This morning I was driving down a country road in the middle of nowhere and saw a rather oddly placed sign which stated in large bold lettering "BEWARE OF TRAINS". Good advice...if a bit weird. I checked on a map and the nearest train line is over five miles from that spot. Pays to be careful though, doesn't it?
This morning I was driving down a country road in the middle of nowhere and saw a rather oddly placed sign which stated in large bold lettering "BEWARE OF TRAINS". Good advice...if a bit weird. I checked on a map and the nearest train line is over five miles from that spot. Pays to be careful though, doesn't it?
I'ts strange how quickly tiredness can confuse the mind. I just looked at the time and saw that it said 1945. I was halfway through organising a street party to celebrate the end of the war when I realised. I only wish I hadn't hired all those trestle tables...car boot sale, anyone?
You'd think that once I'd traded the noisy streets of Bradford for the supposed pleasures of sleepy Matlock life that I'd now be able to enjoy a relaxing and quiet sunny sunday reading the paper outside. But no. I've realised though that my neighbours seem to be linked in to some sort of underlying suburban collective mind. Without a word of a lie or exageration, at 10am precisely, they all left their houses and started up their power tools. My back yard sounds like a bleedin' workshop...oh...hang on... the time is now 11:12 and they've ALL fallen silent. That's a bit odd! Maybe there's a local "arrangement". I think I've stumbled upon something here. Now we all know and despise the type of person I'm talking about. The "escape to the country" class. With their artificially generated and practiced accents, designed to make them sound upper-middle-class. The fact that they eat all meals outdoors whenever it's not raining because - "Well we were holidaying in Prague (never Whitby is it?) and we met this delightful (ie nausiating) couple and they do nothing but eat fresh bread, cheese and wine on the veranda and talk to passers by about how civilised they are (as they get fat, crummy and drunk)". All the time local resident who've grown up in the area are vomiting wildly and reaching for the property pages. It's a shame Matlock council won't take the same initiative as has been implemented in the Lake District. Some kind of legislation which keeps these vile, faux socialites out of decent hard working communities. I'm trying my best not to sound like someone from Royston Vasey, (This is a local town for local people. There's nothing for you here!) but it's tough to see a town you grew up in which used to be friendly and pleasant with a genuine community feel dessimated by people moving from nearby cities bringing a city attitude with them. People who don't know their neighbours names and don't care either, it's easier to disturb and inconvenience those you don't know. Hang on again...20 minutes later and they've all started up again. I've come to the conclusion that these "people" are either invaders from another planet, come to irritate ordinary folk to suicide or they're part of a secret government initiative to control the minds of third rate desk jockeys and their families to create a misguided utopia in which all anyone ever does is speak properly and congratulate each other on their respective vile mock-cultured ways. Or maybe they're just a bunch of ar***oles!
Hi folks, just a quick note to apologise for not being around for a few days. The heat mixed with the hours I've had to work this week have turned me nocturnal and I'm aseep al aftrnoon. Anyway I'll be back tomorrow to recant my week of suicide sheep and potato bag joy!
I woke up this morning to find my brain rather grumpy. I dealt with the usual "why are you up at 2 in the morning again? Go back to bed!" and went downstairs. I have to start off with a coffee as ashallow attempt at bribing my brain into joining me for work but today it stormed off and went back to sleep. It finally caught up with me at about 5:30 this morning as I was driving through the Chatsworth estate. Anyone who's been to Chatsworth house will have seen the signs warning drivers of the dangers of sheep on the road. They're usually only on the road in large numbers really early in the morning so I have to weave through them while they bleat at me with disdain. They did seem a little more subdued today though and a number of them looked as though they'd suffered either a drive-by shearing or lost a bet the night before. This brings me to believe that they were all out drunk last night. If anyone saw Chatsworths sheep crowding into a bar then let me know what they were doing. I was a student and I know the signs of drinking games gone wrong when I see them!
Driving as a job has now made me wonder why the hell people drive for pleasure. When you drive for pleasure you drive around areas of outstanding natural beauty which you can't look at because you'll crash. You get annoyed because even though you're driving at 25 miles an hour you'll invariably get stuck behind someone doing 24 who will suddenly become the blame for entire life's misfortunes. You pull over into a lay-by to get out and look at the unspoilt landscape only to find it's been spoilt... by tourists like you. Once every ten miles or so you get a delivery van sat on your tail, you both get angry because you have your principles about your speed and he can see his P45 getting closer and closer because of late deliveries. At least one person in the car suffers from hayfever so the car slowly fills up with snotty tissues. I, therefore, am staying in today... and relaxing! Good luck!
I've thought long and hard about how I'm going to explain this one and haven't really found a concise way. The best way to understand just how long and how heated this debate can become you need one person from Derbyshire, one from Yorkshire, one from Leicestershire and one who speaks "proper" english (ie someone posh or someone who learnt english as a foreign language). Then all you need to do is ask the following questions out load and sit back... What on earth is a barmcake? What's a cob? Doesn't a teacake have to have currents in it? Which fool came up with the term breadcake? Is it bread or cake? Trust me, try it! You'll be amazed!
I've mentioned quite a bit over the last couple of weeks how the hours I'm working have been seriously dulling my brain. Well today I found the answer! I had set off on my second delivery run and was thinking about the problem (which in itself is a massive improvement) and I thought "If only I could have some sort of intellectual conversation". Then it came to me - Radio 4! I was accused of being boring not so long ago for reading the guardian and listening to radio 4 and started listening to radio1 as a knee-jerk reaction. While radio 1's great to listen to, it does nothing for the grey matter. Well it wouldn't, it's designed to be an entertainment station. So for now I'l still be listening to selected shows on radio 1 but I'll be getting a daily dose of brain food from radio 4. I can sense my brain smiling and warming to me again.
Sorry folks. I didn't tell you about the bread debate. I promise I'll let you know all about it tomorrow so you and your friends can argue long into the night. You may not believe it but it's really that bad!
Am I the only one who can't see whay there's so much fuss about John Prescott's croquet game? "But the photo's were taken just after Tony Blair had left the country leaving him in charge!" So...maybe my perceptions of government are wrong. Never before was I aware that that the top political job in the country was to stay in a big room full of levers and pulleys making sure everything's moving along nicely. If Britain were a train then, sure, you'd want someone at the controls at all times. It's not. So just calm down you gutter press idiots! It does raise another question though. Does Tony Blair not sleep at all or is there some guy we never get to see who does the night shift?
Sorry about that people. I know I don't tend to talk about politics. I realise I've broken the unwritten rule of polite conversation - Never talk about politics, religion or bread. I'm tired now so I'll explain bread tomorrow...crikey, the letters I'll get.
I realised a few years ago that pretty much everything we do in everyday life is strange in some way. I like to view things from a different angle. Sometimes this means I'll play devil's advocate but I never discard anyone's point of view.
I also love beer and ladies!
