fings wot are great or not great

Great: London. I love the fact that there's one road, and only one road, in the city where cars drive on the right. I love the fact that in 1738 40 people were recorded as having "Horseshoehead and Water in the Head" as their cause of death. 50 people dying of "Colick, Gripes and Twisting of the Guts" might be even better. 1 person dying from "Rising of the Lights" might be better still, and another as "Choaked with Fat" might top them all. I love this 1801 quote from Charles Lamb:

I have passed all my days in London, until I have formed as many and intense local attachments, as any of your Mountaineers can have done with dead nature. The Lighted shops of the Strand and Fleet Street, the unnumerable trades, tradesmen and customers, coaches, waggons, playhouses, all the bustle and wickedness round about Covent Garden, the very women of the Town, the Watchmen, drunken scenes, rattles;--life awake, if awake, at all hours of the night, the impossibility of being dull in Fleet Street, the crowds, the very dirt & mud, the Sun shining upon houses and pavements, the print shops, the old Book stalls, parsons cheap'ning books, coffee houses, steams of soup from kitchens, the pantomimes, London itself a pantomime and a masquerade, all these things work themselves into my mind and feed me without a power of satiating me. The wonder of these sights impells me into night walks about the crowded streets, and often I shed tears in the motley Strand from fulness of joy at so much Life.

And I love The Book Of Lists - London for teaching me those things and more.

Not great: the film Bloodsport. It's appalling. So, so bad. It was on Channel 5 last night and I watched it all, at once repelled and morbidly fascinated. The two redeeming features (and fighters) are Jean-Claude Van Damme and Bolo Yeung, easily the only guys capable of doing a half-decent fight scene -- yet the final fight between the two was as bad as, if not worse than, all the dross that had gone before. There were montages aplenty. There was shocking 80s electro-pop of the worst gee-up kind. There was pained anguish worthy of Calculon. There were outfits that I want to be able to programme my television not to show. Oh my gosh. I can't wait until I see this film again. Drunk.

Great: The lyrics to The Zutons' It's The Little Things We Do.

Not great: my week. I've broken many many things at work. Important things. Granted I've fixed them too, but still. I got called out last night, which isn't so bad, but having 3 other people get called out because of something I'd done doesn't make me overly popular. And I was in a fucking appalling mood all day Monday and most of Tuesday too, really depths-of-loathing stuff.

Great: the last paragraph of my brother's blog entry about farting in lifts.

Not great: having my plans for Saturday ruined by South West Trains and their engineering works. And being unable to get to Cambridge before 11am sensibly on Sunday.

from Darren in Surbiton

I forgot to big myself up like a media whore! My name was read out on the radio twice yesterday. In fact it may even have been 3 times, but various issues with my phone conspired to make me miss at least one of the times that Bob and Andy read out short jokes on their show in the afternoon (I SMSed in with "Anarchists only drink herbal tea. Proper tea is theft"), and XFM don't have a listen again thing. But I know for a fact that the "Darren from Surbiton" mentioned twice on Natasha's breakfast show on 6music was me. And if you're reading this before December 3rd or so you can go hear it here. It happens in the second hour, can't remember the exact times I'm afraid. She asked people to SMS in with artists-as-rhyming-slang suggestions and I got 2 out of 3 read out, go me! For some reason she wasn't taken by "I'm just off for a Johnny Cash". :-(

Bloody hell, the office ain't half quiet at 8am on a Monday.

What on earth am I walking about?

The apocalypse hit yesterday. About 10 minutes after I left my Dad's place in Morden the skies opened and fuck me did it tip it down. Shame really 'cos I was going to go for a walk. Mind you I did anyway, just not a really long one. Jumped on a tube to get somewhere dry and got off at London Bridge, from where a slow-ish trot was taken along the south of the Thames to Waterloo Bridge, then along the Strand at Aldwych, Fleet Street -- complete with diversion to Dr Johnson's House -- to Ludgate circus, then back across the Thames at Blackfriars Bridge and back to London Bridge. Even in the variably cold and wet weather London's skyline is amazing. I should go up town on my days off/weekends more often. Maybe.

Where shall I go?

That's about 3.5 miles all told, I think. Just under a quarter of the distance I did today. *cough* Didn't have a plan, I didn't even decide which direction to turn at the end of my road until I got there. I chose left. The first few miles were pretty boring, but then they would be I guess. Same as a lot of walks. Variation only comes in when uncharted territory is reached, which started today with the footpath linking the A3 and Woodies. Quite useful that. From there it was a trip along South Lane, then under the A3 and onto ... South Lane. Odd road. That ends up in what I thought was Motspur Park, but now know is Old Malden.

Heading there had sort of forced my hand into a Worcester Park/North Cheam route, thoughts of Nonsuch Park entering my mind. But some really old signs pointed in one direction to Surbiton, Epsom and Ewell, and I thought one of the latter two would be a nice trip.

It's on that road, Church Road, that the border between Kingston (a Royal and London borough) and Surrey is. But for crying out loud, we're still in outer London. North of the big road the 406 and 418 go along. Yes, it's deep south, but not out in the sticks. Those are the thoughts I was occupied with as I stumbled along the edges of a pavementless tree-lined road with no mirrors on the blind corners and muddy puddles all over the place. Grr! It wasn't the longest road in the world but still, I was expecting to end up in Stoneleigh really.

That road doesn't end up in Stoneleigh. It ends up on that road where the buses go, but I turned off it before then. I was in a really residential area I didn't recognise, and frankly with the turns Church Road had taken I wasn't quite sure what direction was right. But a footpath through a park is always right, and that was the choice I took. Auroli park had a map of Epsom and Ewell's other parks too... and I couldn't see Nonsuch Park. That put paid to that plan for good. And in fact the map wasn't right useful really, 'cos it had no roads in it, just council wards and parks. Not to worry, the road the exit I chose came out on looked big enough so I headed along that and hey presto, I knew where I was again. On that big road.

From that big road I knew where I was going. There's something to be said for that, but it's also a bit boring. Nonetheless I picked the 406 route to Ewell, which ended up being a good choice 'cos I got to see a lot of cool autumn colours and stuff at the river/pond in the village. And it's at Ewell Village that I took my next random choice, not really knowing where I was going and relying again on signs... until picking a random footpath just because it was called Mongers Lane. Heh. Carried up on that until again I was in known territory and I followed the main road to Epsom town centre.

I don't like Epsom. There are a couple of OK pubs but a lot of bad ones, including an enormous Wetherspoons with expansive and astonishing toilets. Besides, I was only 8 miles in and it was only 1pm. But I didn't really know where to go. I thought about walking to Epsom racecourse, and Tattenham Corner, but couldn't remember how to get to the path that goes that way, so instead I thought I'd walk to Ashtead, and/or perhaps Leatherhead.

The problem with walking to Ashtead was that I didn't know the way there either. I took a guess at the bottom of Epsom High Street, went up West Hill, and came across a sign to Ashtead. Hurrah! Got a little bit lost in some residential roads, then found the train line which had a footpath going down the side of it. Instead of that though I crossed the bridge and got lost again in some more residential roads. About 2 seconds after telling Chris how lost I was in a text message I spotted a big road and went to explore. Turned left until about 10 yards later I looked back and saw the sign said Ashtead was in the opposite direction, oops.

The road I now found myself on was the A24. It's a big road that goes all the way to Morden and beyond, northbound. In my head the southbound route turns into Ashtead high street. It doesn't. A while down it there was a sign about Ashtead Common, one entrance of which I found myself at, and the right-hand turn had two little gate things flanking it saying "welcome to Ashtead". The high street was that way, I figured, so along I went. For ages. Until I got to some shops I didn't recognise (despite having been to Ashtead before) and the station.

Fuck it. I'd done enough walking. Time to get a train back. Oh, damn it, there goes a train. Shit. And it's a Sunday so there'll not be another one for ages. But what's this? A big common with a map on a sign and some clearly marked footpaths? Don't mind if I do!

This morning, on IRC, Chris and I had had this exchange:

* dsf doesn't really care if it rains
<chris> you might if it really fucks it down and you are miles from shelter!
-me <dsf> yeah but that's unlikely
-me <dsf> i've not walked over fields and shit yet
* dsf has stuck to easy to escape from routes
* chris nods
-me <dsf> and given recent weather, if i do go out i'm sticking to Concrete

It barely rained all day until I was in the middle of either Ashtead or Epsom Common (they kinda merge). With no shelter to talk of. I got fucking soaked. Damn stormbringer that I am. Unfortunately I couldn't tell Chris this because for the past 45 minutes, and for the next 45, my phone said "inactive SIM" on it. I had no coverage. Stupid Orange. I get that at home sometimes too. Orange's north Surrey coverage is fucking awful.

Anyway. The clearly marked paths aren't massively clear. Well I guess they're clear enough, but they're numbered, and I didn't know what number meant what. I'd already had to make a random choice at the start when confronted with a fork, then I diverted onto a different one that looked less muddy, and then at a crossing I changed direction. I thought I was roughly going the right way until I reached the edge of the common and it wasn't a road, but some fields. Erk. Thankfully another path went along the edge, I carried on along that and just basically kept walking. Eventually I came across some other people (which meant my singing along with XFM had to be calmed), a clearing, a pond with some people fishing, a car park, and a road. I had escaped the common.

XFM interlude. I think I do like it, really. Perhaps the variation on Sunday is just enough for it to not piss me off, 'cos I still heard most of the songs Laverne plays every morning but since I was listening to it for 5 hours in total that's not too bad. And I do like that Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly. song. I was going to call this blog entry "Get Shoes. Wear Shoes. Walk", or "Walk Of The Worlds", in its honour. But I didn't. Nor did I call it "Nice walk if you can get it", that'll have to wait for another time.

So. I'd not come out of Epsom Common at the corner I'd expected. I didn't really know where I was, just traipsing along an unknown road with nothing but common and fields next to it. Grr. But there was a roundabout sign up ahead and with roundabouts come road signs. Aha! Epsom! Actually it was a roundabout I'd been to before, near the edge of Horton Country Park and on the road towards Chessington. Didn't want to walk through HCP though and couldn't remember the roads, so Epsom it was. The route ended up actually taking me back down West Hill, the road I'd taken out of Epsom on the way out.

In the town centre I thought I'd get a bus back to Surbiton, but after getting some drinks I checked and there was no service for a while. So I walked to Ewell, a slightly different route (guided by cycle signs) which took me through an industrial park. Doesn't sound too pleasant but it meant I got to do one of my favourite things: happen across a great sunset. Love it. And my timing was perfect for the bus too, as I'd picked a walk that got me to the stop just as the bus was timetabled to arrive.

So here's the full route, 15.6 miles. Bloody hell. What a way to spend a Sunday. And I even got back in time for Man Utd vs Chelsea on the box.

Jack Penate

He's wonderful. He's got a myspace and I've been listening to the songs on there pretty much on rotation all day (except for the couple of hours when I headed over to Yahoo! LAUNCHcast and got treated to a 28 minute Manowar epic). Anyway. Jack Penate's great. I don't even care that I got loads of abuse for using the word "skiffle" in the office. All hail Jack Penate. I think I'm going to go to his single launch party in a couple of weeks. He's great. Great I tell ya. Great.

PS thanks to Zane Lowe for playing Jack Penate this week, otherwise I dunno if I'd ever have heard of him

All the way home

Good entry this one. Boring, no photos, and loads of text. You lucky lucky people.

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So, last night: with music to my ears (albeit with broken headphones, FFHS) and nothing to do, plus a weather forecast saying it was the only evening this week without rain, I walked home. All the bloody way. 12.6 miles.

See yell.com has a walking route calculator thing. You can shove in a couple of postcodes and say you want to walk rather than drive, and instead of the perhaps more sensible response of "how far?!? fuck off!" it actually tells you the route. I thought from the office to home was 18 or so miles but it turned out to be just over 12. I had a bit of a fight using gmap-pedometer 'cos I didn't trust the route yell gave me to be the shortest, turns out it pretty much is though. How dare it know better than me, bah! But still I failed to follow it exactly, through a combination of pig-headedness, road/area preference, and forgetfulness.

First things first, office to Piccadilly Circus. Small distance, horrid walk at 6pm. Too many people around. Just nasty as hell. As soon as I got onto Piccadilly itself though it got better, presumably because people are scared of getting poisoned through being in close proximity to that sushi restaurant where the Russian spy got fucked over the other week.

First deviation from yell's route came at the end of Piccadilly. I didn't want to walk along Knightsbridge, plus I still wasn't convinced it was the shortest route. Instead I wanted to head through Belgravia towards Sloane Square and get on the King's Road at source. I managed the last bit but not without getting a little lost inside Belgravia, ending up on Sloane Street which was rather surprising. Turned out it wasn't a massive diversion though.

The King's Road, and New King's Road, is bloody long. It also fluctuates greatly between posh and lovely and grim and nasty. At one end there's Sloane Square and Peter Jones and a bunch of mews, in the middle there's a knife amnesty bin next to Tesco, ... I love London. I love the way the whole place is a mixture of ace and grim separated by pretty much fuck all. Pick the wrong direction from any given place and you can be somewhere shitty inside 5 minutes. Start somewhere shitty and walk for 5 minutes and you'll find tree-lined roads or a nice park or a river or little square or whatever.

Anyway. At the end of the New King's Road is Putney Bridge, and just as I was walking down the side of the station I got a call from the Frankenkarma's creator. Not sure what he was most interested in checking up on, my progress or his baby's ;-) I was doing better than it was... not 'cos it was broken though, only because the battery had run out and my headphones were fucked. Mind you this had made answering the phone a lot easier 'cos I was listening to XFM on it, playing the same old fucking shit AGAIN.

Putney's where the walk gets rubbish. I really like the centre of town, Belgravia, the King's Road, even the New King's Road in a way, certainly from Parson's Green to the bridge, and I don't mind Putney High Street (which was the scene of my first calorie stop; prawn mayo sarnie, sausage roll and a diet coke please mate ). But from there on...

As it goes the aforementioned had predicted I'd give up on the trawl up Putney Hill, not necessarily through fatigue but because it's a shit walk. He's right 'n all. Walking along the A3 through Roehampton Vale isn't my idea of fun and isn't something I'll be doing again in a hurry. In fact the nasty stretch was a good 4 miles all told. Bah! How disappointing that the entire route home isn't glorious.

Oh yeah. On the A3 there was a road sign saying "Kingston 4". About a mile later there was one saying "Kingston 3". And about a mile later, at the foot of Kingston Hill (where I was coming off the A3) there was a pedestrian/cyclist sign saying "Kingston 4". FUCKERS.

Kingston Hill is long. Not that steep, but fucking long. It never feels that long on an 85 or K3 but that's probably because they're going along at 40mph or so. As I walked I kept thinking, I know this bit, the crest is soon.. and it never was. Well obviously it was, after a while, but a lot longer of a while than it was meant to be. But it was informative, in so far as I'd never realised before just where the border between SW and KT was -- and I'd never have placed it halfway up the hill near the Uni.

Kingston Hill is something else too: very very boring. But I had Radio 1 on 'cos XFM was just pissing me off way way way too much, and they were playing a variety of stuff most of which I'd never heard of. Hurrah! And then along came Tim Westwood too! Hurrah!

Trouble set in near the tail end of Kingston Hill. By the time I'd reached the top I was knackered by the climb but determined to carry on, but as soon as the descent kicked in my mind wandered toward the possibility of jumping on a bus. There were Surbiton buses now, see. I could just get a K3 home. At Norbiton I could get a K1 or K2 also. And if I went into Kingston town centre I had even more choices... in the end the only thing that happened in Norbiton was I stopped for more liquids. Lucozade hydro-active FTW!

As it turns out Kingston was the scene of my second yell deviation. Not through choice this time, I thought I'd remembered the route properly but after checking it this morning I hadn't. But even given that, and my earlier Belgravia shenanigans, the full route was only 0.4 miles longer. Stepped in the door dead on 2130 which meant I'd taken exactly 3.5 hours. That means I averaged 3.6mph, about 0.6mph faster than normal but with liberal adjustments for calorie stops, hills, and traffic/road crossing (virtually none of which were present on any of the river walks) I reckon I must have walked at 4mph pretty much the whole way. Go me! And stuff!

Anyway, that's that then. I can walk home on a weeknight and feel virtually no ill-effects the next morning. My feet are a tiny bit sore but my legs aren't. Not that I plan to do it regularly mind, but it's nice to know it's possible. It'll do as a contingency plan for next time the trains get proper fucked up ;-)

FRANKENKARMA LIVES

Just took delivery of Frankenkarma and am listening to it right now. Superb stuff. Unfortunately I was listening to it a bit too loud, 'cos someone 3 desks away popped up on Y! Messenger to ask me how comes I wasn't deaf if I listened to music that loud. My excuse is, well, I'm probably a bit deaf at the moment, what with 9 bands and 3 hours in a rehearsal studio over the previous 3 days. Ahem.

I also accidentally bought 8 new CDs. Slayer times 2 (God Hates Us All, Undisputed Attitude), Ice Cube (AmeriKKKa's Most Wanted), Snow Patrol times 2 (When It's All Over We Still Have To Clear Up, Final Straw), Rahzel (Make The Music 2000), Jay-Z (The Black Album) and MOP (Warriorz). £53 for 8 albums isn't a bad price I thought. Shame the woman serving me was so dreadfully dreadfully wrong about School Of Rock's filmic qualities.

I wonder how people with synaesthesia cope with seeing Slayer. Do they smell raspberries for the next 24 hours instead of get tinnitus?

Son, you're a bachelor boy

In front of me in the newsagent this morning was possibly the most single bloke I'd ever seen. He bought: 2 cans of some Red Bull-alike energy drink; a packet of Lambert & Butler; Zoo magazine; Nuts magazine; the Sun. And he was wearing a parka. Good effort son.

Talking of the Sun, top notch headline today of "From Russia With Lunch". Like it.

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Today's the day I'm going to get Frankenkarma! Fucking result. I need my music. XFM was entertaining for a while but I'm really fucked off with all these Red Hot Chilli Peppers "give it away box office" things (although I know they finish tomorrow), and the playlist is so dreadfully predictable. Here, XFM, give me a job as DJ. I promise to play these songs every single day: Albert Hammond Jr - 101; that Razorlight one where he whinges about America; Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly - War Of The Worlds; Arctic Monkeys - View From The Afternoon; something by Hard-Fi; something by Kasabian; something by the Ordinary Boys; something by Bloc Party; Babyshambles - The Blinding; Snow Patrol - either that "if I lay here" one, or the one with Martha Wainwright; Panic! At The Disco - I Write Sins Not Tragedies; Muse - Starlight. Have I got the gig yet? Well?

Mind you I dunno how much I'll appreciate music tonight. My ears are ringing a lot from last night. Slayer just couldn't, and didn't, fail to be fucking awesome. Moshing there last night was the first time I've genuinely missed having long hair but that feeling soon disappeared in the shower this morning, heh. What gives with the opening band having finished their set before 1830 on a Monday night though, eh? Especially since they were (apparently -- I missed them) possibly the best of the 4 supports. Bah. Anyway.

Dear In Flames: be better. And faster. Really, much faster. You're supporting Slayer for fucks sake. Stop singing. In fact, just play Take This Life and then fuck off. Did you catch, when you said "what do you want to hear now?", that the crowd shouted "Slayer"? Innit.

Dear Lamb Of God: I thought you were going to rip my face off? You were alright... but actually I think I prefer you on record. Mind you I did think yer last two songs were shit hot and done really well. You don't half sound like Slayer and Pantera though.

Dear Children Of Bodom: 2 songs that sound like DragonForce and then a load of nonsense? Get it sorted. I'm told you started off as a black metal band. Try that again.

Thine ears bleed

Went to the Peel last night and saw 5 bands: Necro Ritual, Desolation, Amphitrium, Handful Of Hate, and Abgott. Got there early 'cos we'd wanted to see NR, and they were really very good. Again. And this time you could even make out the music 'cos the sound wasn't awful. Desolation are a waste of a good band name and a bit anachronistic, not really being black or death metal, or much cop either. Amphitrium and Handful Of Hate were both entertaining but it's a bit telling when the best song a band does is a cover. Good choices though, Bolt Thrower and Testament tunes. Abgott were, I think, quite good, but by the the time they came on I was pretty fucked and we all left before they finished to get an extra pint in the Cocks. Eesh. Wooj was full of wisdom, turning that pint down because "it won't make the night better, but it'll make the morning worse". I love that line of thinking.

I love all that corpsepaint bollocks too, but it has to be done right. Necro Ritual do it right but the singer in Handful Of Hate looked like a tart. Really. His face looked like a Mr Kipling bakewell tart. Not exactly scary. Not sure if you can make it out in the photos I took though.

Walked about 4 miles this morning, through Berrylands. It's a lovely place when it doesn't smell. Perfect walking weather too, but I had to come home 'cos this afternoon I was out at a rehearsal studio, jamming away on bass for the first time in months, maybe even over a year. I was nowhere near as bad as I thought I'd be.

No Napalm Death this evening but Slayer/In Flames/Lamb Of God/Children Of Bodom/Thine Eyes Bleed tomorrow. Can't wait. The only bad thing about it is that it delays my taking receipt of frankenkarma by at least a day (I learnt earlier this afternoon that it's ready). Alex is my current object of hero worship.

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The xbox360 pisses me off. I'm rubbish at the games and don't have enough patience to practice and get good at them. :-( Oh well. Chatting with people through the headset while being beaten at Table Tennis is quite fun for as long as it lasts... before I get in a mood, tell them to fuck off, and log off in a huff.

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I know what a teasel is now. That's because I saw a sign showing them, and then a bunch of them themselves, in the fantastically named and not-at-all-incongruous-no-siree-bob wonder that is Wilderness Island, in Carshalton.

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My sore throat has nearly gone. Turns out medicinal remedies rather than glucose, sucrose and eucalyptus did the trick. A few Lemsips on Thursday and a bunch of Strepsils since, job done.

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Senior executive recommends 20% job cuts across the company. It's good to be back at work.

Dude. Week.

Deliverance is a fucking bleak film.

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Bleak is a fucking great word.

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Alex is building me a Frankenkarma out of the 2 busted ones. I can't wait. Pimp My Karma indeed. In the absence of recorded music I've been listening a lot to XFM, Lauren Laverne is nowhere as terrible as I found her to be on channel 4 years ago but she could do without playing pretty much exactly the same songs every day. Ho hum. On Saturday I was listening to XFM too when someone played the supposedly great new song by the Futureheads, and it was rubbish. I don't really recall when all this new breed of British bands actually came about, eg the Futureheads, Kasabian, Franz Ferdinand, The Killers, The Kooks, etc etc (actually I don't even know if they're all British), but I've got a feeling they're all mostly famous because they opened with a blinding song or album and now may all be releasing dreadful sophomores. I hope that doesn't happen with the Arctic Monkeys. Oh God how I miss listening to the Arctic Monkeys album.

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My ears are going to bleed soon. On Saturday I'm going to see 5 black metal bands down the Peel. Sunday I may actually turn up to the studio for a jam, and then I might be going to see Napalm Death, and on Monday I'm going to Unholy Alliance II in Brixton. BRING FORTH SLAYER.

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I've got an xbox360 now. A proper fit of peer pressure plus a few minutes spent playing Dead Or Alive 4 at the weekend convinced me it's the right thing to do. I also needed a flimsy excuse to spend enough money on my AA credit card to push me over the top of the "now you can fly to the USA for nowt" threshold. Table Tennis is a good game, Dead Rising is piss funny, DOA4 is frustrating and I'm yet to take PGR3 and Burnout out of the shrink wrapping.

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I wish this sore throat would fuck off. I've had it for over 2 weeks now, and with the masses of cough sweets failing to fend it off I've resorted to actually taking something medicinal. Seems to be doing the trick, but I should perhaps leave out the peperami firesticks until it's proper better.

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Waterloo to the office is less than a mile, and the opportunities for alternative routes aren't exactly great. I did walk to Vauxhall on one evening last week but that's less than 3 miles despite not going the most direct route. Or did I? Straight down St Martin's Lane, then Charing Cross to the west side of Hungerford Bridge, cross the river and hug it until Vauxhall Cross. Hmm. Maybe that is pretty direct. Either way it wasn't far, but my ridiculous sleep patterns combined with great weather and not a tiny amount of boredom and restlessness meant I prefixed and suffixed my extraordinary weekend with 10 miles of walking.

Both walks were between Waterloo and Euston station, Saturday morning's being in that direction. Went along the south bank of the Thames as far as the Millennium Bridge, crossed and wandered through the city, Bloomsbury, and Fitzrovia. Sunday saw me revisit Fitzrovia, then pile through Mayfair, along the edge of Green Park and then through Victoria, to Parliament Square and along the river to Hungerford Bridge again. Both routes marked out on gmap-pedometer, Saturday here and Sunday here.

Uni reunion between those two walks. Jesus christ. I'm too old for all this drinking. Fucking cracking weekend though, ending with loads of us rampaging through Rockworld as if we owned the place, chalking the pool cues off the walls and necking Red Stripe like there was no tomorrow. And in fact Saturday's tomorrow was monstrously painful and I would have preferred it not to exist, at least in the form it chose to take.

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Lunch

Oh my word. Once upon a time I took this photo of a slice of bread pudding a cafe near here served me. It used to be my favourite cafe ever 'cos it sold omelette-in-a-bun. Those days are over but nonetheless I still pop in fairly regularly to get an egg mayo sarnie. And that's what I did today, and sheesh did they ever sort me out.

My order: egg mayo in a large soft roll, and a slice of bread pudding. This should have cost about £3.50 I think, the BP is certainly a quid but their pricing for sarnies and rolls has always been somewhat erratic. Anyway, he charged me £3.10, ringing up 70p for the BP, and then gave me £2 back from the fiver I handed over. So I spent £3 on lunch.

The egg mayo soft roll was enormous. I mean it's a large roll anyway, but the amount of filling, cripes. But then came the bread pudding... I knew I was in trouble when I carried the two things back in one hand and my wrist hurt by the time I was at my desk, but even then I wasn't quite prepared for the majesty which awaited.

Look. At. The. Size. Of. My. Three. Quid. Lunch.

No, really. Look at the size of it. Look at the can of diet coke for reference. Then look at this photo of my hand on the bread pudding.

FEAR.

The Cult Is Alive

Well, that's day one back at Yahoo! done with then. They even had me doing some real work come 4pm or so. A very odd feeling to be both the new guy and the veteran at the same time. I didn't by any means hate being there but by the time I got home I was in a terrible mood, in which I remain. Oh well.

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My brother is right about School Of Rock. And talking of my brother, his calling a previous blog entry "a wet weekend" reminded me to listen to Big Dipper. Craps is one of my favourite albums of all time. I'm sure I have Heavens on vinyl too and that might just be enough to convince myself I need a USB turntable. Although a copy of the CD would probably be cheaper.

Lost in Thames Ditton

I hate Thames Ditton. I just can't get to grips with it. The road layout has always confused me. So yesterday I tried to overcome that, by walking to Hampton Court in time I had spare prior to meeting up with Loz for his birthday duck-feeding session. A session Thames Ditton made me late for.

First mistake: taking the wrong road at Winters Bridge. It ended up meeting with the right road, but was an unwelcome diversion. Then in the town centre I went the wrong way, and finally as I was trying to remember/work out which direction Weston Green was I picked wrongly. Consequently I ended up back on Portsmouth Road. I didn't want to give up completely and from where I was I knew the way for sure: down to the Scilly Isles and right. I just didn't realise it was more than 2 miles :-( At the point on Hampton Court Way where the sign said it was 2 miles I sped up, and I'm fairly sure I managed to do it in 20-25 minutes. 6mph seems awfully fast to me but I was certainly bloody knackered and out of breath when I stopped to get the bus. This is the route I'd ended up going. Look at the fucking state of it. Still, 5 and a bit miles though. Walking from the Bishop to Harts and back plus a little detour in Kingston town centre probably made it 7 in total for the day.

When I was young, about 6 or 7 I think, my family went on holiday to a camp in Sussex called Sussex Beach. Not a Butlins or Pontins, not part of any chain (at least back then) IIRC, I think we went there probably 5 times when I was a kid. Anyway this one year, we were all feeding ducks at a pond, and I pointed at one. It bit me. A fucking duck bit my finger. Being much the same back then as I am now I made a right hooha about it. I got bitten by a duck! It didn't cause any genuine trauma and I've not had to have regressive hypnosis to recall this episode, but it has long caused amusement amongst my family and since then duck feeding has never been a big part of my life. Well yesterday, I fed some ducks. Go me! I'm sure my Kevin and dad will be very impressed when they learn of this.

Fuliguline activities dispensed with the rest of the day was considerably less healthy. Way too much to drink and eat led to a total twat of a hangover this morning. Thankfully birthday season is in recess now, 3 over 3 consecutive weekends to celebrate has been murderous.

So. Work tomorrow. As well as get rid of my hangover I really wanted to clear my head. A walk'll do that, especially a 15 mile one.

First things first, another stab at Thames Ditton. Actually, the first thing was going to the newsagent (and wondering what a "Newsagent provocateur" would be) to buy the Observer. No Sport Monthly though, FFHS. My Skinless t-shirt says "Trample the weak" on the back and the Sunday Times are reporting that that might actually happen, with a headline of "Doctors: Let us kill disabled babies". Nice.

Anyway. Thames Ditton. I'd looked at a map before leaving to make sure I got it right today. I got it wrong. Not as wrong as yesterday but still wrong. For crying out loud. But whatever.

I don't like Hampton Court any more. Streets might have been a battered up place and every so often full of racists and thugs but I have fond memories of many decent evenings there. And how good is a pub with a branch of Pizza Hut built in? But now it's Zizzi and luxury flats, next to it is some typically overpriced poncey bistro and it's all bollocks. Oh well. I wasn't hanging around anyway.

Just along from Hampton Court bridge is Molesey Lock. This is the second lock on the Thames, Teddington being the first, if you're counting from the sea inwards. I don't really know much about locks but there are a bunch of them about and for some reason I find them really nice to look at. Odder still considering my general distaste for most things waterfaring, but there it is. After that there's Hurst Park, then Sunbury, Sunbury Lock, and Walton. Turns out this stretch of water became my new favourite bit of the Thames. It's fantastic. The weather helped, what with it being clear and sunny and great today, but the views in Sunbury and Walton are awesome. And Sunbury Lock was being used too.

Again like last week I didn't really have that much of a plan, but since I was heading away from London I had at least thought about a few exit places. An unofficial Thames Path site I'd looked at had made a section out of Hampton Court to Staines, a 12 mile trek that did cross my mind. But I'd already walked 3 or so miles to the start(!) so I was thinking of maybe Shepperton or Walton. By the time I got to the latter I needed to deal with liquidity issues, so headed inland from The Anglers and to the town centre.

Popped into Boots for some scran, by now it was around 3pm and I was thinking of heading back. Just wasn't really sure of the best way. Not sure I would be able to work out the route from the town to the station, train got discounted quickly. The idea of walking back through Esher didn't really appeal so bollocks, back to the river with me for some step retracing. Had to pause thanks to being intimidated by the swans which a guy in front of me had managed to tempt out of the water such that there were about 10 of them blocking the path. One of them nearly bit his hand off when he was taunting them rather than actually throwing food their way. Good! But once that hazard was dealt with it was plain walking.

Sunbury and Walton really are awesome. And facing the opposite direction while the sun goes down, the differences in views were subtle but noticeable. The Thames just seems to rule, really. I hadn't taken many photos on the outbound leg, inbound was better though. Especially the sunsets.

Got back to Hampton Court and there was a train in the station, leaving pretty soon I think, but NO. Thames Ditton was not going to defeat me. One last attempt must surely solve all my issues and so it proved: I turned off Hampton Court Way early enough, went down Summer Road and finally got my bearings. Now I need never go back there again.

A slightly different route back from Portsmouth Road to the house, during which my one-eared music turned into Alien by Strapping Young Lad. What a fucking song Shitstorm is. And you can legally listen to an mp3 of it here! I've listened to it a lot when angry or miserable in the past but today I was neither and the damn thing gave me goosebumps. Ended up listening to it 3 times between Winters Bridge and home. Such a fucking superb and amazing choon, irregardless of the mood I'm in, it seems.

So apparently that was more than 15 miles, and apparently 2600 calories burnt. Here's the entire route plotted on gmap-pedometer. I love that site. Mark found this alternative the other day but I'm staying loyal.

Bored journalists and their idea of fun

Got Soccer A.M. on TV and they just showed a newspaper article about the soccerette. It included the phrase:

The 22 year old, who was entered by her boyfriend, [...]

I know it was in reference to a competition, but still. Dear journalist: tick a boo, son.

Back

The Governator famously said he'd be back in some film he was in. In the title song of the album I referred to just yesterday, Bacdafucup, Onyx sing "Move back motherfuckers, the Onyx is here" (although they probably spell it "Move bak muthafukkaz, de Onyx iz here", daft bastards). Annihilator sing "Get back, back, just leave us all alone" in Never Neverland. The Beatles did a song called Get Back, right? And on IRC whenever someone returns from being away from their keyboard for a bit, protocol dictates they announce this to the channel by uttering the single word "back".

Well, it appears that I'm back. I figure that I returned to working life at 6pm today. 6pm on a Friday evening and there I was: not in the office, but embarking on a weekend after which lies a return to the office on Monday. Just like everyone else. I'm back.

It makes me nervous. All the good things about my time off -- and, granted, they are legion -- are now over, and all the bad things are preying on my mind.

I'm scared of going back. It's 2 months since I did any programming. It's 2 months since I interacted with colleagues. I don't mean any specific colleagues, I mean just in general: it's 2 months since I was last in a working environment. 2 months since I've been at Yahoo!. And it's a new job, a new role, with new responsibilities and new colleagues and new techniques and new meetings and new things to learn to care about. It's intimidating. I'm scared.

Now I have moments, in fact to be fair I have quite a lot of moments, where I look at myself and think, Foreman, you're being an arse. You're good at your job, you'll be good at this new job, you're good at and for Yahoo! and Yahoo! is good for you. And they wouldn't have kept you on or given you a new job (and, yes, 2 months off) if they weren't convinced you were good.

It's probably true. But the last few days have had fewer of those moments than the couple of weeks prior. The 3 extra days threw my psychological preparation for going back off balance, and in retrospect I perhaps shouldn't have accepted them.

Hold on. That's crazy talk. Turn down 3 days off? Who am I kidding? Scratch that from the record.

How will people react to me? What do people think? These are questions I ponder too. I've had 2 months off, longer, for fucks sake. What's so great about me that I got it and others haven't and perhaps wouldn't? Admittedly I quit, and not as a bargaining ploy: it wasn't just a gift to me from Yahoo!. But if I wonder what's so great about me that I got treated so well, surely other people are wondering the very same thing? And waiting for me to demonstrate it? I guess I have something to prove to everyone, myself included.

And what of friends? Barely anyone has said anything to my face that I'm an arse or whatever. But let's face facts, I didn't take off around the world purely for taking off's sake. It's true that I've come back feeling massively refreshed, relaxed, confident and happy, but those are almost side-effects. The brutal truth is I designed the holiday as something I considered to be an objectively cool thing to do, and I wanted to be someone who did something objectively cool. I wanted other people to look at what I was doing and think, wow, that's cool. Perhaps he's cool. Hell, when drunk and making notes in my phone one night I left a message for myself that said "I wanna be adored". Can you believe that? Frankly I wanted to engender feelings of jealousy -- just not the sneering "look at that flash fucker" type, which is now the type I fear I've inspired. I hope I haven't.

But how fucking lame and shallow is all of that?

Not that it even matters any more. I fluked it, I lucked out, I got away with it. I had questionable motives for going away but they gave me the impetus to go through with a world tour -- littered with escape hatches and safety nets, all unused -- that turned out to be every bit as subjectively cool as I'd imagined it to objectively be. And at the end of it I've finished up all those things I said above: refreshed, relaxed, confident, and happy. Result. Whether anyone thinks I'm cool or not? Who cares?

Friend of the music business

My metal biorhythm seems to be stuck. I do wonder if the pendulum will swing back in hip hop's favour sometime soon (I did very much enjoy listening to Onyx - Bacdafucup yesterday in my left ear) but for now I'm well and truly in the clutches of guitarists. Went up town to pick up my Unholy Alliance II tickets yesterday, an exercise which cost considerably less than the next couple of hours spent in HMV, Virgin, and Sister Ray. Ended up with:

• Scum and From Enslavement To Obliteration by Napalm Death. Can't believe I didn't own these before on CD (IIRC I have 3 vinyl copies of From Enslavement...). I wanted the version of the latter that contains the former as bonus tracks, but I guess it's no longer in Earache's best interests to do things like that. Should have bought it in 1992 I guess!
  
• Deicide by Deicide. OLD SKOOL DEATH METAL. The weird thing about Deicide is that first time round I didn't really like them that much, and thought the lyrics were incomprehensible. But when listening to Lunatic of God's Creation the other day the words were simple to make out.
• Altar by Sunn O))) & Boris. I have no idea what to expect from this.
• The Shape Of Punk To Come and Songs To Fan The Flames Of Discontent, both by Refused. If memory serves, Refused were supposedly a fantastic punk band. I'm hoping so. Much like Nasum I missed their entire career through taking very little notice of metal for too many years.
  
• Dead Gone by Winnebago Deal. I saw Winnebago Deal in July, there's only 2 of them but by christ they made a fucking racket. A good 'un at that. I was going to go and see them again the week after, can't remember why I didn't. Anyway I thought it was about time I bought some of their music, just hope this album's a good choice.
• Phoenix Risen - A Candlelight Records Compilation by various artists. If not entirely black metal it's at least partially so. I bought this on the basis of it being a double album for 5 quid and containing a track by 1349 on it.
• Rephlexions by various artists. A "braindance" compilation from Aphex Twin's label, bought because it has a track by Bogdan Raczynski on it and I've wanted to get hold of some stuff by him for a while. This way is cheaper than spending the 30-odd quid his individual albums seem to command on Amazon. Having this album in amongst a pile of, I think, 4 of the above metal/punk CDs didn't half make the guy serving me at Virgin laugh.
  

Come the end of the day I also had The Best Of 2006, Uncut's cover disc for this month. Bit odd having a best of 2006 in my hands on November 1st but who am I to judge. If some people are to believed then the year might as well be over once October's finished anyway. I reckon Chris is a bit jealous that my October lasted 31 days and 14 or so hours this year ;-)

Going back to Unholy Alliance II finally, I'm wondering whether I'll actually be able to hear the bands there. Plans are vaguely afoot to make that the hat-trick in a long weekend of metal: on Sat 18th there's a 5-band black metal line-up playing down the Peel, and on Sun 19th Napalm Death are at the Underworld. Eek. Good job I kept all the earplugs from the various amenity kits the airlines gave me.

Holiday haiku

Some time on my hands
Seconds From Disaster on
Holiday haiku


Business class travel
Superiority bought
Lounges mean free beer

First, to Gibraltar
Just to pick up my tickets
Cheaper to start there

Just like part of Kent
(Except they drive on the right)
Cool barbary apes


Dubai for three days
Heat oppressive; bus tour dull
Guinness wonderful


A few days at home
Mostly preparing to fly
Much like the Bluetones

Although, I am wrong.
Their album was really called
Expecting To Fly


To Australia
23 hours, with one stop
Film channels broken

Brother in Sydney
Waiting for me, 5am
Sleep is for losers

Acclimatising
City centre, beer and pool
Clovelly, then home

Mara's, and the zoo:
My family and other
Animals (Durrell)

Steve Irwin is dead
Australia in mourning
Get over it, sheesh

Boats, bridge, and Bondi
(Junction and beach); monorail
Pokies, racism

Randwick and Manly
Martin Place, Darling Harbour
Kochie on Sunrise


Quick pop interlude:
I like to move it move it
I like to move it


Weekend in Auckland
Boats, the Domain, Sky Tower
Branches of Subway

Volcano, no soil
Hundreds of plants, no wildlife
Too many photos

Sydney flight delayed
Seat 1B, English Darren
Way too much to drink


5 hours coast to coast
Rubbish plane with no TV
Domestic flights suck


Perth and Fremantle
Bon Scott's grave. Let there be rock!
Dolphins in the Swan


Hong Kong. In daytime,
Grey, drab, and way too humid.
Breathtaking at night

Star Ferry, Peak Tram
Ngong Ping skyrail, huge Buddha
Day at the races


Singapore, too hot
Purveyor of magic shoes
Night safari, zoo

Sentosa Island
Six quid fifty pence a pint
You heard. Six fifty.


Half day in HK
Upgraded in the hotel
Early morning flight


Tokyo, Japan
Limousine to hotel
The Marunouchi

English not spoken
Hardly any Diet Coke
Intimidated

Saw the Emperor
Subway tickets a struggle
Akihabara

Ginza, then Antwerp
Watching the guy next to me
Incredibly drunk

Time to get a grip
Explore and experience
Not be defeated

Shinjuku station
Park, with hobos and a shrine
Discarded porn mags

Around Roppongi
Embassies and Hobgoblin
A bar called Boozer

Subway to Ueno
Decided against the zoo;
Watched fountains instead

The Sony building
In Ginza, stopped for a pint
More beer was to come

To Ryogoku
Not on any of my maps
40 beers on tap

Popeye's, a great pub
Beers wheat, smoked, local, foreign
Four pints please, "domo!"

Day in Hakone
SUPER EXPRESS ROMANCECAR
To see Mount Fuji

Train to Yumoto
Bus: Motohakone-ko
Hakonemachi

Pirate ship on lake
Ropeway to the cablecar
Back to Yumoto

Cans for the journey
English pub, the Rose and Crown
So long, Tokyo

Time travel is odd
Timezone I to timezone R
A very long day


New York. HATE HATE HATE
HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE
HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE


Back down to Earth. Bump.
Two eight five bus to Kingston
A fat cat no more.


At home now. Work soon.
But an extra three days off
Appreciated

Might go out quite soon
These boots are made for walking
That's just what they'll do.