Going out

Another Smelling Pistake

/ masher / 2 Comments

It’s that time of year when all the bluebells come out and the woods look absolutely gorgeous… for just a few weeks, before they all die off and then disappear for another year.

Our local woods – where I walk the dog – always look spectacular… as can be seen in the photo above, that I took yesterday evening.

The rangers have been round, sticking signs on all the entrances to the woods, to encourage people to stick to the main patsh, so as not to trample on the flowers.  No problem there: I always stick to the main patsh… can’t say the same for the dog, though: she’s on the patsh, off the patsh… sometimes she makes her own patsh.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: if your professional job is in producing signs and signwriting, you should – at the very least – be able to spell and proof-read.

Surely?

Saints Alive

/ masher / 4 Comments

Every year, Paddy’s Day (or Saint Patrick’s Day, to give its proper name) provides an excuse for hundreds of thousands of Irishmen to get off their tits, drinking large amounts of alcohol and indulging in all sorts of drunken revelry.

Of course, it’s well known that the Irish know how to party. For them, it’s all about the ‘craic’.  Apparently. Getting together and drinking as much Guinness and Caffrey’s (God, I love Caffrey’s) as they can; dressing up as leprechauns and jumping in the Liffey (if one happens to be celebrating in Dublin).   Parades fill the streets and the festivities have been known to go on for several days, in some places. Wearing green is – I think – the law, on Paddy’s Day.

But what about the other saints?  Are they celebrated in the same way? What about Saint George, who had his own significant day only yesterday?  For some reason, good ol’ Saint George doesn’t seem to be revered in quite the same vein as Saint Patrick.  And yet, he killed a fucking dragon, for chris’sake.

To go someway toward remedying this situation, my old BT pals and I had a gathering down at our local ‘spoons last night.  Our glasses charged with various English ales, I proposed a toast to Saint George. “To Saint George!” everyone chorused, raising their glasses in the air.

And then we got back to our various topics of conversation – in the main, who had had the biggest operation on their prostate.

I think the English craic and the Irish craig are very different beasts.

The Village Pub

/ masher / 6 Comments

It was Daughter’s birthday this week, so last night we decided to go out for a meal, to celebrate.

We pondered for some time as to where to go.  “How about The Chequers?”, suggested Mrs M, referring to the pub in the next village. We’d not been there before, but had heard good things, so I gave them a call and booked a table.

We arrived at 7:30pm to find the place was empty, save for three women in one corner who were just finishing their coffee.  By the time we had got ourselves seated and looking at the menu, they had gone.  We had the entire pub/restaurant to ourselves.

Whilst there was a range of foods on the menu, pies seemed to be the speciality.

I started with Root Vegetable Soup, which was quite obviously homemade and was bloody delicious.  I followed that up with a Chicken & Wild Mushroom Pie.

With chips and peas.

And gravy.

That too was homemade and was also bloody delicious.    In fact, the four of us each had different meals but we all enjoyed them immensely… the food was really good.

The barmaid who served us our drinks and meals was most pleasant and very attentive to our needs.

Contemporary music played out of some loudspeakers fixed to the walls, but it was set at a perfect volume: loud enough to enjoy, but not so loud that you had to raise your voice to be heard.

The bill at the end of the evening was also most reasonable, I thought… certainly for the fare and service that we’d enjoyed.

And yet, we were there for just over two hours and, in that time, not a single person came into the pub.

We’ve made a promise to ourselves to go there again sometime soon… hopefully before they close down due to a lack of trade.

Hi Honey, I’m Home

/ masher / 4 Comments

Well, after yesterday’s excitement, we are back to earth with a bang.

A cold bang.

Relatively.

Our ‘preponed’ flight out of Mauritius was a bit bumpy, but once out of the way of the bad weather, it was OK.   The flight home was an hour longer than the one that took us there. I assumed that was because we were going uphill, but I think it’s because the pilot had to take a slight detour to avoid the worst of the cyclone.

From what we can gather, there was just one more flight to the UK – an hour after we took off – and then they closed the airport. It’s expected to be shut for a few days, so we were lucky to get out when we did.

At Gatwick, we were through Passport Control in under a minute, thanks to those e-gates that they have for British nationals, and our suitcases came off the conveyor pretty quick, so we were out in record time.

Then we came unstuck at the train station: our tickets (pre-booked and paid for, because it’s so much cheaper that way) wouldn’t allow us through the barriers. This is because they – like us –  were a day early. I explained this to the guy manning the barriers.  He nodded, in an obviously uncomprehending way. “Show me your tickets, please”, he said in broken English. He looked at them for a moment and then: “Ahh, these are for tomorrow. You cannot use them until tomorrow.”

Again, I explained why we had had to come home today, rather than tomorrow.  He shook his head. “You must use these tomorrow.”

“Look…”, I was getting exasperated now and explained it all to him again.

He opened the barrier and let us through. I think he had just lost interest.

Luckily, we didn’t have to wait long for the train, but, having been up for nearly 24 hours now,  it was an effort for both of us to stay awake for the 90 minute journey home.

Falling asleep and missing our stop would have been the last straw.

Weather Report

/ masher / 4 Comments

Well, today I expected to be regaling you with tales of our trip out to one of the small islands that are dotted around Mauritius. This particular island (I can’t remember the name of it) has a pure white sandy beach, dotted with palm trees and looks like it is straight out of a Bacardi advert.

Rather than a speedboat – like earlier – this time we were to take a more leisurely trip, by catamaran.

Mrs M and I dragged ourselves out of bed this morning at 6.30, so we’d have time for some breakfast before departing, only to find that the excursion has been cancelled due to a category 2 cyclone .

A cyclone! Wow!

The nearest I have ever been to a cyclone, is vacuuming the carpet with our Dyson.

It’s currently 9am, local time, as I sit here on our balcony, typing this up. It’s hot and humid and the sun is beating down… as can be seen in the rather rubbish photo at the top of this post, that I have just taken.

It certainly isn’t looking like cyclone weather at the moment, but if we get evacuated (which could happen if it gets updated to a category 3, apparently), I shall let you know. 😊

+++UPDATE +++

It’s 22:00 local time and we have just found out that our flight has been brought forward  12 hours and we now need to leave here early in the morning.  Best get packing!

Flashmob

/ masher / 5 Comments

Flashmobs were all the rage some years ago, but you don’t see so many of them nowadays. Another fleeting fad, maybe.

But it’s a fad that I quite enjoyed… whilst it lasted.

Much to my annoyance, I’ve never been in a flashmob. There’s a good reason for this: all the ones I have seen, involve having the ability to dance, or to sing, or to play a musical instrument. I am sadly lacking in every single one of those departments.

And, I’ve never even seen one, which again, is quite annoying.

There are plenty to watch on that YouTube thing though and I’ve enjoyed most of them, I think.

But this is my new favourite.

Should I ever get married again, this is definitely happening.

A Life On The Ocean Waves

/ masher / 4 Comments

We went on a trip out, yesterday.

On a speedboat.

It was a lot of fun.

We visited some of the surrounding islands and did some snorkeling.  We went inland, up  river, to see a waterfall and to feed some wild monkeys which was fun.  Then we had a BBQ lunch on a small beach on one of the islands. And on the way back, we saw some dolphins.  Which was nice.

Of course, the problem with being out at sea and going snorkeling, is that despite applying copious amounts of sun cream, you are going to catch the sun.  Or rather, the sun is going to catch you!  We both have faces the colour of lobsters and my head is very sore.  The copious amounts of rum punch that they plied us with, probably didn’t help 😊

Today will be spent in the shade, as much as possible. In fact the weather forecast suggests a big storm is coming… which will be cool: I love a tropical storm!

Not Going Out

/ masher / 4 Comments

In a post, only a short while back, I mentioned how much we love going to the pictures, but also how I’ve noticed a gradual fall in attendance.

Well, we – as a family – have just contributed to that decline.

We have long been members of Cineworld’s Unlimited club, which – for a monthly sum – allowed us to visit our local cinema as many times as we wanted and, indeed, in the early days, we used to go on an almost weekly basis.

But now, as the kids have got older and their viewing tastes have changed, we found we weren’t going as often as we used to.  So long as we went at least twice a month though, our Unlimited membership was still worth the cost.

But, of course, that too has been steadily going up in price and when they announced another price hike last month, we decided that enough was enough and we cancelled our membership.

In my cancellation email, I explained how these continued price rises are making it hard for people to afford to go to the cinema nowadays and I suggested that a drop in price might actually increase cinema attendance… which would benefit all.

Sadly, I didn’t even get a reply.

A Hard Taskmaster? Nah.

/ masher / 6 Comments

Last weekend, Son and I made our way down to Canary Wharf and took part in the Taskmaster Live Experience.

It was this: Excellent.

It was also this:  A lot of fun.

And it was made even better by this: I actually won the bloody thing!

Yes, in our group of six players (we were in a group but all competing individually), Son and I took an early lead in the first game. We then both did absolute rubbish in the second game.  We both did well in the third and then we took the lead again in the fourth game (I don’t mind admitting that it was a pure fluke on my part, as I got the maths completely wrong and I couldn’t figure out how much a rubber duck weighed).

Obviously, I won’t go into details of what the games entailed, as that could spoil it for others, but, if you’re a fan of the show – as I am –  I’d urge you to pop along and have a go.

Even if you don’t end up a Champion (like wot I did), it’s still a lot of fun and there’s plenty to see, with lots of memorabilia from the the TV show to enjoy whilst you have a pint and a hot dog from the Taskonbury Bar.

Radio Ga Ga

/ masher / 8 Comments

I spent several hours last night, camped out in my car atop Dunstable Downs… the highest point in Bedfordshire.

An Amateur Radio contest happens at the beginning of each month and I am taking part.  As we are operating at VHF frequencies, the higher we can get the aerial, the better.

So, armed with my radio and homemade aerial (constructed from some plastic piping and an old clothes horse that I cut up) and a flask of coffee, I made my way to what I hoped would be my regular parking spot, just outside the car park barriers.

There are several car parks up there and at night they drop the barriers across the entrances. However, there is generally room to squeeze a few vehicles in.

To my dismay, every spot was taken: there were loads of cars up there.  It seemed to be some sort of gathering.  It was too late for me to search for another spot, so I parked up on the grass verge and set my aerial up behind the car.  It was a bit dodgy, because it was very close to the unlit road and it was quite scary with these idiot drivers haring round the corner towards me.  Throughout the entire event, I kept my lights on so I could be seen.

I could also be seen by the occupants of all the cars squeezed in front of the barriers.  They watched me, as I sat in the car speaking into a microphone and as I got out several times to repoint the aerial.  They looked at me curiously and chatted amongst themselves through their open car windows.  I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was probably along the lines of “Look at this fucking idiot. What’s he up to?”

Despite being in my car – with the doors locked – I didn’t feel comfortable. I didn’t feel safe.

I’m going to have to find a backup location for next month.

Or take a bodyguard with me.

Prisoner

/ masher / 3 Comments

Whilst doing some research on my family tree, just before Christmas, I came across some information that showed that my maternal grandfather had been captured during the war (WWII) and was held in Stalag VIII-B in Poland.

To be fair, this was information that I had already uncovered, so it wasn’t new to me.

What was new, however, was the discovery that documents regarding his captivity were now held in the National Archives. When the Germans surrendered, all the records held in the camp, detailing English POWs, were boxed up and taken to the UK.

So, a couple of weeks ago – having made arrangments to visit – I took a drive down to Richmond.  Having never been to the NA before, I found it a fascinating place to visit.

There were lots of people there, sitting at computers and sifting through documents, but I was told that due to the sensitivity of wartime documents, I had to view mine in the Invigilators Room – a room where I could be monitored and with no egress for me until I pressed the bell and then someone would come and let me out.  I was also not allowed to wear my coat, as that would make it easy should I wish to surrepticiously steal the documents.

In the room, I was handed a plastic box with a single white envelope in it, with my grandfathers name written in pencil.

I’ll admit to being somewhat nervous as I opened it, indeed, I noticed my hands shaking slightly as I did so.

I tipped the contents out onto the desk and emotion immediately got the better of me as an A5 sized, buff-coloured card plopped onto the desk, alongside several smaller pink cards.  There, in the bottom left-hand corner of the large card was a small black & white photo of a young man (only 25 at the time), standing against a wall like a convict, holding a small piece of blackboard in front of him, on which was chalked his POW number and the name of the camp, his inky thumbprint beside him only adding to the palpability of his incarceration.

It was undoubtably my grandfather. I felt a small tear well up as I looked at him – a photo that I – nor anyone else in the family – had ever seen before.  His face looked relaxed, but his eyes conveyed concern: I daresay, having only just been recently captured, he and his comrades had little idea of what fate had in store for them.

I took photos of everything, put the cards back in the envelope and then back in to the plastic box and I rang the bell for my release… something my grandfather couldn’t do.

He saw out the rest of the war as a prisoner and, in later life, it was something he rarely talked about… unless we managed to get enough Long Life Pale Ale into him.

I’d always known it was a difficult time for him, and now, after seeing that photo. I feel that I have a better understanding as to why.

Jimmy

/ masher / 4 Comments

Last night, the current Mrs Masher and I went to see Jimmy Carr.

Unfortunately, he didn’t see us, as we were just two faces amongst a couple of thousand, seated there in the theatre.

He was, of course, very funny and, as usual, many of his near-the-knuckle quips elicited wincing groans as well as laughs from the audience.

It was also interspersed with a couple of serious comments on societal norms, which garnered rounds of uncertain applause, because, when you are being hit with rapid joke after joke punchlines – all of which pretty much hit the mark – when you then hear a punchline that isn’t funny, it takes a moment to register that it was a serious comment and not just a gag that didn’t quite work.

Towards the end of his set, he told some risque jokes that “… could get me cancelled”, and sure enough, they were the sort of jokes that would likely send the woke, snowflake community into a frenzy, but we – the audience – lapped it up.

I think, if you go to a Jimmy Carr show, you know what to expect. We expected a barrage of witty, risque, smutty and sarcastic jokes.  We expected him to touch on taboo subjects and make us squirm with embarrassed laughter.

He didn’t let us down.

Ah ah ahhhhh.