Sad news. Ray Alan (appearently not Ray Allen, which is how I always thought it was spelt), mildly amusing 80s ventriloquist act has died.

Lord Charles is speechless…

Still on the subject of red, I’d just like to publicly thank my German friend Rosi for bringing me back a little gift from Germany. Back in the late 1990s (I think), Wrigleys brought out some chewing gum to the shores of Blightly, known simply as “Big Red”. Regular viewers to my blog will remember my trip to Berlin in 2007. I rediscovered this particular confectionery on a shelf in a branch of Woolworth in Spandau. Unfortunately, this epic discovery only managed to accumulate 2 lines in the blog. It really should have gained more.

“Big Red” was a cinnamon flavoured gum, and I thought it was truly epic. Clearly, nobody else did, and after being around for only a short preiod of time, the product was withdrawn, and it was forgotten about by everyone in the country, except me.

I had always held fond memories of it. Unfortunately, despite my love for it, I’d totally forgotten to bring any home with me. I returned home with about half a packet, which I made last until one particular post where I quite clearly snapped, or chewed my last piece of it. I can’t remember…

(Excerpt from http://www.mercuryvapour.co.uk/2007/08/01/no-i-havent-stopped/
A quick thing I will mention is that if anyone either goes to Germany, or the US/CANADA, you MUST bring me back at least 5 packs of Big Red chewing gum back. It’s awesome.

I never made the connection between a friend / work “colleague” (I hate that word) going on regular visits to her family in Germany, and my ability to acquire the afore mentioned tasty mastication device until very recently, say the end of last year. Rosi mentioned she was returning home for the holiday season (another phrase I hate! It’s Christmas!). Something clicked in my head. Maybe I was chewing some bland, mint flavoured UK gum. either, I asked her to bring me some “Big Red” back. I think she thought I was mad.

Unfortunately, she didn’t remember my request, but I was still hopeful that in a future trip I could convince her my love for this product was genuine.

Several weeks ago, she mentioned that she was going back to Germany…. every five minutes! This allowed me to build up a catchphrase of “Don’t forget my Big Red!” I was hopeful that she would remember.

Several weeks passed, and I returned to Employment Palace, with my usual look of a half-inflated and slightly manic-depressive beachball, only to have my spirits lifted by the sight of the following on my desk…

There were 2 sealed packets containing 15 sticks, and one that had been broken into, but I could hardly complain. The sealed packets contained 15 sticks, and there were only 4 removed from the open one. I gave a couple of more sticks away to the people who were curious what the fuss was all about (they also agreed that it was awesome), which still left me with about 36 sticks of the stuff.

Considering my wish was for someone to bring me 5 packets back, which I based on a 7 stick pack, 7×5+whatever was left = 35+. I was, and still am delighted. I’ve not seen Rosi to thank her yet, but I sent her a text as soon as I recieved my collection.

Unfortunately, I know that she doesn’t read this site, making the previous 539 words completely pointless,but if you approach me, and my breath smells of curry, rotting teeth and cinnamon, you now know why.

True fact: “Big Red” chewing gum isn’t actually red.

As I mentioned in the previous post, presuming anyone actually took the time to read it instead of just looking at the pictures, Daddykins and I had agreed to replace the door, and after buying the materials, there was no going back….

I couldn’t actually believe it was happening. A DIY project between me, Daddykins, several pencils and a hacksaw. Things were bound to go horribly wrong.

I’ll be honest. the only thing that went wrong was the laptop. I’d set it up, with the webcam, to take a timelapse of the goings on from the comfort of my window. Unfortunately, the camera gave up the ghost after about an hour.

Between 3PM and 7PM, we had successfully constructed a door.

Please excuse how I look. I was knackered (Daddykins did the measurements, I did all of the manual labour), but that is a complete door. I’ve not felt pride like that for a long time, and I’ve not enjoyed actually doing anything like that for a good few years.

Amazingly, the door survived the night, and the next day came the completion of the door frame. I got to use the mallet (and a screwdriver) to knock out the old rotten wood. The job didn’t last long, as the wood was considerably more rotten than it looked. So were the nails. Rusty, rusty nails.

I avoided the tetanous-needing nails, and moved onto the woodstain. I have never had a good relationship with paintbrushes, as anyone who has seen the Mercuryvapour Office Space can testify. I gave up painiting the doors in this particular room the moment I realised I couldn’t actually reach the top of the door without needing a chair. For six years, this painting project has remained incomplete, and considering the fumes from the gloss paint turns my chest into some kind of pulmonary alveolus graveyard. Luckily, the fumes from this soupy-looking product didn’t bother me. In fact, it looked a bit too much like a can of tomato soup…

I managed to complete the task, with minimal damage to my clothes, and the door was properly stained. This, unfortunately, gave me another chance to pose in front of the camera

There are so many things wrong with this picture. My awful pose was worse than the last one (though my man-tits are less prominent), I’m wearing a baseball cap (I never wear headgear as a rule, but I really didn’t fancy an incinerated scalp), and you can see the partial mess I’d left behind. At least the door was an impressive shade of “red”. Well, saying that, my neck was redder, but you’re not seeing a photo of that.

Just typing that into a keyboard can guarantee that in the next few hours, I shall have one of the little blighters land on the back of my neck. If that happens, you can guarantee I’d scream a lot more than if it actually stung me, for you see, I’ve managed to get my first sunburn of the year. In fact, this is the first time for as long as I can remember, I’ve actually made good use of my three days off. I shall use the media of Twitter to help you keep track of the past three days.

2010-05-18 11:34:10: Started walk

After going to bed at 7, and waking up at 9:30, thanks to Daddykins on his rig, and me not turning my speakers off, I thought I’d get up and make use of the day. I demolished some oven chips whilst watching Homes Under the Hammer. The sun was cracking the pavements, so I thought I’d walk off the chips, along with the night before’s kebab wrap.

As you can probably gather, I left the house at that time, and headed along the coast road and up “Hart Road” towards Hart Village.

2010-05-18 12:09:10: Mmm, farmy

This tweet referred to the overpowering stench of shit that filled the patch between Clavering and Hart Village. It was a hot spring day, and the smell of some nearby horses wafted around the place.

Oddly, this was my last tweet of the walk. Instead, I had to work out where I was going to go once I’d reached Hart Village. I could head home, or I could risk crossing three lanes of traffic, and head off to photograph the nearby turbines. Despite them being there for many years now, I’d never actually been near them.

Thanks to Google Streetview, I knew that the journey would be pretty uneventful, except for the afore-mentioned road crossing. I headed up the road that would take me towards the turbine, only to be infiltrated by the locals….

Next stop was the road I feared. I almost felt like King Canute, as when I got to the road, it was entirely empty, and I could quite happily stroll across the carriageway without fear of getting squashed.

I was happy to find that when I got there, the field the turbine was in, was growing oil seed rape, meaning that it gave everything a lovely yellow colour…

The walk back seemed to take for ever. I’d slightly misjudged just how far it was from Mercuryvapour Towers. Turns out, it’s a 5-mile round trip. I think I can safely say I neutralised those chips.

The rest of the day was spent in bed after watching some telly. Daddykins commented about repairing “the door”. For anyone lucky enough to have received a guided tour around Mercuryvapour Towers, you’ll know that the “games room” has had its back door hanging off for several years after a storm snapped it in half. I’d be interested to see if this would come to fruition.

2010-05-19 09:06:28: Off to the flea market. There is a strong smell of rapeseed in the air.

Well, I can’t keep away from the flea market, as much as I try. After waking up stupidly early on Wednesday (5AM), I headed off to the market of fleas. I’d spent the previoous hours changing the music on my phone. I realised, mere minutes into the walk, however, that I should have avoided “Now 40″, as my ears bled along to the sound of Steps.

The walk took me along the scenic vistas of Raby Road, along York Road, and then to the flea market. CDs were purchased, so were records. I couldn’t help myself. I have bought some cheese in the past, but this is pure, ripe Stilton of the highest order…

It cost me 50p, and to be honest, after playing it, I like it a lot more than I thought I was going to. Clare Torry is (only) known for Pink Floyd’s track “Great Gig in the Sky”. Apparently, everyone who purchased her album from Amazon bought it on the strength of that Pink Floyd track.

2010-05-19 09:48:51: On bus home. Flea market poor

On the way home, Daddykins texted me asking if I had my keys. Without a single hint of sarcasm (that was sarcasm, if you couldn’t tell), I replied “Yes. Let me know if you still want to attempt door this afternoon”. Imagine my shock and horror as, at 1PM, we actually went on the search for some wood. Or, at least, some material that a door could be constructed of.

Imagine my horror when these materials were actually purchased…

We were about to attempt DIY on a scale never attemped before in the ground of Mercuryvapour Towers…

EDIT: Fixed webcam photo as it was broked.

Oh my. That was an hour of my life I particularly don’t want to get back. Firstly, my past call at work was a shite one from some idiot who didn’t really have an issue. THEN I return to Mercuryvapour Towers to find that I’m sharing my room with someone. Or something.

I enter my room and look at my blinds. I notice there’s a shadow on them, as if some type of insect had landed on them. Presumably it was simply a huge moth, resting on the blinds, getting charged up from the amount of daylight shining through the window on this “fine” spring morning.

I check the blind to make sure it was a moth. “Wouldn’t it be awful if it was a wasp that size”, I chuckle to myself. I take a look at the creature….

Yellow. Black. Yellow Bl..oody hell.

I carefully move the blind back, and get my shitty little legs out of there as quickly as possible. My call for some fly spray was answered when I burst into Daddykin’s room (who was asleep, by the way), gibbering like an idiot, He let me know there was some downstairs in the kitchen cupboard.

I run downstairs, grab the can, only to find there was only a little bit left. Would there be enough? Luckily, I remembered there was some in the bathroom too. Not much again, but two sprays are better than one. Back into the room I go, relieved that Mr. W Asp was still firmly attached to the blind. I spray like I’ve never sprayed before. The window showing between the gaps in the blind turns a milky white as the insecticide spurts out of the can at a rate of knots.

The little bastard falls of its perch, lands on the windowsill with a sickening thud, and begins writhing in agony. I could hear it coughing. The spurt of milky white liquid doesn’t stop (oo-er!) and I’m determined to not leave go of the spray until this fucker stops moving, or my fly spray runs out. Eventually, it stops moving, or at least its actions make it look like it’s not going to jump off the windowsill and sting me in the ear canal.

I was finally confident enough to move towards it with the camera…

The bottle lid is there to try and give you a sense of scale..

I took a couple of photos a few minutes after I started typing this blog. I was a bit shocked to see that it had actually moved from the position I had left it in. Presumably this was rigor mortis setting in, or something. It was definitely dead by this point.

Here’s another photo of it, taken on a yellow and black floppy disk. I didn’t spot the concidence until I took the photo.

As much as I hate them, they’re really quite beautiful, and I’m sure it’d look a lot better if it wasn’t dripping with oily, smelly goo.

I have a feeling I’m going to have trouble sleeping today. After all, how did it get in here? My door will have been closed for most of the time (Senta is in heat, and, as long-term readers of the blog know, Sam likes to “practise watersports” on my bed during this period (DYSWIDT?)) and my window hasn’t been opened, meaning that this beast would have been in my room for a considerable period of time. What if there’s another one in here, watching me type? What if that one was the little one? What if “Daddy” wants revenge? Apparently, according to Wikipedia, only male wasps can sting. I think I’ve mentioned that before.

Something that ISN’T mentioned on Wikipedia, is that dead wasps make a truly sickening sound when you try to cut them in half with a 10p piece. I tried this before taking the little bastard into the bathroom and dropping it into the toilet.

It sank, by the way.

Whilst typing this post, I found this list of the Schmidt sting index. Sounds… er, intere-sting. Hohoho.