Kerry went down to pick up the car from outside the railway station only to find that some arsehole has smashed the passenger side window. There was little of value in the car and nothing appears to have been taken.
Do you know how tempted I was to report that my ipod had been in there?
Very bloody tempted, that’s how much; but I didn’t.
I’m sure I’ll get my reward in heaven. It better be a damn ipod though or there is going to be trouble.
Today is the fourth of July, the day Americans like to call “Independence Day”. In the UK we refer to it as “Good Riddance to Bad Rubbish Day”, but it amounts to the same thing.
Today is the day that people all over the USA get together and set off fireworks in memory of Will Smith and Jeff Goldblum defeating the alien invasion of earth. That will teach them pesky aliens not to install Norton Anti-virus on their mothership.
In all seriousness it probably says quite a bit about the two nations that America uses fireworks to celebrate the founding of their government, whereas we use them to celebrate someone trying to blow ours up.
So today is Independence Day. But not in our house it isn’t. We are having our Independence Day on the eighth of July instead. And it doesn’t have anything to do with a bunch of men in wigs signing a bit of paper either. Our Independence Day revolves around a little girl taking her first steps through a big door.
On Tuesday Amy goes to school for the first time. She doesn’t start officially until September. But next week she goes in for the afternoon for a taster session.
It’s a big day for her, and for all of us. But she’s ready to make that big leap forward into the next era of childhood. In fact she’s been ready for quite a while now. And the emotions that that knowledge stirs up are the very definition of bittersweet.
A great man (me) once said “From the moment they are born parents have to start letting their children go”. And that’s true. But that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to get a bit misty eyed about it though.
Can’t post now, I am in mourning. Yesterday I lost my beloved iPod Touch. I think it either fell out of my pocket while I was doing the garden (just before that thunderstorm we had) or I left it on the passenger seat of the car when I went to the shop (when I forgot to lock the passenger door).
Either way it’s gone for good. Kerry has put me on suicide watch.
In leu of flowers well wishers are asked to make a donation to The Joseph Salmon Trust. Or buy me a new ipod. Either one is good.
Slight change of pace today as I stare into my crystal ball and make a few predictions of the future of the British political landscape. Not my usual topic I admit, but it’s always good to mix it up a bit.
Feel free to disagree with me, I always enjoy a bit of a mass debate.
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Any more?
Well… they were new shoes
There are now twenty seven days left until we set off on our walk. Twenty seven days. That’s about 648 hours, or 38,880 minutes. Hey, that doesn’t sound quite so close now. Maybe breaking it down even further will make me feel better.
2,332,800 seconds.
23,328,000,000,000,000,000 nanoseconds.
OK, maybe that’s taking things too far.
But no matter what spin I try and put on it, I think it’s pretty fair to say that the walk is officially “Not Long Now”.
Am I ready? Am I a lean mean walking machine? Am I bollocks. But as someone at work pointed out the other day, if I’m not ready now I’ll probably never be. I might as well resign myself to the fact that I’ll be doing some serious aching in the not too distant future.
I can hear Sandip tutting at that statement from here, but in my defense I’m not really all that bad. I can do seven or eight miles in a morning, then go do nine hours at work in the afternoon, and not feel stiff the next day. So I’m hoping that the extra effort of doing another eight miles on top of that isn’t going to take it’s toll too badly. And anyway, walking is pretty easy. It’s just a case of putting one foot in front on another right? Right?
Come on, back me up here.
I had the day off yesterday and so had the opportunity to get some serious walking done. Of course I didn’t take the opportunity; I went to the cafe for a full English breakfast and lay around the house in my underpants all day instead. Of course I didn’t want to do those things, I wanted to be out in the pouring rain tramping though muddy fields for hours. Unfortunately I have a reputation as a slovenly oaf to maintain. It’s a hard job, but someone has to do it.
I did manage to haul my carcass off the couch long enough to go down to the hiking shop however. Inspired by Oli’s recent post over at the Dales Walk blog I decided I needed to get a new backpack. One with an airspace back mesh network, compatible hydration system, and side compression straps. No, I have no idea what all that stuff is either, but it sounds impressive and that’s the important thing.
The shop had a wide range of backpacks, and I think I tried on every single one of them at least twice before I made my decision. Rather upsettingly the ones that felt most comfortable to me were all designed for use by women. It must be my petite feminine figure I suppose. But comfy or not, there is no way I’m wearing the Ladyhiker 2000 out in public, especially not in front of the buggers I’m doing this hike with. It’s bad enough that my walking boots were made by the Smallpenis Corporation and my waterproof jacket by Chronicflatulence Inc.
However, after a bit of strap adjustment and buckle loosening I managed to find a man’s backpack I was happy with. So I am now the proud owner of a Karrimor Airspace 30, complete with mesh stash pockets and walking pole attachment points. Pretty damn nifty I’m sure you will agree.
I also got a new walking stick with a more comfortable handle, a waterproof liner for the backpack, and a Camelbak omega hydrotanium reservoir (read water bottle with a straw).
But the crowning glory was my purchase of a bandanna type thing to keep the sun from my scalp and the sweat from my eyes. But now I have a terrible dilemma, do I go with this new headgear or stick with my tried and tested walking hat? The problem is too great a conundrum for me to solve on my own, so I’m appealing for your help. I have taken some photos of me in full walking getup (including backpack and water bottle straw thing) in order that you can come to an informed decision. Remember, my self respect and dignity could ride on your decision.
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In July of this year I shall be walking 78 miles in 6 days in aid of the Joseph Salmon Trust, a charity founded by my close friends in memorial to their son Joseph who died aged 3 in April of 2005. Please look here for further details and consider sponsoring me. Thank you.
We visited the Blue Planet Aquarium in Chester yesterday. We had a good time.
I listen to a lot of BBC Radio 4. Not quite as much as I used to do before I discovered the wonderful world of podcasting (The Word and Collings and Herrin are particularly worth checking out), but still have it on a fair bit.
For the chronically American amongst you, Radio 4 is a bit like NPR but a lot better. It is arguably the jewel in the crown of the BBC. Just check out the webpage if you don’t believe me. Every single program they have broadcast in the last seven days is up there waiting for you to listen to. And it’s all free at the point of delivery. I particularly recommend the comedy and the factual sections.
I have inherited my love of Radio 4 from my parents. It was our constant companion on every single car journey we made. And I honestly believe that it shaped both my sense of humour and my inquiring mind just as much if not more than TV and the educational system ever did.
It is, in short, worth the licence fee all on its own (as is BBC Radio 7 incidentally).
Or at least it would be, if it wasn’t for the bloody Archers.
Foreigners might as well stop reading now as you are probably not going to understand a word of this, but it needs to be said. I hate the Archers. I hate the theme tune, I hate the tedious plot lines, and I hate the fact that all the women appear to be called Caroline and all the men called Brian. But most of all I hate the smug middle classness of it all.
I hope I don’t offend anyone here, but if I hear one more person say “Oh I don’t like soap operas, I only listen to the Archers” I’m going to punch them on the nose. Just as the Apprentice is Big Brother for snobs, the Archers is Emerdale for people who believe they are above the hoi palloi .
And it’s on every day. Twice. With an omnibus on Sundays.
There are other programs on the station that make me switch off: Any Answers, the majority of the afternoon plays, and the Today Program (is it me or are they more interested in creating the news than reporting it?). But the Archers has the power to bore me so badly that I am in danger of falling asleep at the wheel. They keep their plot lines going on for literally decades. The first episode broadcast was on the 29th of May 1950 and I think they are still blathering on about the same problem with the village gala that they were then. Everyday tale of country folk my arse.
But don’t just take my word for it, I’ve downloaded the latest episode to torture you with. Have a listen if you want, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Total raised so far: £2081 ($4158)
The Appeal
Roll of Honour
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