I was out for a walk last Monday, before I went and got my hair butchered, to the Headland. It’s a walk I take with startling regularity.

On Monday, I was listening to music on my phone, as I always do, and, happened to be walking up Thorpe Street, as the junction of Marine Drive approached. The name suggests that it would give you a lovely view to the sea, and indeed it does. I stopped paying attention to the music I was listening to, and instead grabbed the camera out of my pocket in order to take some shots, escpecially as the weather was as gloroius as this…

The song which I had previously paid no attention faded out, yet I still continued to walk along the sea front. My mind, still wandering, partially ignored the slow violin introduction of the song that was playing, until I saw a bench, looking out to sea, with a decaying bunch of flowers tied to it. This sad sight caused me to pay attention to my surroundings, and the music I was listening to, which happened to be the slow, solo violin intro to “Vagabonds” by New Model Army. (Youtube link, will probably die). It’s a song I’ve probably skipped over many times, and never noticed its full spendour.

Talking about violinny-type music, I’m not sure if I’ve blogged about this recently, but seeing as I’m here, and talking about musical shit, I might as well post this…

I now have the original, 1982 version of Darryl Way’s “Little Plum”.

“Little Plum” was a little instrumental tune released by Curved Air member Darryl Way. It has had two releases that I know of, and neither of them charted. It was made famous in the North East of England, however, by Metro FM Talk Show host Alan Robson, who for many years has used the second release of the record as the theme to the “North East Night Owls”.

Neither version of Little Plum have ever been released on CD or LP, meaning that the only way to get hold of the tune is to track down a copy of the 7″ single, which really isn’t easy!

Well, this’ll be my last posting on the subject of as I now have all three versions that I know about. The last one to enter the collection was the 1982 version…

It’s a much simpler arrangement than the later version, and after hearing it, I can see why this earlier recording was “abandoned” in favour of the later release. It’s… different, let’s just put it that way.

Some of the violin stuff from the 1982 version was used in the 1984 version. A certain section near the end of the 1982 recording matches up exactly with the 1984 intro. There’s a lot of processing on the later version, but it’s definitely the same bit.

Mere weeks after I got the first version, I did a search on ebay and found the 1982 French pressing…

Not only did it sound cleaner (less scratched) than my 1982 version, it had an infinitely more interesting sleeve.

I’m a bit upset that Darryl Way has completely disowned this song… as I mentioned before, none of the recordings have ever been released on CD, and Wikipedia doesn’t have an entry for it, though it is mentioned in his discography. Maybe it’s time I changed all that…

*UPDATE (the following afternoon)* Jesus, this was a terrible post. Don’t drink and blog.

The first part of the day was spent watching stuff that had been collected on the Sky+. this involved several episodes of Countdown. Unfortunately, there wasn’t going to be a lot happening in the early part of this particular day, as the car was in the garage after it snapped a spring or something, thanks to the state of one of the local roads.

Onto the night, then. Plans had been made with most of the people from work to attend the bowling alley on Brenda Road. It was the first time I’d been bowling since November 2005

I arrived at approximately 7:30, to find that the place was absolutely packed, but I was the only one there out of the proposed group. Oh, great. Things start going through my mind, like “Am I on my own? Is anyone else turning up?” I decided to wait outside, just in case anyone was going to ring my mobile. It was noisy inside.

Thankfully, the cars did indeed start pulling up, and before long, we had a group of about 16 of us. Unfortunately, Tuesday is apparently semi-pro night, so we had to wait until about 9 before we got a game. The price was £3 for the hour. It closed at 10, so we’d just got in. It was at this point, I began to fling my camera around in the hope to catch some epic shots. Unfortunately, this failed miserably, though I did think Matt got a good strike here:-

Unfortunately after I got home and checked the video, he hit the rail first. So technically, it didn’t count.

I finished last, as you can probably gather, though I did manage a strike. I might have to start going there, if I can find someone to go along with. there’s no point playing on your own.

After the bowling, we made our way to Lloyds, in Church Square. And yes, I really did wear this shirt…

Some random barfly stated that I looked like Timmy Mallet. Out of all the times I’ve worn that shirt, it’s the closest I’ve ever gotten to a compliment. Unfortunatelty, there’s a button fallen off it, so that’ll give me an excuse to never, ever wear it in public again. Awww.

After sharing a jug of some odd drink bought by Matt (possibly to celebrate his non-strike), it was time for everyone to begin departing. Some people had work in the morning, and some people wanted to attend the Indian. Guess which category I fell into.

So, the initial group of 16 had dwindled down to 4, and we headed off to the Dilshad for a load of grub.

As usual, the meal was delicious, and just as we were finishing, the clock struck midnight. Yup, I was now 30 years old. Daddykins sent me a text.

The second person to wish me happy birthday was Wayne, at an impressive 2 minutes past midnight, though obviously I didn’t get it until I got home. His email made me quickly realise how much of my life had disappeared…

“You are now twice as old as you were when we had our first talk on CB”.

He was right. The CB days were now half my life ago!

The 4 of us finished our meals, and headed off home in our respective taxis, and a good night was had by all. Well, certainly by me, at least, and I made my way up the long, winding gravel driveway of Mercuryvapour Towers at 1:13.

And now, onto the day itself. It started off early, around 5AM. This was mainly because I could feel the vindaloo on the move, and it was only a matter of time before it was indaloo (actually, alloverdaloo would be a better description). So, I was wide awake after only 4 hours sleep, and with an arse like the flag of Japan. I logged onto Facebook, and watched the happy birthday messages scroll past. Thanks to all of you who left a message, and for those who tried to talk to me, Facebook Chat is being a tart at the moment, and although I can see who sent me a message, I can’t actually see it. I’ve gone back to an earlier release of Firefox. That might help it.

Anyway, the morning consisted of my usual “Woo! I’m off work!” ritual – lie on the sofa and watch “Homes Under The Hammer”, followed by “to Buy or Not To Buy”, then “Cash In The Attic” (as long as Jenny Sodding Bond isn’t presenting it), followed by “Bargain Hunt”. Andy The Iridium Fan popped round during the preceedings, and dropped off my birthday card. He stayed for a few hours, and was amazed to find that he also liked amplifying the ends of songs just to get every last note out of them. An “interest” of mine which I thought nobody else shared. A bit like streetlights. He also helped me dispose of the large boxes that Beastbits2 had came in.

ATIF stayed for 3 hours, 22 minutes and 45 seconds, and after that I began watching some more stuff that had accumulated on the Sky+. I was absolutely knackered, as I’d only managed a couple of hours sleep, and decided to go to bed “for an hour”. This was at 4PM. Next thing I know, it’s 10PM. I must have been more knackered than I thought. The day was finished off with the obligatory “few cans”, and I headed off to bed some time around 4ish.

So, that was the story of my first full day of being into my 4th decade. Not bad going considering I wasn’t actually going to blog about it. And now, I’m off to take photos of a pothole, or I might wait until the chippy is open, and kill two birds with one stone. Pothole photography and chips. Being 30 is AWESOME.

But, it’s November now, and exactly a month before the conclusion of the “Before I’m 30″ section of the site. Ugh. Something did happen a couple of weeks ago, which I personally couldn’t believe, and it happened in Asda… I started blogging about it, but didn’t finish it, because I was so filled with rage, that if I’d have gone any further with it, I’d have smashed something…

I’ve truly had it with Asda. Today was the last straw, and I shall never step foot through the doors of their sorry organisation as long as I draw breath.

“Well, I’m not going to serve him either because I know he’s going to give them to you”…

That’s where I stopped typing! Needless to say, I walked out without the beer, and . Quite unbelievably, for anyone who knows me, I have stayed out of Asda since that incident, and now, I can’t see any reason to ever go back.

There WAS one reason. It was the only place I knew which stocked “Tymbark”. Now, I’ll not be surprised if you’ve never heard of it, as it’s Polish. That’s Polish, as in, it originates from Poland, and not the cleaning product. My dietary habits, no matter how bad they are, have yet to see me consuming Mr. Sheen. It is a fantastic blend of cherry and apple juice, which was stocked in Asda’s “Ethnic” aisle.

Whilst in Tesco the other day, I was delighted to find that they also stocked the very same product! Therefore, I officially have no reason to ever stagger through the doors of Asda again!

Right. Erm, that’s the first thing. I’ve actually forgotten the reason why I was going to write this post.

Firstly, it’s not been wasted, which is a good thing. Unfortunately, the bad things include being incinerated to a crisp. You’d have thought that I’d have built up some immunity to the sun as a child, seeing as I was only ever allowed to “play out” until 6PM, before my mother appeared at the door, screaming my name at the top of her lungs, ordering me to come in. Hence Chad’s recent comment-posing name of “6-O Clock Curfew”.

Don’t worry, it took me a while to work it out too!

Er, anyway. Back to what has been going on recently.

Monday, unfortunately was a day that can just be scrubbed off the calendar altogether. After finishing a nightshift, I decided to just stay in bed until about 8PM. I don’t like doing that, but sometimes it’s necessary to get a few good hours of sleep inside of me. Therefore, the day was entirely wasted. Unless you count sleep, in that case, it was pretty much perfect.

So, Tuesday was the day when I began to get things done. The weather was ideal. Daddykins left Mercuryvapour Towers at approximately 11, in order to get the car MOT’d. I was kicking things around the house, when I decided that the grass out of the front needs mowing. It had been a couple of weeks since I’d done it. In fact, I blogged about it in here, thanks to the fact the mower shedded two blades.

Surely, the same thing couldn’t happen again.

After completing the majority of the garden, I ran over a piece of innocent looking grass…

“BANG! BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

Sigh. Another blade gone. I can only apologise for this piece of deja-vu, but… I replaced the blade, and once again began to cut the grass.

“BANG! BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

Christ almighty. Two blades, shattered in less than 15 seconds. Only this time, this came from a different piece of grass. Four blades in 2 mowings. I’m beginning to think our mower is fucked.

During my time shredding turf, I took a look at the front piece of the garden. There is a small portion at the top of the garden which normally “houses” daffodils in the spring, but the rest of the year, it’s a weed trap. Now, I’ve been paying more attention to this bit of the garden than what I’ve let on, and had recently de-weeded it, meaning it actually looked just like a bare piece of land.

Daddykins was home by this point, and helped remove some freshly sprouted weeds. Mostly dandelions, thanks to the state it was in last year. At this point, I said something in jest, about going to Focus and getting some plants. I also wanted to get my hair cut. The two things weren’t connected, but what was left of my hair, was a mess.

Daddykins drove me to the barbers. Turns out the temperature on the long gravel driveway of Mercuryvapour Towers was 29 degrees. It wasn’t until I sat in the barbers chair that I realised just how much sun I’d caught. As the lovely lady combed my hair, it felt like 10,000 white-hot needles were beng scraped across my scalp. Oh yes, I was sunburned, and sunburned good. Bugger.

I left the barbers, devoid of hair, and returned back to the car.

“So, do you want to go to Focus, then?”

After realising that I’d known nothing about gardening, I suddenly wondered if this was a good idea after all. I decided against it, but seeing as Focus was on the way home anyway, we decided to call in. A lighter wallet, 6 fuschia plants and a marigold plant later, we returned home. Whilst Daddykins cooked some eggs for the “Twat Cup” taking place later that evening, I went out of the front, and planted the afore mentioned plants.

The Twat Cup itself, went off without much of an incident, except I was almost “accused” of cheating at dominoes, because I didn’t let the other player pick first after it was my “shuffle”. Tsk. I explained that it was the first time I’d literally versed anyone at dominoes that wasn’t over the internet, and wasn’t aware of the finer, physical rules of the game, but was totally aware now, should I ever verse another human being at the afore-mentioned bar game. It’s unlikely, but it may happen. Remember, kids! After you shuffle, allow the other player to pick their dominoes first! Trust me, it’ll save you earache in the future. Honestly.

Chris was missing for the Twat Cup, so when I returned home I texted him to see where he was. Unfortunately, I don’t have my phone to hand, so can’t tell you exactly how the conversation went, and thanks to winning £15 and having plenty of free whisky, I was slightly the worse for wear.

So, off went Tuesday, and onto Wednesday. I awoke, in a funny position on the sofa, early enough to consider a trip to the flea market. After it was apparent that the quality of the previous nights’ ale had resorted my anus to the role of “shite fountain”, I was hesitant. Considering the sun was, once again cracking the pavements, I deicded to head off in the general direction of the flea market. It was, unfortunately, pathetic.

Eric had replaced his 50p CDs with another load of cheap, shitty DVDs. I ended up spending one, whole British pound on a “Best of T’Pau” CD. This was a CD I’d owned back in the early 1990s, but got destroyed in what I would claim was the worst week of my life, back in summer 1995.

Either way, I have a copy of it again. And, you’ll have to thank Chad once again for my T’pau interest. If he hadn’t had sold me this cassette tape back in 1988/1989, I’d have less of a knowledge of Carol Decker and the rest of the band, and their overly distorted percussion.

So, I returned home from the flea market. I decided to go out the front and begin documenting the life of my plants, whic were only planted yesterday. This involved some pretty graphic closeups…

Whilst taking photos, I returned to the alley, to view my images. It was the only place dark enough to be able to see the camera screen. I happened to look down the gravel driveway. At the end of it was a figure, clad in a high-viz vest, bicycle and camera. It could only be one person. Yes, it was Andy The Iridium Fan. I wanved, making him aware of my presence, and he cycled up the gravel driveway, and explained his prescence. Apparently, there wasn’t an actual reason, except for getting his picture taken on the “windowcam”.

Considering both of us had the rest of the day free, there was a little discussion on where to go, or what to do. I think I mentioned Durham, before quickly putting that idea on the back burner, seeing as that the only things burning would be me, on the bus to Durham. After the trip with Chris, earlier on in the year, I decided that public transport wouldn’t be the best idea, considering I’d be cooking all of the way there.

Andrew did mention the “Then and Now” exhibition on at the art gallery in Church Square, taken by Mail photographer Tom Collins. He had visited it at the weekend, and said it was great. And, considering I love stuff like that, I decided that this was the best idea ever. And for the paltry price of 50p, you could get to the top of Christchurch’s tower too. Something that I’d seen hundreds of pictures of, but never had any to climb up and call my own…

It’s around now that the photoblog starts, so for all of you who have scrolled this far, you’ll get your first pictures.

After paying your 50p, you can escalate the stairs that takes you up to the clock tower. After many dodgy experiences with climbing monuments, such as the Arc D’ Triomphe, the Scott Monument and more recently, York Minster, I was happy to find that the staircase was perfectly acceptable. You can even stop off on the way and take photos….

When you reach the top, it’s entirely different to what I thought it would be like. After seeing the few hundred pictures on sites such as flickr taken from the top of it, actually going up there and taking your own personal view of the location adds a hell of a lot to it. Since I was a kid, the Transporter Bridge is one of those things I’ve always wondered if it was visible from Hartlepool. I have never received any photographic evidence to say whether this was the case, until today….

Click the image, as you might have to zoom in a little to view it!

I’ve noticed, on flickr, that there’s normally only a couple of photos taken from Christchurch. Here’s approximately 56 of the fuckers… http://www.flickr.com/photos/mercuryvapour/archives/date-taken/2009/06/24/

In fact, that’s a good a place to start as any. Yes, cutting the grass. After awaking on Saturday morning, and seeing the glorous sunshine outside, I thought I’d do the front garden. I’ve made a conscious effort to actually look after it this year. Well, by that, I mean butchering the hedge so that there’s not a leaf left on it, and cutting the grass to within a millimetre of its life.

I dragged the lawn mower out into the garden, after completing the whole rigmarole of finding somewhere to plug it in which doesn’t result in a wire trailing all of the way through the house. Eventually, a suitable outlet was found, and I plugged in the lawn mower. On it went, and after approximately six seconds.

“BANG! BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

That’s supposed to imitate the sound of one of the blades coming off, thus making the rotating thing imbalanced, then vibrate like a motherfucker, for want of a better term. Indeed, the blade has snapped. Grrr. Oddly, the repacement blades are scattered throughout the house, with absolutely no rhyme or reason. To prove this, I located a repacement blade on the telephone table near the front door. Clearly, a strange place to keep a small item of gardening equipment.

I replaced the blade, and once again began to cut the grass.

“BANG! BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

Christ almighty. Two blades, shattered in less than 15 seconds of the mower actually being switched on. I have no idea if this is a record, but I once again located a blade in a strange place, this time the kitchen windowsill. I reliased that my luck of finding these blades was bound to run out sooner or later, especially if they were snapping at this rate, and I’d be left with a half-cut front garden.

Amazingly, after the 2nd replacement blade was finished, I managed to complete the garden without incident.

After I’d completed this, I slapped one of the broken blades in my pocket, as it was the only way I would know which ones we needed. We headed (Daddykins and I) off to Focus and pick up a few things. Replacement blades were, of course, on the agenda, along with a new fluorescent tube for the off-shot, which now doubles up as my darts oche.

I headed off randomly to find the lighting section. whilst Daddykins hovered around the door handles, in an attempt to replace a broken handle in an undocumented and uninteresting door handle snapping incident several months ago. I just happened to be walking around the DIY-door area (which is roughly between the door handle section and the lighting section), when I spy something which caught my interest. Something which someone had placed on the shelf after they decided they didn’t want it. A blister-pack of replacement blades for a Flymo. Hmmm. Our mower is a Flymo, and these look strangely familiar…

I examined the code on my broken blade. They were the exact type I needed, just left abandoned in a random part of the store, as if someone had just placed them there, knowing I was going to come down this way. It was one of those coincidences which I am sure I’ll be sad enough to tell everyone I meet… or maybe not.

Daddykins also attempted to buy some pea seeds, seeing as he caught the little fecker that just happened to be eating his current crop of afore-mentioned green vegetables…

Don’t worry kids, he’s only sleeping. With his eyes open, because what remains of his skull is pushing his eyes out of the sockets. And his bed is at the bottom of our wheelie bin. It seems to be the season for photographing dead stuff. This time one year ago was the time I photographed the dead hedgehog, which has since became my 5th most visited photo on flickr.

Um, moving on swiftly. I also bought a new box to store some of my records in, also from Focus. Shouldn’t have bothered. It cost me nearly 8 quid, and I didn’t realise. For the record, the fluorescent tube cost me £3.99.

So, after the excitement of Focus, we went to Netto. I didn’t buy much, though one of the things I did place in the trolley was a 24x pack of Carlsberg. This turned out to be a mistake. Not because of the beer content, but because at least one of the cans was damaged.

Between lifting the beers out of the car and through the door, I noticed a wet patch on my chest. This wasn’t the time of the month where I usually lactate, so I thought this was a bit odd. Indeed, the pathetic amount of packaging around the cans had claimed a victim, and one of the cans was punctured. Grrr. Before I had time to get mad, however, the phone rang. Chris said he was on his way up, so I arranged to meet him half way, as I had something else to do, and we might as well both walk along.

After returning home, I showed him the new dartboard setup, and almost made him marvel at the wonderment of my new, shiny, fluorescent tube. OK, I’m not that bad, but I’m sure I mentioned it at least once. After a quick game of darts, I decided that it was just too nice a night to sit in and watch telly/play darts/listen to my shite music, etc. He agreed, and we headed off in the general direction of Hart Village. It’s a perfectly acceptable walk. It’s all uphill, nice scenery, and yes, there’s a couple of pubs there too.

After having a quick walk around, we entered one of the afore-mentioned watering holes, namely the Raby Arms. It’s a nice place, but not something you would call a “local”, as the only people that were in there looked to be attending some type of function. Not that I particularly minded. The weather was warm, the beer garden was cool, and the alcohol was refreshingly cheap. For a place such as this, it was a nice surprise to receive change from a fiver for 2 pints.

After a few minutes, we headed inside the pub itself, as Chris claimed it was too cold. David Icke has said a lot of things in his time, but for *anyone* to find it too cold, on the hottest day of the year by far, they clearly must be some type of cold-blooded reptile. Or I’m exceedingly warm-blooded. One of the two. Considering everyone else in the town appeared to be showing vast amounts of bare flesh, I can’t have been in the minority.

The holiday was discussed, and unfortunately, Jonathan has pulled out of this years’ trip, after finding the lure of another trip down under too good to resist. I’m not sure, as of yet, if this will put a hold on this year’s holiday plans. We certainly seem to be leaving it late to book stuff.

In other news, I have once again removed my beard. Aftyer the trip to Raby Arms, I found it physically impossible to drink from a glass without it all dribbling down my chin. I must have been a sight. Now, for exactly 2 minutes, I removed the beard, but left the moustache. Now, there was no real reason for this, I just wanted to see what it looked like. The answer? Ned Flanders. No photographic evidence exists of me with just a moustache, but all of the signs are there if you think about it. Sigh, again.

Hart was once again the destination on Sunday, when Andy the Iridium fan called round. Once again, I was too warm to sit in the house, so off we went in the general direction of Hart. This time, Andy took his camera, while mine remained at home. I’ll explain why in a minute. Either way, I was happy with the shot I took here…

It’s the cropped version, but still looks awesome. I’d love a macro lens for my camera, especially if I can get results like that with just the stock lens. You can view all of the photos taken on that day here. It’s the first time I’ve posted a link to a flickr set for some time.

As for the reason why I didn’t take my camera, well, it’s pretty ill at the moment. I went to take a picture the other day. I switched it on, only to get the message “NO CARD”. Bugger. I couldn’t remember taking the card out of the camera, so I searched high and low for it, in all of the normal places, with no sign. I never thought to have a look in the camera itself…

The card was RIGHT THERE. Inside the camera. Joy. I removed the card, and inserted it again…

“NO CARD”.

Thinking my 16Gb card was fucked, I nipped upstairs, and got my other one. Inserted it, and “NO CARD” again. Sigh, once again. My 2Gb card produced the same results. Arrrrgh. So, I inserted/removed the card a number of times. Clearly this was enough to restore the contacts, as the camera recognised the card after that, but I am a bit annoyed. My experience with electronic devices points me in the direction of this happening again, and frequently, until the camera is useless. Whilst the camera is under warranty, do I send it back now, or wait until it dies completely? This is clearly an intermittent problem.

I’m currently in considerable pain both because of the halloween party,and my infected finger. It OFFICIALLY can’t have came at a worse moment. See, I’m off work for a week.

Yesterday, after finishing a diabolically unimpressive shift at Employment Palace, I started examining the infection in the finger. It was getting bigger by the minute. “Oh, I’ll just stab it with a pin again, release some of that pus.

Great idea. In went the pin. Out came nothing but blood, and a string of expletives as I let out the loudest scream of pain I’ve ever done. Something wasn’t right.

So, off I go to the quacks. After sitting in the quacks waiting room for 45 minutes, I get seen to. It took no more than 4 seconds for the doctor to prescribe me some antibiotics and some cream to rub into it. What wasn’t awesome is the price the medication came to… £14.20. I have a job, what a mug I am.

I’ve just taken the first tablet. If there’s no change to it by Monday, I have to go to the hospital. Therefore, it means a week off work without any drink. LOL. What good timing. Apparently, one of the side effects of these particular tablets is fits. Things just get better and better. I just hope that they don’t turn my piss pink like the last ones did.

Last night, I attended a Halloween party, which is the reason for the bad head. I went in fancy dress as a Roman. Unfortunately, some idiot managed to delete all of the images I took from the camera. It was probably me and my big fat faulty finger.

What was even worse was actually getting to the party.

I’d arranged to meet at MS’s house. Now I’ve never been there before, so I didn’t know where he lived, so I got the address, and got Daddykins to drop me off. MS sent me a text…

“When you get here, just come in, the door is open”

So, I arrived, and entered through the front door. I was confronted with a woman, who had just got out of the bath, wrapped in a dressing gown.

My jaw dropped, and so did my arse. Turns out MS lived a couple of doors away.

The party was good, from what I can remember of it. Normally, I have my photos to look back on, but the only ones that survived appear to have been taken by someone else. I think it was when I accidentally downed 7 different varieties of schnapps, that things went hazy.

No, really. Accidentally.

I thought I was trying different varieties of alcopop, as I’d never had schnapps before, I didn’t know what it tasted like. Upon my realisation of this fact, I could almost hear Scott Bakula saying “Oh boy…” before the quantum leap credits rolled.

At some point I remember losing my bag containing my shoes and camera.

I honestly didn’t intend to get drunk, for today I’m off to London. Earls court to be precise, as Chris, via his brother Jonathan, has managed to secure tickets for Top Gear Live. Awesome.

Unfortunately, Chris has something planned tomorrow, so the original plan of getting down there, watching the show, then getting the train back the following day has been condensed into one day, meaning that I’m going to spend a hell of a lot of time on the train today. I guess it saves the cost of a hotel room for the night though.

Needless to say, I’m taking my camera. I shall return with photos tomorrow, presuming I don’t delete them all…

And no, I wasn’t the one to get so palatic that I “tripped over” a seven foot stepladder in the kitchen and had to be picked up by two of my mates. Oh, no siree. That wasn’t me. It was Daddykins.

I really cannot describe how I feel at the minute. I’ve not spoken to him since the incident, maybe because shortly after he went to bed and has yet to surface.

He suffered a considerable gash to his left arm which may, or may not require stitches…

In other news, which normally would get a blog on its own, I popped my septic finger yesterday too. Pus spurted about 6 foot across the room, and I think I went into shock for a bit.

SO, that’s the news. I can’t put into words how shit I feel at the minute. It truly feels as if my world has ended. Lovely depression, here we go again!

Today was the day that we’d all planned to get up early and attack the Eiffel tower queues. It looked as if you really had to get in there early, or not bother getting in at all. Now, I knew, if we were going to attempt this, we really WOULD need supplies. Definitely water, for a kick off. Thankfully, Shoppy came in handy again, and I picked up three bottles of water. We also had the breakfast this morning. Now you may remember yesterday I mentioned La Terasse, where we’d stopped off for something to eat on the night. Well, that’s where we went for breakfast too.

I forgot to mention we also went for breakfast here on Day 2. I think. See, my mind doesn’t record every single detail on mornings. I just remember getting confused over the following…

Me: “Parlez vous Anglais?”
Him: “No, only French.”

You will just have to imagine my face at that point. No, in fact, imagine my face about 30 seconds later when I got his “joke”. Anyway, one awesome breakfast later, we head off to the Eiffel tower, and joined the queue, at 9:43, and didn’t get into the actual tower until 10:29. There was then a 7 minute wait until we got into the cable car at 10:36 to take up up to the first floor. The question was, would the view be worth it? I don’t think I’ll bother answering that question, as I can assure you, the views are absolutely amazing. Oh, wait. I just answered it.

Seriously though, it’s not until you get up to a high point that you realise how big Paris is. Here is a view of the hotel we were staying in, from the top…

See that “wedge” right in the very centre? That’s where the hotel is.

We stayed up there for ages. It was surprisingly warm considering we were on the top of a ~1,000 metre high structure. After spending quite a while at the top (mainly because there was a queue for the lift approximately a mile long), we went back down to the second level, and began the long walk down the stairs to the 1st floor. It was less busy than getting the lift, obviously, plus it offered a more entertaining view.

The first floor is a lot different to the other two floors, as it has bars, exhibitions, etc. After a quick look around them, we settled for something to eat and to drink. I went for the croissant and a “pint” of Heineken. And although it was reassuringly extortionate, must say, it’sn the most picturesque beer I’ve ever had…

The chairs, however were a little bit “rustic”. They were made entirely out of old bits of tree, and not very sturdy at all. I think the person that was on the chair behind me almost went arse-over-tit because of them.

Anyway, we ate up, drank up, and began the descent via the stairs again. Unsurprisingly, there were once again vast swaithes of souvenir sellers trying to sell you stuff from their big black bin liners. Sigh.

We headed back to the hotel temporarily for some reason, and headed off to the Arc De triomphe. Now, it’s only 1.4 miles from the hotel On our previous trip there, it certainly didn’t feel like it. It felt a hell of a lot more. Therefore, we decided to use our €16 ticket on the boat again. Now, the only slight flaw in this plan, was that in order to get up to the Champs-Élysées, the boat had to make its way all the way along the touristy parts of the Seine, and then back again This was something that took 90 minutes.

Meh, it gave me an excuse to break the camcorder out, but by the end of it, even I was all camcordered out.

Eventually, we heard the words we wanted to hear… Next stop, “Champs-Élysées”. Awesome. This is where we wanted to be.

Off we jumped, only to realise that we were nowhere near where we wanted to be. In fact, we were still 1.2 miles away from it. Gutted. That means that we’d taken a 90 minute boat trip in order to save one fifth of a mile. I suddenly knew how this guy felt.

As we continued our walk down the Champs-Élysées, we walked past the preparations for the Wall-E premiere. It is unknown whether anyone famous attended, but there were a lot of security and cameramen about.

Eventually, after what felt like a fortnight, we made it to our final destination. It was €9 to get in, and no, we didn’t take the lift. Therefore, it is a climb of 284 steps to reach the first level, which is a sort-of museum. Unfortunately, this turned out to be very sparse indeed, with only a few exhibitions in it. I really thought they’d make more of a song and dance about something that looks so impressive on the outside.

So, after a quick look around, we went up yet more stairs and reached the top of the monument. Again, the view was great.

You also get a great view of the comedy roundabout while you’re up there. It looks even madder from above. I’m honestly surprised we didn’t see a major incident while we were up there, though there were plenty of brake screeching and blaring of horns.

We headed back down, and made our way along the road we should have came in the first place. Once again, we attacked The Shoppy.

Now, imagine the scene. you enter The Shoppy, and pick up a basket, only to find that one handle on it is broken. I attempt to place it back on the top of the baskets. Next, a small woman walks into the store. She thinks I’m actually getting a basket for *her*, and she takes the broken one I was about to put down… She thanks me with a cheerful “Ah! Merci!”… now, although I did French in school, we didn’t learn the words for “this basket is broken”, and I have the documentation to prove it

I tried to explain to her in sign language that the basket was well and truly fucked, and I was simply putting it back in order to get another one.

It failed miserably.

She looked away, and muttered “oh, non merci” under her breath as she grabbed a working basket. It was all so hilariously embarrasing.

First stop after the water aisle was, of course, the beer aisle. Now, you may remember the 7.9% beers I’d bought the day before. Well, I stocked up on these again, and got a few more to last me through the night. I did spy some 9% Leffe, but steered clear of this for the time being.

In our quest to find a cheap pub the previous night, we noted a few eateries to try out. It is unsurprising that we wanted a taste of home, and therefore resorted to choosing a Chinese.

As the night was getting on by this point, we retreated to our approriate rooms, and got ready for the night. On the way down, we had a special guest in the lift…. yes, a bloody wheelie bin…

We entered the Chinese, and found it to be a very nice place. the staff were friendly, spoke perfect English and it was overall a very welcoming atmosphere. You’ll be unsurprised to find that I ordered a chicken curry. Sorry.

SIDENOTE: I know I stated I’d eat horse while I was out there. I didn’t. Though, this was mainly because I could only find one place that sold it, and at €15, I didn’t want to risk that amount of money in something that may have been horrible.

Right, with that out of the way, back to the meal. It was top notch. Me and Chris had the chicken curry, and Jonathan had Chilli beef and noodles. it was all very nice, and although yes, the beer was still expensive, we didn’t mind paying it if we were getting something to eat.

After that, it was getting late so we headed off back to the hotel to talk about the days antics, eventually retiring to bed at approximately 1:30AM.

As menitoned before, Daddykins has been out at the pub all afternoon, so I didn’t fancy waiting around for him to come in slurring all over the place. OK, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, as he never really gets THAT drunk, I just hate to see him drunk full-stop. And yes, I understand that makes me sound like a hypocrite. Tough.

So, I headed off out of the door, with the intention of not returning until he was at home, and in bed. I took my normal route of King Oswy Drive, right up to the Clavering roundabout and back down the coast road. I took a detour to take in the delights of the King Oswy shops, and also to pick up a bottle of Cherry Coke.

At this point, I tried to phone Chris. he said he was coming round tonight, so just in case he turned up unannounced, I tried to get in touch with him to tell him I was out. In facft, I decided to walk down near his house, just in case he was in, and not answering his phone (as usual).

Chris is one of those people who rarely takes interest in his mobile, so no answer is a normality. I tried a number of times, and didn’t get through at all. I also tried to get through to Daddykins on his mobile to see if he was in yet, as I’d forgotten to hang my washing out.

After about 16 attempts to get though to his mobile, he phoned me. I answer, and whatever Daddykins said was drowned out by someone screaming “JAMIE”. Oh, joy. So he was still out. I terminated the call. He’d already answered all my questions.

So, I decide to ring Chris on his house phone, and his dad said he was asleep. Oh, great. So, I had nowhere to go, nothing to do, nobody to talk to, nothing. There was no point going home, so I just kept on walking, and ended up on the Marina. Did I mention I took my camera? Clearly not.

This is the only one I’ve bothered to upload to flickr yet, as a lot of them require rotating…

I shall post more photos on my flickr later, but now I have half a case of Grolsch to knock back…

As per the usual, I am not going into the details of this contract, and why I cannot do it. Some people know, some don’t, and it’s not something I’m going to discuss on a public website.

Therefore, until Monday, my head is going to be going around in circles. I am already unable to sleep. I awoke at 5AM, this one issue slammed right into my consciousness. Joy.

Money is also another issue. Remember my jury service? I’ve still not been paid for it. I was led to believe that the money would be in my account within “7-10 days” of it ending. No sign. Not a penny. Not even £44 for the 10 days travel. So, I guess I’ll be on the phone Monday to them, then. Double sodding joy.

In a vain hope to counter this feeling of complete and utter shit, I am off to Seaham today. Allegedly, there’s a car boot sale at the Seaham Coast Road, wherever that is, so I shall go there and see if I can find it, and expand my record collection. Failing that, ‘m going to take my camera along and just take photos. I’ve not done that for a while. The last trip was to Durham, with Chris, the other weekend, which I totally forgot to document on here. Basically, it was a re-run of the trip I took with Coatesy last year. He has (once again) disappeared off the face of the earth, which is another thing depressing the hell out of me, but that’s a whinge for another day. Sigh.

Er. Anyway, I once again went photo mad, despite the fact the weather was cloudy and miserable. Warm, but crap, if you know what I mean. If you don’t, here’s a photo depicting such a day…

If you ever get a chance, go and visit Durham Cathedral. It’s absolutely stunning.

We went in, and there was a live orchestra playing. It’s just one of those things that will send a shiver up your spine. Looking around, taking in the architecture and the music. It was awe-inspiring.

Unfortunately, they don’t allow cameras (and with good reason, now that I think of it), so I can’t really show you exactly what it was like. I had to be really sneaky when I took this photo of the courtyard. No amount of laminated sheets with crossed out cameras are going to stop ME getting at least one shot! Ooooh, I feel like such a rebel.

We were going to go into the castle too, but that required an entrance fee of something stupid, so we gave that a miss. It didn’t look half as impressive as Edinburgh Castle anyway, but I did get a few shots of the daffodils…

After that, we went a pub for the traditional “have a pint in whichever town we end up in”, and the pub of choice was the hilariously named “Fighting Cocks”. I expected it to be a dive, but it wasn’t a bad place, and the chairs were probably the most comfortable I’ve ever sat on. Oh, you want to see a picture of the pint?

And that’s where I’ll leave it, because just to add insult to injury, it’s now absolutely pissing it down, so it’s looking very unlikely that I’ll be going anywhere. Triple joy.

Anyway, on Monday, we had a little farewell get-together for him, involving beer and, of course an indian. We decided to meet up at 7PM in King John’s. Of course, this meant a mind-numbing wait for the bus… needless to say, I took my camera

The bus eventually turns up, and it whisks me down towards our proposed meeting point. I get there, and I think I’m the only one there. After a quick scan of the location, nobody could be seen. However, while I was being served , Gary emerged out of the inky darkness behind the two fruit machines, clutching half a pint.

He pointed towards where he was sitting, in the inky dark void, where clearly not many people ever sat.

Chris S was the next to turn up. He did the same as me, and completely walked past the location where we were sat. I thought I’d have a bit of fun, and call him on his phone, asking where he was, despite the fact I could see him, stood at the bar, looking frantically around, until I eventually guided him towards the fruit machines.

JT was next to show up, however, I was unable to have the same fun with him, due to the fact that he currently doesn’t have a phone, and saw us in the dark corner anyway.

We waited around for a bit to see if anyone else would show up. Glen W (not he of Obscureinternet fame) didn’t, so that left us – the fabulous foursome, for want of a better expression. We drank up, and made our way down to Church Street, and walked into the indian, for what was going to be the start of one hell of a feast. Gary could hardly contain his excitement.

I started off with the Onion Bhaji, something which I’d only had once before, and thought they were truly gorgeous. These didn’t disappoint.

For the main meal, I went with the vindaloo. I normally go for the madras, but I thought I’d try my luck with something a little hotter. My word, it was nice. I didn’t find it that hot, although there was definitely a kick to it. In fact, this is how much I enjoyed it…

Awesome. The rest of them went for a sweet, but I decided against such extravgance.

After that, we left and went our separate ways, luckily, the bus was just pulling in, so I wished all the best to Gary, and I disappeared off into the night. All of the images can be viewed here. Some of them are a bit… well, shall we say… odd?

Tuesday, however, was a complete and utter write-off. I spent all day on the sofa. The curry left its calling card at around 4AM, and from then on, I was awake. I did do a bit of behind-the-scenes work on the site, including partially updating WordPress to the latest sub-build, and doing a a bit of work on the database, and the gallery too. I then spent the rest of the day drifting off on the sofa, eventually livening myself up around 7PM. Thankfully the Flag-of-Japan symptoms of the curry were no more, but I still thought it was best that didn’t go out that night.

Wednesday was a good day, for more than one reason. Firstly, I got my hair cut. Now, this is a challenge in itself. It’s hard to find enough hair on my head to cut, and secondly, I hate going to the barbers with a passion. I was devastated to find, however that there is a new version of “Something Good” by Utah Saints about to be released. Radio 1 played it, and I could have cried. I have made my feelings very clear on the subject of remakes and remixes. OK, the original track, despite heavily using a sample from a Kate Bush song, did it well. This version, in my humble opinion, doesn’t.

Digging back into the vast, cavernous reaches of my memory, I remember Chad, who you may have noticed has been very vocal in the comments section recently, had “Something Good” on the very first incarnation of “The Best Dance Album In The World Ever!”. In fact, I remeber purchasing a cassette tape from him for 50p with this song on.

Home taping is killing music? No. Crap remixes and remakes are.

Moving on swiftly, after getting my hair cut, I went down the marina to take some photographs. I’d not been down there for a long time (well, except to Coatesy’s, and that was at night), so I thought I’d grab some while I didn’t have anything else to do, and while the weather was OK.

You can view the whole set here

I am planning to go back at some point in the coming months when the weather gets that little bit milder, and I’ll spend a bit more time here.

Yesterday, however, had one crowning moment. Marko, from #speccy announced he had something to show me. Tentatively, I clicked the link, and was happy to find these…

Yes! Asda had started getting cherry coke in again! Or at least they had where he lived. AND, as an added bonus they were 3 for £3. Cherry Coke is the drink of champions. Within the hour, I was down said supermarket, with three bottles of the stuff in my trolley, and a big grin on my face.

Amusingly, it was only a couple of weeks ago that we were discussing its demise, the fact that it became rarer to find than rocking horse shite. So much so, I actually contacted Coca Cola directly to ask if they had indeed discontinued it. A few days before these bottles were purchased, I received an automated response back saying that it was still in production. I can’t help but feel that my email alone made them speed up production, and force Asda to stock it again.

That image is of course, copyright Marko, and used with his permission, though I’m not sure who’d want to steal an image of three bottles of coke, however. Except me.

So, that’s us almost up to date. Today, I’ve spent half the day in bed. I caught many images of a truly awesome sunset, which will soon be making their way onto flickr. They’re still on the camera at the minute, but I’ve not seen a sunset like it for many, many years.

Soooo. By the title, you can guess I’ve spent the last few days taking photos. You’d be right.

On Wednesday, I went to the flea market. IT was a lovely day, yet desperately cold. I wrapped up warm, and headed into the land where CDs are cheap, and second hand underwear are aplenty. I didn’t bother getting any photos, as I already have one. Still I came back with a pile of CDs. One particualr stall were selling albums for 50p each. I had some of that, and I walked away with a handful. Total cost: £4.50. Beauty.

I bought another couple of CDs from another stall, for £2, meaning that I had £6.50 worth of music. Wooo.

It was then, and only then, that I realised, I didn’t actually have my bank card with me, therefore I’d spent what I really couldn’t afford. This cut the day short, naturally, and I headed home, clutching my Netto bag full of music.

Later on in the afternoon, Chris turned up. The day was still bright, if just a little bit chilly. I looked at my camera, looked at the sky outside, and thought “Bugger it, I’m off to take some photos” I donned my coat, and off we went, without any idea of where we were going to go.

Before long, we were heading towards Steetley.

We didn’t go there, however, and instead walked along Old Cemetary Road, and then the beach

Somthing which I wasn’t aware of, is that last year, in July, there was a new gun put in place on the seafront. Now, by “gun” I mean an ornamental gun, not a real one Amazingly, it’s been up for 6 months, and there’s not one sign on vandalism or damage.

Despite the biting wind and freezing cold temperature, I thought it would be a good idea to walk along the Heugh. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the layout and landmarks of this wonderful town, the Heugh is a breakwater, built over 200 years ago to stop the tidal surges from flooding the bay. Without it, the town would be a very different place.

IT was at this point, however, that the sun was beginning to go down, and the temperature to dip even lower, and the wind, coming directly off the sea didn’t help much. It did, however, make for a very nice photo opportunity.

Hartlepool’s very own working class hero “Andy Capp” also had a statue dedicated to him last year. I took photos back in June showing exactly where the statue was going to be, but he wasn’t there. Instead, there was simply just the paving around it, and some orange netting. Thankfully, this time he was there.

Apparently, you have to rub his head for good luck. I didn’t bother. So, we were at the furthest point away from Mercuryvapour Towers. The photo opportunities kept coming, and I kept taking them. After taking some photos of the fish sands, we were both starving. This meant two words. Verrill’s Chippy. I scraped together £2, and bought myself and Chris a bag of chips each, and we sat, in sub-zero temperatures, watching the sun go down. I was OK, but Chris was freezing. Therefore, we headed back to his house. Of course,a photo trip done by me cannot be complete without…

… a photo of a streetlight, or two.

Chris picked up his big jacket, and off we headed, back to Mercuryvapour Towers. in order to sort through and upload the photos. During that process Andrew D appeared, with another disk full of 400 photos, which have now been added to the gallery This takes the total to over 1,900…!

While he was here, I’d learned that Jeremy Beadle had died. I must have been one of the first sites to report this, seconds after posting, I had an influx of visitors, all searching for “Jeremy Beadle dead”…

Anyway, I added the pics, Andrew left, and me and Chris sat there for the rest of the night, deciding that many songs sound a lot better when you play them on a turntable at the wrong speed. If you want to view all of the photos, you can do so here

Chris left, and I fell asleep on the couch in front of what was on TV at the time.

Thursday was a staff night out. After the company “made a slight miscalculation” on the day we were meant to be getting paid, we thought that when we eventually did get paid, that it would be a good idea to go for a few drinks and an indian. Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.

8 of us turned up, which is a pretty good turnout. Of course, I had my camera with me, though there’s no point posting the pics from that, as flickr’s been blocked from work. Oops!

EIther way, that brings me up to date. It’s now just after 12PM, the snow is falling outside, though it doesn’t appear to be laying. Just in case it does, I have my camera recharged, and ready for some “soft white stuff action”. Ahem.