Bellerophon symbol, variation 7
Saturday 1st January 2005

So, it's 13 minutes past midnight, and I'm trying to open the champagne. Well, fizzy wine . . . whatever. At quarter to midnight Gav rang to let us know that him and some friends were about to set off some fireworks up on Burley Green or whatever it is . . . to celebrate midnight, you see. I took along my radio so that we could hear Big Ben chiming and this drunk guy got extremely excited when he found this out, leading me to the main group. This picture was taken shortly after getting back from that. And yeah . . . other drunkenness . . . the last one taken at 02:10.
That picture to the right there (taken at 02:16) . . . something must have gone wrong there. Looks like I got my polar and rectangular coordinates all mixed up. Ah well, it happens. I'm not sure when I went to bed. 3-ish? The next day, I took a photograph of a present for M******, courtesy of her dad's girlfriend, Maria. It's a cow within a cow, see? That was taken at 13:42. Can't you tell? I collected this item from the Royal Mail sorting office on M******'s birthday, thinking it might be something suitable for her birthday. Well, maybe our child's birthday. Their first present.

Monday 3rd January 2005

I think M****** and I played a lot of dominoes either today or yesterday. We went to that shopping centre at Batley, see . . . the one with Ikea, Habitat, Toys 'R Us and all that lot. I had to ring my dad to clarify some of the rules, 'cos like we used to play double-nine dominoes at my granny's house when I was younger. I was surprised to see that you can not only still get double-nine dominoes but also double-twelve dominoes, which they've had to colour code as that's just too many dots. Anyway . . .

Thursday 6th January 2005

Still ploughing through all those photographs from the end of December and early January. Still many more to go. Sorry that's not very interesting (am I? No, maybe not), but I don't really have time to write much else.

Saturday 8th January 2005

Bloated corpes. All I can think about is bloated corpses. And flies. Maggots and flies. Coffin flies. Do such things exist? A certain fly primarily associated with the decomposition of a human body? Position. Composition. Such innocent terms. But decomposition . . . decompose . . . the composure is being removed, somehow. How odd. Ah . . . after butyric fermentation . . . I see. About a year. That makes sense. Right. Bed time.

Sunday 9th January 2005

Nothing much . . . ordered the fireplace yesterday, went for a meal at Est Est Est last night, found some mould in one of the tomatoes . . . "That's the most disgusting thing I've ever seen," said our waiter. "He can't have seen much then," I told M******. Went to town later on today, met Mouse at Pizza Express then went to the Scarbrough Taps (or do we call it the Scarbrough Hotel?) . . . that kind of stuff, you know? Bye.

Wednesday 12th January 2005

Oh, hello again. What strange dreams I had. Dozens and dozens of 'em. I vaguely remember flying with M****** . . . we were just kind of flying slowly over this rather wide river, observing a strange collection of boats and ships, most of which seemed a bit . . . you know . . . past their best, belching out smoke and stuff. We were quite taken by one boat modelled on Thomas the Tank engine. Later on, I was part of a gang and we were involved in a rather bloody massacre with a rival gang. Being able to fly, I could escape when necessary but then I found myself in some kind of large glass conservatory, with my only exit blocked. There must been a low roof here, as people kept jumping up, trying to grab me and almost reaching me. Not good. Anyway, that's boring.

Lately I've been trying to upgrade the firmware on my Goodmans freeview box (GDB2), but this just isn't working out. It might help if I knew where the various pins on each of the 9-pin plugs should be going. Well, anyway . . . and my DVD-drive, a Pioneer DVR-108, seems to have trouble reading certain compact discs. What's all that about, eh? Oooo, I've found the GDB2 manual. Right, let's have a look here then . . . oh (five minutes later), that was useless.

Otherwise, just been updating this web-log thing with entries from days gone by.

Thursday 13th January 2005

Nope . . . nothing to report. Woke myself up screaming again last night, much to M******'s annoyance, I'm sure. I had been cycling along a road that would apparently take me to ********* Hall, but it was far too mountainous and completely water-logged . . . after a while, it became obvious that my path was blocked by a river/lake/thing. So, I'm thinking, "Fine, I'll go back then," when I noticed an odd shape floating along the river. At first I thought it was some kind of large, cooked boar or maybe a large pig . . . it was definitely some kind of cooked, whole animal. But, no, that would be much too simple. It was human. So, yes . . . a large, cooked human (I think without head) floating along the river there. Nice. So I start screaming, and the dream ends.

Friday 14th January 2005

So, a day of work . . . followed by . . . well, in the evening, Gav, Lisa and I moseyed over to Mook. They still have this two-for-one-thing on the cocktails . . . each cocktails barely seems to have any alcohol in it, so I don't why I'm always sucked in by this 'offer'. Sure, you see 'em pouring the stuff from the bottles, but we don't know what's in these bottles, of course. But Mook, it was . . . for about two hours . . . I was the last to leave. I suspected I had had slightly too much to drink when I realised I had gone to the toilet and completely forgotten about my ruck-sack. PANIC! But it was still there. Phew. Lisa introduced me and Gav to this girl called Sarah (Sarah and Mitzy (sp.?!) just happened to be there, you see . . . Lisa had only planned on meeting Nic there), who (following (should that have been a comma? Where? Where those brackets opened just then . . . erm . . . not sure, but carry on) a previous conversation with Lisa regarding the legendary 'background people' (I need to explain this . . . damnit - too many brackets open . . . wait a sec . . . ) it struck a chord, as it were . . . ) Gav had actually photographed Sarah during one of his community things (Rosie's Kitchen? Food?)over at Woodhouse, completely inadvertently, as it were. See, back at work, waiting for Gav to forward on his 'customer handbook' (now corrected, re-branded) to his customer, Lisa's camera held aloft, facing me, I observed, "Oh no, not the mobile camera phones. You know, in some countries . . . I can't remember where . . . maybe it was Korea . . . but they have to make a loud, camera shutter-type noise whenever they take a picture (not the operator, NO!, but the camera) . . . in fact, they're not allowed in company premises of certain companies in this country . . . blah blah blah," and then I observed, "Do you ever wonder? You know? Wonder how many pictures exist where you are featured in the background?" People you don't know, people you may never know, owning photographs where you exist in the background. I own many such pictures. The background people. One day you may be flicking through one of your friend's photo albums and find yourself in a photograph, there in the background, but the picture would have been taken long before you actually knew this person. Can I go now? Go where?

Wednesday 19th January 2005

Oh, nothing much, nothing much. Just ordered loads of stuff from Tesco . . . it turned up today. Unpacking the food . . . apples, bananas, sausages, pizzas, beer, fruit juice, tomatoes . . . blah-di-blah, all fine and lovely. But, wait . . . something's not here . . . chocolate . . . oh my god . . . WHERE'S THE CHOCOLATE?! AARRRGHHHH! THEY FORGOT THE CHOCOLATE!! Oh, and according to Sam's Celebrity Death Bingo, Thoth is alive!! Cool. Maybe he is immortal after all. Anyway . . . so, yeah . . . in distress, I rang 'em up, got through to Subramdniam, explained the situation and, a few minutes after the phone call, an e-mail from him to the effect that the money will be reimbursed, credited to my account . . . and it's all my word against Tesco's, I guess. So, like I say, nothing much going on right now, if that's all I have to write about. No more weird dreams . . . just standard, boring stuff about mixing up strange coloured rocks and minerals in some kind of chemistry class. Boring.

Saturday 22nd January 2005

So, yes . . . indeed. Where was I? Oh, I remember. Yesterday evening, me and some people from work went out for a few drinks. It was myself, Lisa, Steve and Al. First we went to, erm . . . Bar Home which was oddly busy. It's like, during the summer, when it opened, they had their two-for-one drinks offers, they had outside seats catching the evening sun, they had strange people on platform 17 throwing fruit (pear, anyone?) onto its patrons . . . and it was all great. I thought the place would kind of quieten down during the winter, especially now that the two-for-one offers have now gone. But no - it's now populated mainly by the la-la's. But it was a convenient meeting place, as I was out from work later than the other three, and Steve met up with one of his friends . . . Eddy, I believe. Then on to the Scarbrough Taps, where there was this beer festival thing going on. God, this is gonna take forever. Today, I had the plasterer (s) round . . . that took up most of the morning. And one of the plasterer's assistants I recognised, as he did me . . . "You work at *****, don't you?" and he then proceeded to tell me how he had left last April (I believe), hoping to become a cameraman, but he was just helping out his friend, John (the plasterer), as a kind of odd-job, I guess. So that was funny. Whilst plastering was going on, I hid in my basement kitchen, reading newspapers. Oh, and another thing . . . something very sad happened during the early hours this morning. I managed to get a taxi back for £5, clutching a silver helium filled (as in coloured silver and containing helium, not silverhelium as one thing) balloon. It was to be a present for M******, you see. Anyway, I paid the taxi driver (for some reason stopping at the bus-stop outside Netto/Iceland), struggled out of the taxi and stumbled up the hill, all the time hanging on to my balloon. But before I had even began walking up the hill, the balloon somehow escaped my grasp and all I could do was watch it ascend and ascend. I wanted to chase after it, as the rate of ascent was quite slow . . . but no . . . I just watched it disappear in absolute disbelief. That's not meant to happen. HOW CAN THAT HAPPEN?!?!?! I think had I been a child, I would have been absolutely distraught. "We'll get you another one, dear, don't worry."

Sunday 23rd January 2005

Kept waking up, saying to whoever was with me, "God, that was weird. I dreamt that I was telling you about this really strange dream. A dream within a dream," only to realise, upon waking, that it was all just a dream. Dreams within dreams within dreams. Recursive dreams.

Wednesday 26th January 2005

I've been told that I haven't been writing much here recently, so I'm trying to make up. Right. Well, woke up this morning, probably around 7am . . . something like that. Had a shower, had breakfast (mmmmmm, bowl of Tesco's version of All-Bran, mixed up with dried fruit and sliced almonds . . . and semi-skimmed milk), some orange juice then made my way to work. Oh, but not before recording my work voicemail message. Yeah, that's right. We have to do this every day. A personalised message stating today's date and who to contact in my absence (Rob? zat spelt right?). So, fifteen minutes later I'm at work. I don't think anything remarkable happened during that part of the day. Oh, but didn't new brake pads arrive from Wiggle? God, yeah, I completely forgot about that. A set for the rear wheel, which I'm not looking forward to fitting, seeing as how the instructions stipulate a spotlessly clean wheel . . . well, I suppose it's the rim that's important, but if I talk about a spotlessly clean rim I'm just gonna get people giggling away like little children. It wasn't too bad cleaning the front wheel, but the back wheel involves all manner of gunk sprayed off from the tranmission, and the cleaning of which will involve white spirit, a tooth-brush and loads of soap and water. So, anyway . . . got home a few minutes after M******. She was in the front room, looking out of the window, laughing, like some kind of crazy woman. "Do you always do that? Just stare up at the house looking gormless?" she asked as I struggled into the house with my bicycle, my lungs sucking in huge amounts of oxygen. "What? I've just been cycling. I'm trying to get some air into me lungs, innit? Crazy woman." Then we both went down to the kitchen, me making some coffee from the frozen coffee beans I keep . . . erm . . . in the freezer. Java flavour. Flavour? Well, they're called java. I dunno. They're from Atkinson's, in Lancaster, which may be Lancaster's longest running business. And, erm . . . M******, a glass of orange juice. Maybe. I could be making this all up. "So what's for dinner?" I ask. "Well, I thought we could go to Iceland," M****** says. "Sure, sure. Just let us finish this coffee and I think I'll have a slice of toast. You should try this bread, you know. It's good stuff," I say. Then I think M****** was going on about telling everyone to get ready. "Imagine, eh? If we had to get all our children ready, eh?" looking around the table, at all the empty chairs. "No, you can't have any toast. You should have asked when I was making this. It's too late. AND PUT THAT CIGARETTE OUT!" So I put Marmite on my toast, I eat the toast. "I guess you won't need any sleep, then, " M****** observes as we head upstairs, towards the front door. "Eh? If you noticed, I only had three tablespoons of beans. That's not much, you know. I may have had two mugs, yeah, but it tasted pretty weak. I think three tablespoons is only equivalent to a single strong coffee. When I have a really strong coffee, yeah, that's like four tablespoons, innit? Heaped, and all. Have you got the key? I'll lock the door. QUICK! What we getting, anyway? What's for dinner?" So, yeah . . . first we thought about getting some nasty, fat-laden (laden?!) ready-meal thing, then M****** was going on about tagliatelle or something. "I think they've moved it," she muttered to herself as she wandered from aisle to aisle, in a kind of indecisive Iceland-induced haze. "How about those, erm . . . Dalepak vege-burger things, with CHIPS! No, wedges. NO! CHIPS! We haven't had them for ages. With chips or wedges," I suggest. "No. We're not having that . . . I don't think they sell tagliatelle," M****** said, sounding disappointed. So sticking with the pasta thing . . . "How about a pasta bake with this?" M****** suggests, holding up some orange-coloured pasta sauce, "What?! Where's the meat? They don't sell kidney beans here either. Where's the protein? What we gonna have with it? Onions? Just pasta, sauce and onions? Eh? What you on about?" I ask. "Well, we can have it with broccoli. You go get the broccoli. It's around the corner." But I'm like . . . well, what kind of meal is that? So we head back to the pasta sauces, wondering what to do . . . M****** drops the pasta sauce, it rolls underneath the shelving . . . "I think we should get out of here. I'm feeling a bit light headed," M****** announces. We leave the store with garlic bread, tomotoes, yoghurt, ice cream, quiche and some bowl of prepared salad (god knows . . . it seemed to contain cheese, sweetcorn, coleslaw, pasta and lettuce). Right. Is that better? Everyone happy now? Dull, isn't it? That's why I haven't written much lately.

Oh, and thanks be to Rob, for pointing out numerous mistakes found throughout December and January. Either everyone else out there doesn't care or else didn't notice, but the idea is to not have mistakes, so if you do see some, and if something is just wrong then please tell me. You can even do it anomomomomomononmonosously by using the 'comments' page, although that does record your IP address, so, erm . . . well, it's not that anonymous, but hey . . . whatever.

Thursday 27th January 2005

19:43, 23:41, 23:41. So, we were there, waiting for M******'s dad and Liz to turn up, so thought we might play chess, to pass the time. We didn't finish the game. Do we ever? Second picture from the left . . . well, that's M******, of course, but in the background you can make out my knive collection. I keep these very, very sharp. And, yes, that's a meat cleaver. Rob got me that from Malaysia, I believe. I've probably got the wrong country there . . . Rob? It was somewhere like that, anyway. And the third picture from the left, that's M******'s dad, Mark. That night, we went to the Cardigan Arms for a drink and then Viva Cuba for a meal.

Friday 28th January 2005

White to move.

Sunday 30th January 2005

Just been watching 'Closer'. Found it's best to watch this film with your own soundtrack playing, so I'm there, listening to Stevie Wonder, Amon Tobin, Interpol, whatever (pretty much anything will do) . . . and the film's not so bad after all. Not nearly as dull as I thought. Their mouths move, but I cannot hear anything. Sweet. But, my . . . what fine green eyes does Clive Owen have, eh? Otherwise . . . today, I did meet Tom and Jenny at the Scarbrough Taps, for a few drinks. Then they did go to Pudsey, to meet up with Emma, for it is her birthday. At that point, I caught the number 50 bus back home . . . via Burley Road.

And such strange dreams . . . I'm in a mini bus, with several other people, and there are winds blowing that could blow cars off the road . . . the driver's struggling with the steering wheel, and it seems clear that we may not make it, wherever we're heading. The passengers are terrified and we're all kind of fearing for our lifes, when a blast of wind hits the mini-bus on the right side, pushing us off the road . . . the driver kind of goes with it, bears left, and drives into this grassy ditch and we seem okay for a while . . . and then I remember . . . a while ago, gravity just kind of turned itself off for a while, and somehow, out of the chaos and confusion, somehow I ended up in this mini-bus, one of the survivors.

Monday 31st January 2005

I don't think much happened today . . . except loads of strange companies, ringing me up, asking for my wife (?!). I tell them no person of that name lives here at this address, but still they persist. Virgin, who exactly have you been giving my details to? Grrrrrr.