Going out

Mini Me

/ masher / 9 Comments

The first time Son beat me at chess, I put it down to me being caught unawares, what with him having been totally rubbish in all our previous games.

I vowed there and then, to not  let it happen again.

But it did.

We have played a couple of times since then, and he has beaten me each time.

It would seem, the student has become the master (not that I’m particularly good at chess, but I was always better than he was!).

Last night, we went out for a family meal at a steakhouse in Stevenage.  Usually, when we go out to these sorts of places, I am the first to finish my meal – because I don’t fuck about when it comes to food.  But last night, I was only halfway through my 8oz sirloin when I heard Son put his cutlery down. I looked across at his empty plate and raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I was hungry”, he said, nonchalantly.

Afterwards, we went across to the Ten Pin Bowling alley and had a couple of games.  Again, this is something I normally thrash the rest of the family at.  But last night, I had to settle for second place, as Son showed us how it was done. Twice.

At the moment, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if I found out that he writes a blog and has a thousand followers!

 

 

Hi honey… I’m home!

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Not that you’d know that I’ve been away… but I have.

We have.

The current Mrs. Masher and I.

Just returned from a very relaxing, all-inclusive, adults only holiday in Cape Verde.

‘Relaxing’ was the word: we planned to do bugger all and we did bugger all.

Apart from. going out on a catamaran for the day and also on some dune buggies.

Oh, and there was the 4×4 excursion.

And the longwalks in the blazing sun, to bag a couple of Geocaches. Mad dogs and Englishmen and all that!

But, apart from that, our time was mainly spent lazing in and around the pool, drinking beer and knocking back the ol’ cuba libras.

I did plenty of reading: various radio, electronics, computer and motorcycling magazines that I had taken with me, and also some books on my Kindle. I finally got round to reading (and finishing) Animal Farm – any time I mentioned that to any of the many casual acquaintances that we made around the pool, the conversation would always go thusly:

“What’s that you’re reading there?”

“Animal Farm”

“Oh, not the original one, I hope”, they would say with a loud snigger and a wink.  It would seem that for many, the ‘original’ Animal Farm is a porn film about beastiality that was made in the 1980s, and not the George Orwell classic from 1945… which is, of course, what I was reading.

I also whiled away some of the time by listening to music and comedy shows that I had pre-loaded onto my mp3 player.

One day, as I lay giggling on my sunbed, under the shade of a palm tree, the young waiter who was collecting the empty glasses, asked what I was laughing at. “Steptoe & Son”, I said.

“I have not heard of this”, he said.

“It’s sixty years old, so I’m not really surprised”, I replied.

“What is it about?” he continued, his rictus-like smile never dropping.

“It’s about a father and son who work together in London as rag and bone men and…”. His uncomprehending eyes told me there was very little point in explaining any further. “Don’t worry about it”, I said. “Can I have two more beers, please?

Norway, José

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The current Mrs Masher and I have just returned from a week’s cruising along Norway’s fjords, looking at Slartibartfast’s crinkly bits.

What a picturesque country. Absolutely gorgeous.

In some places.

A couple of the ports we pulled into, were lacking in picturesque gorgeousness, but generally it was lovely.

And expensive!

On one of our trips out, taking a walk through the town of Haugesund, I realised that the sun and come out and I was sweating profusely.  We nipped into a shop to buy some anti-perspirant and I went for a roll-on, for two reasons: 1. it’s small enough to fit in my pocket and 2. it’s cheaper than a can: £1:50 in Sainsbury’s.

189 Krona, it cost.  I didn’t question it and just paid up, as I hadn’t yet got the hang of the conversion rate, but when we got outside the shop, I worked it out.

14 quid! Yes, fourteen!

Crikey,  and I thought Switzerland was expensive.

Exorbitancy was confirmed later in the week, when I paid eleven quid for a box of Nurofen.

Beautiful place, but I don’t think I could ever afford to live there.

Having gone from Southampton, I was surprised at just how many Japanese, Italian and Spanish people were on board.

And I know we always joke about how fat Americans are, but from what I could see, we’re not that much better. Boy, there were some fatties on that boat!

On the return journey, they put the new Top Gun film on the big outdoor screen. I thought it somewhat aposite, watching Tom Cruise… on a cruise.

Barcelona… sort of

/ masher / 7 Comments

My daughter is yet to pass her driving test.

Annoyingly.

Meantime, I have to drive her to work each morning and Mrs Masher picks her up each evening.

She works in Watford… exactly twenty miles away.  That journey there and back takes about ninety minutes on average.

Each morning.

Before I start work.

It’s a pain.

And, quite often, on the last leg of the journey down the A41, I find myself singing the Freddie Mercury and Montserrat Caballé song, Barcelona.

I don’t know why.

Or at least, I didn’t, until a few days ago when I realised that I see this particular building, just as I drive onto the A41 each morning.

It all makes sense now.

Sort of.

 

 

Finding My Inner Ken

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Me and the missus did the whole Barbenheimer thing, last weekend.

I’m not going to write a review here, but needless to say, Nolan’s Oppenheimer is a masterpiece.  For me, it could have spent more time looking at the work of the Manhatten Project: their triumphs and their setbacks, before showing what we all know to be their ultimate achievement.  I was more interested in the science and the scientists than the politics which take up much of the film.

But that’s just me.

And Barbie? Well, a very different kettle of fish, but – much to my surprise – quite kenjoyable nonetheless.  And it was fun to see Mattel not take themselves too seriously.

If you only get to see one film this year… make it one of these.

Diddly Squat

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At the weekend just gone, the current Mrs Masher and I took drive westwards to visit some friends.

Our route west, took us through Chipping Norton and within spitting distance of Jeremy Clarkson’s Farm, Diddly Squat. But rather than spit at it, we decided we’d pop in for a visit.

Mrs M thought it would be great to nip into the farm shop and get some BeeJuice (honey) to take home.

Judging by the number of vehicles in the car park, though, I guessed this was going to be either a very long stop for us or a very quick one.  It was the latter.

The queue for the farm shop was horrendous! I stood and watched it whilst the missus availed herself of the lavatories and in that time I estimated it would likely take at least 90 minutes to just get into the shop. Bugger that!

So, we wandered round to the café at the back. I saw a couple of people carrying burgers and chips to one of the outside wooden tables. The burgers looked fantastic, but once again, the queue was horrendous, so we didn’t bother.

So, in the end, we were only there for about fifteen minutes. Oh well, maybe we’ll try again another day, when all the fuss has died down.

For The Ride

/ masher / 4 Comments

Yesterday, myself and a few mates went up to Hinckley – the home of Triumph Motorcycles –  and took a guided tour around their factory.

It was most interesting.

The plan was – of course – for us to ride there, but the inclement weather put paid to that and we ended driving up instead. It didn’t feel right, turning up in a car, but I’d rather that, than get soaking wet.

The tour is a 90-minute, approx 1 mile walk around the factory. Being the weekend, the factory floor was empty, but apparently they aslo do these guided tours during the week, which I think would be far more interesting – being able to walk round and actually see the bikes being built.

Nonetheless, our tour – on a quiet factory floor – was still fascinating. I highly recommend it… if you’re into that sort of thing.l

A toasted sarnie and a cup of tea in the café afterwards, made for an excellent Sunday morning.

P&T

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On Sunday, Son and I went into that London to see Penn & Teller at the Hammersmith Apollo… or the Eventim Apollo, as it is now called.

It was magic.

But, as good and as enjoyable as it was, I must say that I didn’t feel this show was as good as when I saw them there a few years ago.

Their tricks were clever and were delivered in the usual entertaining way, by these two guys who have been doing this for fifty years now.

But they didn’t wow me… not like they have previously.

Don’t get me wrong: they were brilliant and funny and entertaining.

But I missed getting wowed.

Maybe because many of the tricks were re-worked ones that I’ve seen them do before.

Or maybe paying fifteen quid for two pints of lager in plastic cups, had upset my sensibilites.

Or maybe having to go through airport-style security, with body checks and scanners to step through, had rankled me. I mean, what sort of society are we now living in, that one has to have a body search before being allowed in to see a show?

Perhaps having to drive down because the trains were still not running – even when they’re not out on bloody strike – had already put me in a bit of a mood.

Or maybe it was the stationary traffic on the M25 that caused me to be pissed off. I sit in traffic every bloody morning during the week and now I have to do it on a Sunday as well?  Jeez!

Sorry, P&T: you’d have had to perform a couple of literal miracles on Sunday (preferably, new ones), to have got my astonishment senses tingling again.

Lé Weekend

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We went to the pixtures on Saturday evening, to see Fast & Ludicrous 64.

It was this: ridiculous.

I think I enjoyed the first F&F film, way back when, but they have gone from outrageous stunt to even-more-outrageous-and-unbelievable stunt as the franchise has progressed.  I’m sure they came up with a whole load of crazy car-driving stunts first and then wrote a storyline around them.

I really wasn’t keen on going to see it, but was cajoled by  a nagging family and the promise of a Nando’s beforehand.

Anyway, once in the cinema and seated in front of the Supersize Screen, I stuffed my face with popcorn and sort of enjoyed it.

What I enjoyed more, was the trailer for the forthcoming Mission Impossible 7 film.  That’s a defo.

Then, on Sunday morning, I went with a friend up to our local, nerdy, radio rally and I took some stuff with me, to get rid of.  I didn’t want any money for it, so put it on the club’s trestle table to help with their funds.

Mrs. Masher was most pleased to see me taking some stuff out of the loft at long last.

She probably won’t be so happy when she finds out that most of it is now in the garage, because I had to bring it back!

I couldn’t sell it. Some of it I couldn’t even give away for free! People just didn’t want it.

I was most surprised – and saddened – to see that all my lovely gear wasn’t snapped up by like-minded nerdy buyers.

It seems that Mrs. M was right after all: it’s just junk.

Sunday afternoon, Son and I went for a bike ride – some father/son bonding time.

I had to smile when he had the audacity to overtake me on the A505, as we rode up to Royston. Crouched over the tank of his little Yamaha YBR 125 and with his jacket flapping in the wind, he slowly – oh, so slowly – passed me, with a big grin on his face.  With ten times less cubic capacity and eight times less BHP than me, I let him have his moment before I opened the throttle and used my three remaining gears to watch him quickly reduce to a speck in my mirrors.

But, it was a most enjoyable ride – we’ve never really ridden together before – and I was pleased to see that he is a competent and safe rider.

At least for now.

Dirty Stop-outs

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Mrs. M and I went out last night.

We had an excellent meal in TGI Friday’s and then went to see a show.

Well, not a proper theatrical show, as such. It was the comedian Michael McIntyre doing some stand-up.

And it wasn’t his ‘proper’ show even, it was his warm-up tour, where he tries out his material on various audiences.

Despite that, he was hilarious and we thoroughly enjoyed it. And it was interesting (and, of course, funny) to witness him making up material on-the-fly…  some of which he admitted would likely go into his proper tour later in the year.

Afterwards, we had a couple of drinks in the hotel bar, before eventually retiring to our room… to see what might happen.

It turned into a late night and, today, we both feel absolutely knackered.

I think we are getting too old for all this going-out-and-enjoying-ourselves lark.

Going to the flix

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Last night, the current Mrs. Masher and I visited our local picturehouse.

And by ‘local’, I mean we drove for three-quarters of an hour, to get there.

And by ‘picturehouse’, I mean a proper, old-fashioned, single screen cinema.

Originally built in 1938, The Rex cinema in Berkhampstead fell into disrepair and closed down after 50 years’ service.

It re-opened – refurbished and restored to it’s former art-deco glory – in 2004 and has played to a full auditorium ever since.

Whilst we had the option of sitting in the ‘stalls’ – seated in swivel armchairs, with tableclothed tables on which to place our alcoholic drinks – we opted for the front row of the circle, which gave us a better viewing distance, we felt… I don’t like being too close to the screen.  The seats were undoubtably the most comfortable cinema seats I have ever sat in!

Before the film started, some old geezer came out on to the stage and introduced the film, which was a nice touch.  I assumed he was the manager. He chatted amiably and humorously for a few minutes and then the house lights dimmed and the film started.

I was startled by the quality of the screen and the audio  – I think the old-fashioned ambience tricked me into expecting something less, but they are obviously using modern projectors and speakers. It was a superb audio/visual experience.

The film we chose to see, was John Wick 4 – a totally ridiculous piece of hokum, but we enjoyed it nonetheless.

The people of Berko are lucky to have such a treasure on their high street, but I hope they don’t mind a couple of out-of-towners visiting every so often, because I’m sure Mrs. M and I will be visiting again, sometime soon.

Fancy

/ masher / 8 Comments

On Friday, we all went to a 21st Birthday, fancy dress party.

The theme was “Come As Your Favourite Movie Character”.  Of course, that also translates as “Come as whichever movie character you can get a reasonably priced costume for”.

We were given plenty of notice, so after much umming and arring, I eventually settled on one of my favourite characters from the Marvel Cinematic Universe: Anthony Edward (“Tony”) Stark.

Over several days, I built myself an Arc Reactor – the centrepiece of my costume.  Of course it wasn’t a real arc reactor. The “real” one was made from some sort of Titanium alloy and was powered by a Palladium core. My version was made from MDF and a plastic milk carton and was powered by three AA batteries but, from a couple of feet away, it looked the part. I cut a hole in an old T-shirt for it to poke through and strapped it round my chest with some wide elastic.  It kept falling down as I moved, so I added an extra strap over each shoulder. It felt like I was putting a bra on, but it also felt strangely comfortable – I didn’t even know I was wearing it. And the reactor stayed in place.

Tony Stark also has dark brown hair and a small anchor beard. I have neither of those, so over the course of several weeks, I grew a beard. A full beard. Urgh. I hated it. How you hirsute types put up with it, I don’t know.

Then, with the aid of a bottle of Just For Men (other male hair dyes are available), Mrs M dyed it all.  It came out slightly too dark, but at least I no longer looked like I was aiming to go to the party as Father Christmas!  Some hair clippers and a razor gave the desired look… well, almost: I would have needed anorther two months to get my hair long enough.

I bought a jacket from Amazon, that replicated the one he wore in Avengers – Infinity War and a pair of replica glasses from ebay.  Funnily, no-one picked up that I had a Mk1 Arc Reactor but was wearing Infinity War clobber.

The kids went as Clark Kent and Lara Croft, whilst Mrs M went as Pepper Potts – Tony Stark’s girlfriend… a somewhat older Pepper Potts, who had let herself go.

But let’s face it, I wasn’t exactly portraying Tony in his prime!

There were a number of Blues Brothers’; several Ali G’s; a couple of Shaun Of The Deads; a Don Corlione; a Little Mermaid and a whole host of others that I can barely remember… because the bar served Estrella Damm on draught.

It was a great night, on a Good Friday.