Monthly Archives: November 2005

Bumper cars

I hate 4x4s. I hate 4×4 drivers.

One or both of these reversed into my car in a car park last night. At least I presume so, as I was playing badminton at the time and they naturally didn’t stick around.

The evidence is the big dent in my bonnet and the slightly crunched Peugeot logo.

Now I didn’t actually notice until I was standing in the queue at the petrol station some minutes after I left the car park, so in theory it could have happened days ago. But I don’t think so.

Bah.

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HP and the G of F

I have never read a Harry Potter book. Generally speaking I have no idea of the plot of an HP story before I park myself in the cinema seat. (I know who dies in book six, though.)

I understand that the G of F book is about a million pages long; the film is similarly lengthy. As much as I like Miranda Richardson, her scene as the Glenda Slaggesque Rita someone-or-other could have been excised without, ahem, muggles like myself being any the wiser or the plot suffering in any way.

The films are getting better, and darker. The acting is improving; the gurning is reducing. We’re now starting to get all the soppy stuff, so there’s lots of additional comedy opportunities this time round. Rupert Grint, AKA Ron Weasley, or is it the other way round, will I suspect never win any actual awards for comedy; but he may romp away with the prize for being most ginger.

Avaragado’s rating: two of those little pots of mixed herbs

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Chris the Lord


chris-the-lord.jpg
Originally uploaded by avaragado.

I can’t decide whether this was deliberate humour by Borders staff, or a Borders corporate diktat to place discount stickers at top-right no matter what the effect.

Either way, it made me laugh.

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Food and drink

I was invited back to work for a free lunch yesterday – the company bought take-away pizzas and curries to thank staff for their work on the demo thing I mentioned the other day. While there I took the opportunity to beat Matt at pool.

In the evening Matt and I met up again for a drink or several. No, shut up, he’s just a friend.

Bit woozy this morning.

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May-hay-ray-jay

“Hey T.C.,” says Benny. “What’s a May-hay-ray-jay?”.

For the last, ooh, fifteen years or so I’ve thought of that line almost every time I’ve walked up Castle Hill past the Maharajah. It still amuses me; it makes the hard, hard climb up the hill just slightly more bearable.

Until tonight I’d eaten at the May-hay-ray-jay only once: I think it was when Sabrina/Mike/Melissa were in Cambridge, which would make it about four-and-a-half years ago, staggeringly.

Anyhow, Bov’s Chrissie is in glorious Ann Arbor, Michigan, which means that Bov’s allowed out for a curry. You can fill in the rest.

Very pleasant, anyhow.

Avaragado’s rating: one tin of 1960s cat food

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McCartney and mash, and more

Had lunch with my brother at Ta Bouche. It’s the cafe/restaurant opposite the B Bar on Market Passage, by the smallest entrance to Borders.

I chose the vegetarian bangers’n’mash. My brother had the home-made burger with salad. Alas my bangers were not home-made; they were finest shop-bought Linda McCartney sausages. I could tell by looking, before I’d even tasted them.

Do restaurants think people don’t notice? Or do they just assume that they can get away with it since the British just tut amongst themselves?

I tutted to my brother. They got away with it.

Later I played badminton in Milton with Carl and Matt, who I guess I should call former colleagues now. Or mates, preferably.

Lots of strangers were present; enough for four courts of doubles matches, though we only had two. This was good: I wouldn’t have been able to play for two and half hours without a break. (Memo to self: eat beforehand next time.)

This being I suppose a club of some kind, there were unwritten rituals involving clothes pegs scrawled with names to decide who was playing whom. (I was simply “Dave”, as opposed to “Evil Dave”, also present; I suppose I could have used an alternative adjective.)

Some of the, ahem, older gentlemen in the group were very good at deceptive serves (though not everything was quite as deceptive). The court surface was amazingly slippery; Evil Dave muttered about “clogs on ice”. There was certainly a cartoonish running-on-the-spot feel when struggling to change direction.

I played pretty well, I thought, all things considered. I discerned no rolling of eyes from teammates, nor merciless dissection of critical weaknesses from opponents. Certainly no problems I can’t fix by being (a) a bit fitter than I am now, and (b) about ten years younger.

I’m working on both of those. I feel that (b) in particular would come in especially handy.

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Between jobs

Been pretty busy at work the last few weeks. Had a big demo to finish. Actually, to start and to finish. I can’t think it’s that common that one day you hand in your notice and the next you start up a team of four on a crash project for an important demo with a hard deadline.

We had a few hiccups and stressful times, but it all came together at the last minute as usual. The demo was presented last week (not by me) and apparently went down well.

After that I had about three days to hand off various responsibilities and wind down. My last day was today (Wrestlers for a farewell lunch). Still not sure it’s sunk in; I got home feeling a bit stunned. I’ll miss some of the people there tremendously. I will keep in touch.

The rest of the week’s my own (except that I’m invited to a work lunch later in the week), then the new job starts next Monday. Wish I’d arranged another week off now; I’m knackered.

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Chef’s birthday

The Blackamoors Head, a pub I can say with some certainty I had never visited, is now the Backstreet Brasserie, a restaurant I can say with some certainty I will visit again.

We went there tonight to celebrate Chef’s birthday. England 3 Argentina 2 is worth celebrating too.

Chef decided he was putting in more cash than the rest of us, and promptly dived to the bottom of the wine list.

We had a good time.

I seem to remember that we left a midly drunken comment on a questionnaire.

I also seem to remember that Chef paid £100 and the other seven of us paid £35 each.

Avaragado’s rating: two pieces of cheesecake that look slightly like marble.

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