I drove to work, with the Sun high in the sky for 8 hours of pure and utter delightfulness at the "Berp". It was an average shift. I mean, it didn't go quickly, but it wasn't horribly, horribly slow either and at least I had cricket to look forward to later in the day. If I could make it. After 2 hours of work, I was dead on my feet. I had already had 6 coffees and a can of Red Bull by the time my break came around at 10am, and despite spending the last couple of hours wobbling on my feet in tiredness, plus a few more coffees, (resulting in eventual stomach ache), I made it through to the end. I rushed out at 2:05 to make it to cricket, albeit a bit late.
Any normal person would go home to bed. 3 and a half minutes after leaving work however, I found myself padding up to go into bat at Number 3, and for about an hour and a half, I sat in my pads, waiting for one of the openers to get out. I was nearly falling asleep, and after hearing TK getting clean bowled for a very patient 37, I reckon now that it may have literally woken me up. Needless to say I didn't bat well at all, but I wasn't expecting anything more. Congratulations to Andy Collins however, getting his maiden ton! What with Bedford's new electronic scoreboard, it made the occasion just that little more special! We had made 215 in our 45 overs, a par score for the pitch we were playing on, and I figured that fielding this afternoon, never a phenomonal occasion if I'm honest, was going to be impossible for me.
What happened though, was extraordinary. Our opening bowlers, Skipper Montieth and the returning Nick Boon, bowled immaculately. After 10 overs, they were 12-0, and I was stood at 3rd slip, jumping around like a man on speed, trying to stay alert. The chances you get in the slips need insane reaction times and phenomonal hand-eye co-ordination.
11th over. The Ampthill opening batsman was clearly under pressure, scoring just the 1 run off 30 balls. Boony bowled a ball a bit short and the opener prodded at it, taking a thick outside edge. I could see it coming towards me, to my right, and I hurled myself there, with an outstretched mitten and felt the ball place itself in the middle of my palm. What a catch. Exactly what Boony deserved, as I was, rightly so, given most of the plaudits for an insane bit of fielding.
So they were... Not Many for 1, and we were clearly on top. There was no way they were chasing down 215, and after 14 overs, they were 14-1. We were "sledging" a bit, coming up with lines like, "I've seen snails bat faster than this" amongst others. Village banter for a village cricket match. I, however, had not finished there.
15th over. The other Ampthill opening batsman, also under mountaneous pressure after a slow start, was starting to try and accelerate a bit. Another short-ish ball from Boony however, was edged once more, and me, standing at a straighter 2nd slip, saw the ball go high above me... There was no way I could catch it. I jumped anyway, getting my arm up in the air as far as I humanly could... The next thing I knew... I was laying on my back with the ball ledged between my middle finger and index finger... Even I, with a reputation of taking spectacular one-handers, was amazed that I had managed to cling on to this one... The first catch, I had reacted well, throwing the ball into the air, as fielders do, milking the plaudits from an onrushing team on a spectacular catch. The 2nd catch, no one had moved, as they had not believed that I had caught it. Boony was just standing there saying, "How the fuck....", Skipper Montieth was just walking towards me with his arms outstretched, and Keeper TK was the only one to rush over to me instantly, shouting with delight at what he had just witnessed.
I have taken many, many catches in my cricket career, but that one HAS to be the best. It has to be. I do wish that, one day, one of these insane one-handers can be caught on camera... That would be cool!
I did, obviously, eventually, get a load of hugs and high-fives, but I still cannot quite believe it. Hitting tons takes copious amounts of concentration and technique, but these 2 moments took reflexes, reactions and to be honest, a bit of luck to make them happen. And seeing I was nearly asleep...
Tons take hours. Slip catches take milliseconds. Sometimes I just love cricket.
Sorry to bore some of you to death, (probably), with that story, but in my mind it was one that just had to be told! We won in the end by a fair amount of runs, and whilst everyone, rightly so, congratulated Andy on a fantastic 109, I was already in my car, driving home, to bed. I felt I had deserved it.
Today, after a marathon 14-hour kip, (Lovely!), I found myself back on a tennis court for the first time since last Summer. This rare event was going to be more awkward in more ways than one, involving a story that is too long to go into now... Anyway, I managed to find a racket I never knew I had, and it was fair to say I was simply awful. If I had told you that I was one half of a winning Under-15 County Championships pair, you'd have laughed in my face. It was like watching Rafael Nadal against some dodgy Uzbekistani qualifier. Three-quarters of my forehands never made it close it going 'in', and I was soundly beaten 6-2 6-0, by Mr.G, who I used to play with quite a lot, "back in the day"... I may be playing again tomorrow, hopefully with a better forehand and a better result.
I'm starving.
I think it must of been the fact that I never really went to sleep. Not really. I probably was properly ASLEEP for around 30 minutes. After a few cornflakes and another, properly timed coffee, I drove to work, with the Sun high in the sky for 8 hours of pure and utter delightfulness at the "Berp". It was an average shift. I mean, it didn't go quickly, but it wasn't horribly, horribly slow either and at least I had cricket to look forward to later in the day. If I could make it. After 2 hours of work, I was dead on my feet. I had already had 6 coffees and a can of Red Bull by the time my break came around at 10am, and despite spending the last couple of hours wobbling on my feet in tiredness, plus a few more coffees, (resulting in eventual stomach ache), I made it through to the end. I rushed out at 2:05 to make it to cricket, albeit a bit late.
Any normal person would go home to bed. 3 and a half minutes after leaving work however, I found myself padding up to go into bat at Number 3, and for about an hour and a half, I sat in my pads, waiting for one of the openers to get out. I was nearly falling asleep, and after hearing TK getting clean bowled for a very patient 37, I reckon now that it may have literally woken me up. Needless to say I didn't bat well at all, but I wasn't expecting anything more. Congratulations to Andy Collins however, getting his maiden ton! What with Bedford's new electronic scoreboard, it made the occasion just that little more special! We had made 215 in our 45 overs, a par score for the pitch we were playing on, and I figured that fielding this afternoon, never a phenomonal occasion if I'm honest, was going to be impossible for me.
What happened though, was extraordinary. Our opening bowlers, Skipper Montieth and the returning Nick Boon, bowled immaculately. After 10 overs, they were 12-0, and I was stood at 3rd slip, jumping around like a man on speed, trying to stay alert. The chances you get in the slips need insane reaction times and phenomonal hand-eye co-ordination.
11th over. The Ampthill opening batsman was clearly under pressure, scoring just the 1 run off 30 balls. Boony bowled a ball a bit short and the opener prodded at it, taking a thick outside edge. I could see it coming towards me, to my right, and I hurled myself there, with an outstretched mitten and felt the ball place itself in the middle of my palm. What a catch. Exactly what Boony deserved, as I was, rightly so, given most of the plaudits for an insane bit of fielding.
So they were... Not Many for 1, and we were clearly on top. There was no way they were chasing down 215, and after 14 overs, they were 14-1. We were "sledging" a bit, coming up with lines like, "I've seen snails bat faster than this" amongst others. Village banter for a village cricket match. I, however, had not finished there.
15th over. The other Ampthill opening batsman, also under mountaneous pressure after a slow start, was starting to try and accelerate a bit. Another short-ish ball from Boony however, was edged once more, and me, standing at a straighter 2nd slip, saw the ball go high above me... There was no way I could catch it. I jumped anyway, getting my arm up in the air as far as I humanly could... The next thing I knew... I was laying on my back with the ball ledged between my middle finger and index finger... Even I, with a reputation of taking spectacular one-handers, was amazed that I had managed to cling on to this one... The first catch, I had reacted well, throwing the ball into the air, as fielders do, milking the plaudits from an onrushing team on a spectacular catch. The 2nd catch, no one had moved, as they had not believed that I had caught it. Boony was just standing there saying, "How the fuck....", Skipper Montieth was just walking towards me with his arms outstretched, and Keeper TK was the only one to rush over to me instantly, shouting with delight at what he had just witnessed.
I have taken many, many catches in my cricket career, but that one HAS to be the best. It has to be. I do wish that, one day, one of these insane one-handers can be caught on camera... That would be cool!
I did, obviously, eventually, get a load of hugs and high-fives, but I still cannot quite believe it. Hitting tons takes copious amounts of concentration and technique, but these 2 moments took reflexes, reactions and to be honest, a bit of luck to make them happen. And seeing I was nearly asleep...
Tons take hours. Slip catches take milliseconds. Sometimes I just love cricket.
Sorry to bore some of you to death, (probably), with that story, but in my mind it was one that just had to be told! We won in the end by a fair amount of runs, and whilst everyone, rightly so, congratulated Andy on a fantastic 109, I was already in my car, driving home, to bed. I felt I had deserved it.
Today, after a marathon 14-hour kip, (Lovely!), I found myself back on a tennis court for the first time since last Summer. This rare event was going to be more awkward in more ways than one, involving a story that is too long to go into now... Anyway, I managed to find a racket I never knew I had, and it was fair to say I was simply awful. If I had told you that I was one half of a winning Under-15 County Championships pair, you'd have laughed in my face. It was like watching Rafael Nadal against some dodgy Uzbekistani qualifier. Three-quarters of my forehands never made it close it going 'in', and I was soundly beaten 6-2 6-0, by Mr.G, who I used to play with quite a lot, "back in the day"... I may be playing again tomorrow, hopefully with a better forehand and a better result.
I'm starving.
Sunday 3 July 2011
The First of Many Coffees
Today is going to be a huge, huge struggle. After the complete and utter madness of a night out on the town on Friday night, I got about 6 hours sleep before I had to awake for the latest episode of the cricket season. I returned from a comprehensive victory, albeit spending most of it half-asleep whilst not really contributing, at roughly 8pm. I had planned upon going to sleep not long after, getting a solid 9 hours before my insanely early rise for work.... On a Sunday.
However. It hasn't quite worked out like that. Yes, I went to sleep at 9, but I awoke at midnight and since then I have not been able to get back to sleep. It is currently 02:09, and I have to be at work in under 4 hours. My ruined brain cannot work out whether there is any point going back to sleep, but in reality, I am so tired. However, here I am, on the laptop at the time I'd usually consider, "normal", but seeing as I'm expected at work by 6... The whole world has become insane. My heart wants to stay awake for the whole day, not making any stupid tiresome mistakes at work, and simply get through cricket this afternoon before I can collapse. My brain, however, says I should get as much sleep as possible, (a maximum of 3 hours now), to stand as much chance of surviving tomorrow as possible. I can consider dosing myself up on the classic combination of coffee, pro plus and Red Bull, but I'm not the biggest fan of Coffee and after the amount of Jagerbombs I've had in recent times, I'm not exactly certain my stomach could stomach any more Red Bull..
Friday night? Yet again, I was proved wrong. My previous thoughts that it may not be as good as Wednesday were blown straight out the window by a bazooka, as that ridiculous jacuzzi had remained at the back of Saints, but also, there was a glass cabinet that anyone could enter. A sort of dance stage above the dancefloor, but what we didn't realise was that halfway through a 10-minute stint, a few showers turned on and simply soaked us. I was drowned, and once again, seeing as I was already soaked through, we thought we may aswell go all out! The photos, once more, tell the whole story. Upon returning home, I found that my EuroMillions ticket had been destroyed by the water, (I would of won a tenner!), and the radiators would once again be working overtime.
Cricket today was a strange one. I scored the slowest 14 you're ever going to see, probably because of the fact I was seeing a few balls fly towards me instead of one, and spent most of the time falling asleep, when I was supposed to be fielding. Otherwise, a comprehensive victory and a tiresome drive home.
This was a good thing. I figured that if I was tired, I would be able to get a decent amount of sleep in time for a stupidly early start, especially for a Sunday, but I don't really know what's happened. I woke up to the news that The Hayemaker had lost the boxing, figured that I was going to be stupidly tired anyway and had the old battle of 'Stay Awake vs Sleep', and I've suddenly looked at the clock and it's HALF PAST FUCKING TWO?!
Despite just having what will be the first of about 450 coffees today, I'm going to have to follow my brain and try and get a few hours kip. I feel sorry for whoever encounters me in a few hours... I will be the Devil.
However. It hasn't quite worked out like that. Yes, I went to sleep at 9, but I awoke at midnight and since then I have not been able to get back to sleep. It is currently 02:09, and I have to be at work in under 4 hours. My ruined brain cannot work out whether there is any point going back to sleep, but in reality, I am so tired. However, here I am, on the laptop at the time I'd usually consider, "normal", but seeing as I'm expected at work by 6... The whole world has become insane. My heart wants to stay awake for the whole day, not making any stupid tiresome mistakes at work, and simply get through cricket this afternoon before I can collapse. My brain, however, says I should get as much sleep as possible, (a maximum of 3 hours now), to stand as much chance of surviving tomorrow as possible. I can consider dosing myself up on the classic combination of coffee, pro plus and Red Bull, but I'm not the biggest fan of Coffee and after the amount of Jagerbombs I've had in recent times, I'm not exactly certain my stomach could stomach any more Red Bull..
Friday night? Yet again, I was proved wrong. My previous thoughts that it may not be as good as Wednesday were blown straight out the window by a bazooka, as that ridiculous jacuzzi had remained at the back of Saints, but also, there was a glass cabinet that anyone could enter. A sort of dance stage above the dancefloor, but what we didn't realise was that halfway through a 10-minute stint, a few showers turned on and simply soaked us. I was drowned, and once again, seeing as I was already soaked through, we thought we may aswell go all out! The photos, once more, tell the whole story. Upon returning home, I found that my EuroMillions ticket had been destroyed by the water, (I would of won a tenner!), and the radiators would once again be working overtime.
Cricket today was a strange one. I scored the slowest 14 you're ever going to see, probably because of the fact I was seeing a few balls fly towards me instead of one, and spent most of the time falling asleep, when I was supposed to be fielding. Otherwise, a comprehensive victory and a tiresome drive home.
This was a good thing. I figured that if I was tired, I would be able to get a decent amount of sleep in time for a stupidly early start, especially for a Sunday, but I don't really know what's happened. I woke up to the news that The Hayemaker had lost the boxing, figured that I was going to be stupidly tired anyway and had the old battle of 'Stay Awake vs Sleep', and I've suddenly looked at the clock and it's HALF PAST FUCKING TWO?!
Despite just having what will be the first of about 450 coffees today, I'm going to have to follow my brain and try and get a few hours kip. I feel sorry for whoever encounters me in a few hours... I will be the Devil.
Friday 1 July 2011
Circles of Friendship
I can positively say, that without the friends I have, I would not have made it through the trials and tribulations the past couple of years have brought me. I can think of a few major episodes where, had I have been all alone, I do not know what I would have been capable of. Anything.
We all have different types of friends. I have friends who I can have fun with, but wouldn't necessarily open up to. I have friends I would open up to but not necessarily have fun with. I have friends who I can have a fierce debate over refereeing standards in the UK with, but would never go out on the town with them, and I have friends who I get wasted with who don't have a clue who Mark Clattenburg is. A few of these friends fall into a couple of categories, and strangely, I have friends who fall into no category at all. But they are just there to have a general laugh with. Does it seem wrong I am metephorically categorising my friends?
The point I am trying to get at, is that friendship, in my opinion, is the most valuable thing on God's Green Earth. Friends are there for times that family, for some reason, can't be. Some would argue that family are there for anything and everything, but not in my world. I am not confident to do that, and all of my secrets have circulated amongst close friends before my family get a sniff of what's happening.
Right now, I am having a chat with a friend who would probably come under, 'I can open up to, but wouldn't necessarily hang out with' group. He is one of 3 people I can rely on to make an effort at what is going on inside my head, and although tonight is more of a role reversal, I feel I owe him my full attention. It's currently deep into the night, with a full day ahead tomorrow, but I feel I must see out this conversation to it's end. Friends, whatever category, are there for each other.
I never feel particularly helpful in situations where I am required to listen and cheer someone up. Despite being on the other end of the line many, many times. Whenever I am needed to lift someone's chin above the water, I never really know what to say. I try to avoid cliched lines like, "things will get better", because that implies you're not really listening. One thing I do know, is that when I feel rubbish, I want the other person to at least attempt to understand what I'm trying to say. Not just palm it off with unoriginal one-liners.
I may be here for some time tonight, with my eyes already being strained by the screen I am looking at, but I will stay until he sees it fit to end the conversation. For I am here to help.
We all have different types of friends. I have friends who I can have fun with, but wouldn't necessarily open up to. I have friends I would open up to but not necessarily have fun with. I have friends who I can have a fierce debate over refereeing standards in the UK with, but would never go out on the town with them, and I have friends who I get wasted with who don't have a clue who Mark Clattenburg is. A few of these friends fall into a couple of categories, and strangely, I have friends who fall into no category at all. But they are just there to have a general laugh with. Does it seem wrong I am metephorically categorising my friends?
The point I am trying to get at, is that friendship, in my opinion, is the most valuable thing on God's Green Earth. Friends are there for times that family, for some reason, can't be. Some would argue that family are there for anything and everything, but not in my world. I am not confident to do that, and all of my secrets have circulated amongst close friends before my family get a sniff of what's happening.
Right now, I am having a chat with a friend who would probably come under, 'I can open up to, but wouldn't necessarily hang out with' group. He is one of 3 people I can rely on to make an effort at what is going on inside my head, and although tonight is more of a role reversal, I feel I owe him my full attention. It's currently deep into the night, with a full day ahead tomorrow, but I feel I must see out this conversation to it's end. Friends, whatever category, are there for each other.
I never feel particularly helpful in situations where I am required to listen and cheer someone up. Despite being on the other end of the line many, many times. Whenever I am needed to lift someone's chin above the water, I never really know what to say. I try to avoid cliched lines like, "things will get better", because that implies you're not really listening. One thing I do know, is that when I feel rubbish, I want the other person to at least attempt to understand what I'm trying to say. Not just palm it off with unoriginal one-liners.
I may be here for some time tonight, with my eyes already being strained by the screen I am looking at, but I will stay until he sees it fit to end the conversation. For I am here to help.
Home Alone
Not like Macauley Culkin, but as you probably well know, I have spent most of this week with an empty house and freedom to do what I like with it, bar any mad parties, of course. The Parents Mitten returned today from their relaxing trip to the Lake District, and Sister Mitten is nearing Vietnam in the latest episode of her world tour. For 4 days then, I have been playing loud enough music and making food at 2am, simply because I could.
I'm glad these 4 days happened. It's been a fantastic 4 days, full of sun, (of sorts), fun and ridiculous times and although I am heading back to work tomorrow, for what will surely be 8 of the slowest hours in human times, I am still in a devilishly good mood. Adding to the fact I am missing out on an afternoon of drinking and party at the Palace of Beddoe, while slaving away behind a till, classic Mitten convention states I should be in the lowest of all low moods, but I'm simply not. Of course, I am disappointed to be missing out on what will surely be a fun afternoon, but I will be joining them after work for more drunken antics in Bedford town, so at least I can go to work, looking forward to the night ahead.
These 4 days have taught me a lot aswell. I got the feeling that the Parents Mitten didn't really trust me at home by myself, thinking I may let it turn into a pig sty or rent it out for domestic insurgents to use, leaving me a list of instructions etcetera etcetera. I've done well though I think, and even cleaned the house to a decent enough standard to leave a disappointed returning Mother Mitten with little to do.
After what can only be described as a "relatively damp" night last night, I EVENTUALLY got to sleep at around 6am, after strangely feeling like I should do the washing-up at 4:30am and even a bit of hoovering, as you do. However, I was awoken by Ian The Plumber attempting to break in at 9:30am after I had locked the door. I went downstairs, looking rather jaded, to let him in, and went back to sleep, only to wake up to another empty house in the middle of the afternoon. Since then, I have done a bit of cleaning, and went to a pub quiz, where we faired averagely before a trip to McDonalds and home again. It's currently 00:45, and with work at 2 tomorrow, followed by another night out on the town!
If you want my honest opinion, Dara O'Briain is going to have to jump from behind a bush and accompany us on this night if it is going to beat last nights. Sorry, but I feel, after contemplation, that last night was possibly the 1st/2nd best night I've ever had in Bedford. Yes, I say that a lot. But last night was just so... different. So unexpected. So insane. I will definitely enjoy it however, and with no work and cricket to wake up for the next day, I can once more go all out... To the enjoyment of the fellow Hawkers!
I do have work at 6am on Sunday morning though... I cannot imagine that going too well... Me, waking up at 5:30 in the morning? Nope. Me neither.
I'm glad these 4 days happened. It's been a fantastic 4 days, full of sun, (of sorts), fun and ridiculous times and although I am heading back to work tomorrow, for what will surely be 8 of the slowest hours in human times, I am still in a devilishly good mood. Adding to the fact I am missing out on an afternoon of drinking and party at the Palace of Beddoe, while slaving away behind a till, classic Mitten convention states I should be in the lowest of all low moods, but I'm simply not. Of course, I am disappointed to be missing out on what will surely be a fun afternoon, but I will be joining them after work for more drunken antics in Bedford town, so at least I can go to work, looking forward to the night ahead.
These 4 days have taught me a lot aswell. I got the feeling that the Parents Mitten didn't really trust me at home by myself, thinking I may let it turn into a pig sty or rent it out for domestic insurgents to use, leaving me a list of instructions etcetera etcetera. I've done well though I think, and even cleaned the house to a decent enough standard to leave a disappointed returning Mother Mitten with little to do.
After what can only be described as a "relatively damp" night last night, I EVENTUALLY got to sleep at around 6am, after strangely feeling like I should do the washing-up at 4:30am and even a bit of hoovering, as you do. However, I was awoken by Ian The Plumber attempting to break in at 9:30am after I had locked the door. I went downstairs, looking rather jaded, to let him in, and went back to sleep, only to wake up to another empty house in the middle of the afternoon. Since then, I have done a bit of cleaning, and went to a pub quiz, where we faired averagely before a trip to McDonalds and home again. It's currently 00:45, and with work at 2 tomorrow, followed by another night out on the town!
If you want my honest opinion, Dara O'Briain is going to have to jump from behind a bush and accompany us on this night if it is going to beat last nights. Sorry, but I feel, after contemplation, that last night was possibly the 1st/2nd best night I've ever had in Bedford. Yes, I say that a lot. But last night was just so... different. So unexpected. So insane. I will definitely enjoy it however, and with no work and cricket to wake up for the next day, I can once more go all out... To the enjoyment of the fellow Hawkers!
I do have work at 6am on Sunday morning though... I cannot imagine that going too well... Me, waking up at 5:30 in the morning? Nope. Me neither.
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