Going out

A Good Night Out

/ masher / 16 Comments

Drop The Dead Donkey was a satirical comedy show, shown on Channel 4 back in the nineties.

Though it wasn’t an avid watch for me, I generally enjoyed it, if I happened to stumble across it whilst channel surfing.

So, when Mrs M suggested we go see it at the theatre, I thought “Why not? Let’s give it a go”.

With the same cast (mostly) and written by the same scriptwriters, it should be a good show.

And, it was… alright.

I didn’t find it as funny as I’d hoped and some of the more topical news jokes felt like they’d been crowbarred in.

But it was… OK.

It didn’t help that the audio was bit echo-ey (to my ears) and I struggled to hear some parts of the dialogue.

Similarly, due to the way the set was designed, our favourite seats didn’t afford us a full view of the stage.

But, overall it was… OK.

However, our night out at the theatre was enhanced by Mrs M sneakily upgrading our package. This allowed us access to the lounge area, where we had our own attendant who waited on us and supplied drinks and nibbles. No hanging around outside and queueing with the proletariat for us! And during the interval, we headed back to the lounge to find ice cream and beer already waiting for us at our reserved table.

Very nice.

Mrs M enjoyed the experience so much, I have a feeling it might become a regular thing.

Horizons

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Last night, I dragged the current Mrs M along to a lecture talk on cosmology given by Professor Brian Cox.

To be fair, she came willingly. “You never know, I might enjoy it”, she said.

It started with lots of pretty pictures of stars and galaxies and over the next ninety minutes he went on to explain formation and expansion of the universe, ending on black hole singularities and event horizons, even using some ‘simple’ maths to explain black hole temperatures and Hawking Radiation.

It was fascinating.

Mrs M held up surprisingly well and found much of it very interesting, but I thnk that by the time we had reached Einstein’s General Theory, time in the theatre was moving somewhat slower for her than it was for me.

Relatively, of course.

Car

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Yesterday, I took the day off and took a drive over to that Swansea.

That’s a long and boring journey, I can tell you.

Took us over fours to get there (with a pitstop halfway) and similar to get back.

The reason for my visit to Taffyland?  To buy a car.

Not for me, but for Son.

Due to the extortionate insurance costs for someone his age (and gender) he’s limited to what he can afford to buy.

The make and model of car that he was looking at came in a 59 BHP version. That puts it in a Group 1 insurance category – the cheapest (although we are still looking at a couple of grand there). The next level up was 94 BHP, which puts it way up into Group 9… adding almost a thousand pounds to the premium!

Obviously, for this reason, Group 1 cars are very popular with new drivers and when a secondhand one goes on sale, it gets snapped up pretty quickly. We missed several opportunities.

So, when this one came up, we immediately slapped a 24hr reserve on it and hightailed it down the M4.

Took it for a test drive. Liked it. Bought it.

It’s a little bit more expensive than what he was looking for, but it’s low mileage and in almost-new condition.

Hopefully, it should last him a good few years.

Popeye

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I was trying to carry my son’s big, heavy gaming chair out of his room, at the weekend, so I could give the carpet a good hoovering, when I caught my forearm on the strike plate on the door frame.

Ouch! It hurt.

There was blood.

A bit.

And I’ll probably have a scar, which is cool, as chicks dig scars… apparently.

And this reminds me of a few years ago at a works (pre-Covid) Christmas party, I was strutting my stuff on the dancefloor (encouraged by several pints of wife-beater), when I noticed a gaggle of girls from the planning department looking at me and laughing.

I sidled my way over to where they were sitting, to see what all the merriment was about.

They told me that they were building their perfect man, using bits from all the available men in the room and that I had made the shortlist.

Obviously, I was quite pleased to hear this, but was intrigued as to which of my many, many fantastic attributes had made the grade.

Was it my Travolta-like dancing skills, I wondered?

Or was it my strong, square jawline, reminiscent of a young Marlon Brando?

Perhaps it was my six-pack torso which, admitedly, can nowadays be better likened to a Watney’s Red Barrel.

No.

Apparently, it was my forearms. They really liked my forearms.

Now, it’s not the first time I have been complimented on these particular appendages. Some years ago, when I was so much younger and fitter, a fitness trainer at the gym remarked that I had forearms … “like Popeye”.

I think it was a compliment.

Anyway, the girls refused to tell me who else in the room was on the list, but you know what… forearms…?  Yeah, I’ll take that.

Tribute

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Yesterday, Mrs M and Daughter went to see Whitney Houston.

Not the real one, of course, because she’s dead.

No, they went to see a tribute act.

Strange things, tribute acts. I’ve never quite understood why anyone would pay good money to go and see someone who isn’t as good as the real thing. If you are a big fan of something/someone, why would you go to see something that isn’t as good?

I used to be a big fan of the rock group Queen. I have all their albums and I have seen them live in concert a couple of times.

But I don’t think I would ever dream of going to see a band that were performing Queen songs – but who didn’t look or sound as good as Queen.

I’d feel let down.

Mrs M and Daughter arrived home earlier than expected. “You’re home earlier than I expected”, I said.

“We left half way through”, said Mrs M, “she was murdering those songs!”

QED

Evil Tiny Missives

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Yesterday, Mrs M and I went to the pictures to see Wicked Little Letters.

With Timothy Spall, Jessie Buckley and the wonderful Olivia Coleman in the lead roles, the film tells the true story of the town of Littlehampton, just after the first World War and the scandal that arose from someone sending obscene correspondence to the townsfolk.

Quite possibly, the first example of what we now consider to be trolling, when it is done online.

Apparently, at the time, the tale of these unwanted letters gripped the nation.

It didn’t grip Mrs Masher though.  The story was thin, with a weak plot and a fairly obvious twist, which has probably led to the mediocre ratings given by many critics.

But, like most of the – somewhat aged -audience in our matinee showing, I found it quite enjoyable.  Coleman, Spall and Buckley give terrific performances and I found it genuinely very funny in parts.

It was a bit of a departure for us to watch a film like that, actually. There were no car chases; fights; guns or helicopters. No points where the action was loud enough for me to guzzle gallons of cola and shove handfuls of popcorn down my gullet, as is usual for us on a trip to the cinema.

It was a gentle film –  with lots of swearing – which I enjoyed watching with a cup of tea and an iced bun.

A Grand Day Out

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On Sunday just gone, myself, Son and a few mates went down to the London ExCel to see the MCN Motorcycle Show.

Like most of the other visitors, we went by car, which is something you might consider strange, but the inclement weather was the deciding factor there.

In the main.

Anyway,  we had a great time and we saw – as you would imagine – plenty of motorcycles and motorcycle related paraphenalia.

We saw big bikes and small bikes; fancy bikes and scruffy bikes; sensible bikes and some downright ridiculous bikes… such as the 48 cylinder eaxample of ridiculousness in this photo.

Henry Cole was giving a talk at one end of the hall and Charlie Boorman was on the microphone at the other end – if you’re not aware of Boorman and Cole, then you probably don’t ride.   In the middle, a small arena had been set up and a couple of guys on scramblers were giving demonstrations, riding over an obstacle course.  At times it was pretty noisy in there but it all added to the atmosphere of what was a pretty good show.

Many of the major manufacturers were in attendance: Triumph; Harley Davidson, etc, but surprisingly only three of the Japanese Big Four turned up, with Honda conspicuous by their absence.

Again.

I won a pen in the Triumph ‘Spin The Wheel’ competition and I’m almost guaranteed to win a 1983 Triumph 750cc TSX in the raffle… according to the lady who sold me the tickets.

One exhibitor which seemed out of place was Tails… a company we already use to feed our own mutt. Speaking with one of the chaps on the stand, I commented that it seemed a strange place to try and drum up trade. He smiled and said that the company had done extensive research over the years and after collating all the data, their scientists had concluded that some motorcyclists also owned dogs.

Fair point.

Star Studded Leg

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I was looking for an old photo yesterday, when I came across this one.

Many years ago, a friend of mine appeared on the TV show Blankety Blank – at that stage hosted by Les Dawson.

Tiny (ironically nicknamed because he was so big)  was allowed to take two guests with him, so he took his girlfriend and – as I had helped make his application successful – he invited me along as well.

When the time came, I had my leg in plaster, following an incident with my dog, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me.

We turned up at BBC Television Centre and were ushered in the direction of the studio.  Coming down the stairs at that point was Matthew Kelly, who was a big star at the time due to the television show Game For A Laugh.  As soon as he saw me, he made a beeline and came straight over and shook my hand: we had something in common, as he had recently had his leg in plaster following a parachute landing that didn’t go to plan.

After the show – which my mate won, incidentally – we were invited back to the Green Room for drinks and nibbles with the cast.  My poor memory prevents me from remembering everyone that was on the show, but I do remember Matthew Kelly, Cleo Rocos, Charlie Williams (a popular comedian at the time) and, of course, Les Dawson.

I felt like a bit of a celebrity myself, as they all queued up to sign my plaster cast.

Last to sign was Cleo Rocos, who had shot to fame as Kenny Everett’s sidekick.  She walked over, put an extra layer of bright red lipstick on and then got on her knees and planted a big smacker on my thigh, before signing it.

A few weeks later, at the hospital, I was having the cast removed. As she was doing it, the nurse was reading some of the signatures  on there. “Are these all real?” she asked.

“Oh yeah”, I said nonchalantly, as if those were the social circles I mixed in.

I kept the cast for a while, but it eventually crumbled and I threw it away.

About twenty years later, I heard Cleo being interviewed on the Danny Baker Breakfast Show, as I drove to work.  I pulled over to the side of the road and sent in a text asking whether she remembered kissing my leg.

I felt immensely gratified a few minutes later, when Danny asked her the question live on air and she said that she did remember.

Because it’s something I’ve never forgotten, either.

Foxy

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The current Mrs Masher had I had a night out in Aylesbury yesterday evening… because I know how to show a girl a good time.

Firstly, we went to a steakhouse restaurant, where I had the most sublime 8oz fillet steak. Cooked to perfection, it was, without doubt,  the best piece of steak I’d had all day.

Full of red meat, we then went to the local theatre to see a talk being given by Jason Fox – he of SAS Who Dares Wins fame.

It was most interesting to hear his story, as he has led a far more exciting life than many of us.

In truth, I’d hoped we would hear more of his time in the military and tales of daring-do from his special forces days, but he was obviously restricted with what he could say in that area.

Likewise, I was looking forward to some stories and gossip from behind the scenes of SAS WDW, but he only briefly touched on that.

But, he regaled us with tales of his adventures around the world and he was brutally honest about how his mental heath suffered when he left the forces on a medical discharge.

He told us about diving for pirate treasure and kayaking for thousands of kilometers up the Yukon River. He told of how he and his mates set a new world record for rowing unsupported across the Atlantic and how they capsized and nearly died, more than once.

I’d say it wasn’t the most riveting of lectures – he’s no raconteur – but he spoke with an honesty and humour that endeared him to us the audience.  Standing on that stage, he wasn’t the gnarly, rugged persona we see on the telly – he was just a man… a soldier who’d fought not just the Taliban, but his own fears and inner demons as well and had then gone on to make himself very successful in the world of media.

As we drove home, I found myself thinking that in later years, when he’s much older amd spending more time on the sofa watching telly and less time buzzing around the world in a helicopter, he’ll be able to look back and be satisfied with what he has done and what he has achieved.

I’m not sure many of us would be able to do the same.

Blinded By The Light

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Whenever I take Saber (that’s her, to the left) out on a walk these dark evenings, I put one of those LED collars on her.  Her colouring – black & tan – means that she easily blends into the shadows and it is very easy to lose sight of her.

So, when we reach the woods – or the fields, depending on where we are going – I take her lead off and slip her LED collar over her head.  It then doesn’t matter how far she disappears into the bushes, I can still see the brightly flashing pink collar, floating ghost-like as it chases some poor frightened Muntjack through the trees.

Being able to see where your dog is at all times is both helpful and comforting and so these collars have become very popular with dog owners.

However, there are many dog owners out there that never let their dog off the lead and yet, they still give it a bright LED collar to wear when they go out.

Can they not see it? It’s three feet in front of them… on a lead.

I don’t get it.

But also, many dog owners don’t want to be left out, it seems – I see many of them wearing those strap-on head-torches as they walk along.  And some of them are just SO bright! It’s like a car headlight coming toward you in the darkness.

There’s a chap who walks his spaniel off the lead, over the same field that we sometimes go to. Miserable Fuck, I call him, because despite saying hello several times, I’ve never even received an acknowledgement from him, so I’ve given up trying and we now pass each other silently.

His dog wears a bright orange-glowing collar around his neck at this time of year and MF wears a super-bright, one billion candlepower torch on his head, which blinds me as we pass each other.  I’m sure he does it on purpose. I’ve taken to closing one eye as our paths cross, just so that when I get past, I still have some level of night vision and I’m not completely blind for five minutes.

Maybe, one day, I’ll make a point of ‘accidentally’ bumping into him.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you”.

Pedantry

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Both kids were out last night and so the current Mrs M and I decided to go out for a meal.

In a small village about ten minutes drive away, there is a pub which is reknowned locally for its good food and its ambience and so that’s where we ended up.

Being a weekday, it wasn’t at all busy and so we easily got a table and our food was delivered quickly.

Delicious it was too.

We chatted over coffee, and Mrs M asked I’d go there again.

“Oh, I doubt it”, I said, “It would annoy me too much”.

She looked confused. “But it’s really nice here and the food was lovely. I thought you liked it”.

“I do. But… they’ve used the possesive ‘your’.”

“What?” She looked even more confused now and so I pointed to the red painted wall behind her, which had been niggling me throughout the whole meal.

Professionally signwritten – by hand – and painted with faded gold lettering, indicating it had been there a long time, it said:

“Enjoy Yourself Now. These Are The Good Times Your Going To Miss.”

It’s All Due To That Bloody Covid, Again

/ masher / 10 Comments

Apologies for the lateness of this post, but I’ve not long got back from Norwich.

“Norwich?  Why have you spent two and a half hours driving to that fair town which once hosted ‘The Quiz Of The Week’ and another two and a half hours driving home again?”, I hear you ask.

Well, I’ll tell you: it was to take eldest and only daughter for her driving test.

Due to a shortage of driving test examiners (many of them left and retrained during Covid times, I’m told, and the numbers have yet to get back to normal), there is nothing available in this area.

Nuffin’.

For the past six-months, she has been signed up to do her test in Norwich (where there seems to be a glut of examiners) in the hope of getting a cancellation a bit nearer to home.

But, no joy.

She even paid for an app that alerts her when a cancellation comes up, but it seems that if you don’t press that Accept button within 30 seconds of it coming through, you lose out to someone else who is quicker off the mark.

And, it’s not just round these parts that people are having trouble booking a driving test. It seems it’s over much of the country – Norwich excepted.

I saw on the news a little while back the tale of a young lad from Reading who booked his test in Glasgow, because he couldn’t get anywhere, any nearer, any time soon. And someone who works with my daughter, dragged herself all the way up to Blackpool, for the same reason.

I don’t know how much is involved in becoming a driving examiner, but as they are in such demand, I would have thought people would be jumping at the chance.

And so, anyway… how did she do?

She passed.

Thank heavens.