18 months later, they paid me £25 for my contribution to this article. (I’d written a complete article, and included a map; I think the only thing that remained was the general flow of my text – all the words had changed… I think I’ve still got my original somewhere, in dot-matrix format.)
Monthly Archives: July 2004
Yesterday Chris and I tootled down to London to see “once fey indie misfits” (© The Guardian) Belle & Sebastian at Somerset House.
Not your usual venue, Somerset House is where you normally go to hunt birth certificates or to say hello to those nice people at the Inland Revenue. The gig was in the central courtyard. By the magic of walking-down-the-side we wormed our way to the front and had a perfect view, much to our surprise. It meant that my camera phone could devote more than a pixel per person, at least. Had I thought we’d be that close to the stage I’d have taken my proper camera.
Avaragado’s rating: One cuckoo.
A bunch of us went to Chilford Hall last night for Bob and Karen’s wedding bash. I took photos on my new camera phone (hence dodgy quality).
As part of the fallout from my parents’ house move, and because of my extreme laziness over the years, I need to register a change of address with one or two organizations. Yeah, even though I’ve lived in Cambridge for ten years a few places still have my parents’ address.
Today I thought I’d sort out Britannic (I’ve got some investments with them). I soon found that they have one of the worst web sites I’ve seen in a while, which fails to work properly in Firefox. (And try the “printer friendly” page while one of the stupid scrolly things is stupidly scrolling: it still scrolls stupidly.) “Our asset is our team” they say. Well, it’s certainly not their web site. Change of address? No help here (I refuse to run IE just for this).
I dug through the most recent paperwork and found a phone number for their “helpline”. It rang long enough for me to start thinking I’d got the wrong number before they finally answered. Hello, yes, I’d like to change my address please.
“Oh, no, you can’t do that on the phone. You have to tell us in writing.”
I’m contemplating buying a big scratchy fountain pen and writing in my best flowery 1950s language. “I should be obliged…henceforth…I remain, sir, your obedient servant”.
It was Bob’s stag night on Saturday. More of a stag day/night.
In the afternoon we punted to Grantchester in the rain, had a barbecue in summer gales and the rain, and punted back in sunshine.
On the way back Chris punted us into a bush, which retaliated by grabbing his glasses and flicking them into the water. As we scoffed he took off his DMs and socks, eased himself in, and rummaged around with his toes. To our amazement it worked!
Mikey demonstrated his superior ginger scottish mountain goat abilities by successfully performing the bridge jump thing.
Back at the millpond we sat in the sun for a while, and were gatecrashed by an unrelated and entirely unsober hen party. They claimed to be from “upmarket Essex”, proved by acts of a chav nature plus some casual racism. We scarpered to our next venue, the Kingston Arms.
From there to the Golden Curry, where the staff knew it was a stag night and consequently seemed to spike Bob’s food without any prompting. They also gave him an Indian cocktail, the complete ingredients of which were kept secret but included cherry brandy. I can confirm that it was disgusting.
After the meal, Bob’s other mates revealed the secret plan: a set of challenges. Completing challenges earned Bob more booze and the right to assign some challenges to others.
Via the Live and Let Live and the Locomotive most of us ended up at Coco, the nightclub formerly known as Toxic. Bob was paralytic.
Oh, yes: photos!
Very good. The audience of adults was slightly bemused by the pre-film adverts tailored to kids, though. Yes, I know it’s U-rated, but a 9pm showing? Having said that, there was at least one kid in the audience – every time Donkey appeared in the first few minutes, a voice cried “Donkey!”. No, it wasn’t me.
Ex-pats: In the UK, the bar-person at the Poisoned Apple was played by Jonathan Ross rather than Larry King. And bizarrely, Joan Rivers was played by Kate Thornton.
Avaragado’s rating: Three blind mice.