Apicoectomy, Arnie quiz

Thanks to some pulled strings by Lucinda and Laura, I went to see Dr R_____ in Wigan today for an apicoectomy. The first thing that he showed me when I went in was a little sinus on his gum line. He’d had a trauma aged 7, and for 50 years he’d had a chronic abscess behind his front teeth. It caused him no pain, he said, and it drained the fluid out periodically. He seemed eager to tell me his tale, showing me his x-rays and comparing them to mine. He used me a test case, showing his dental nurse what this now rare procedure (rare in local practices these days, he said) looked like. Even Laura came down for a peek. I didn't mind at all - after the strings and whatever else, it was the least I could do.

My mouth went from numb to not numb during the process of interviewing one of my colleagues about a project that we'd worked on together. I love the feeling as the anaesthetic wears off.

I went to Oddest to meet Kate and to participate in the quiz there. It turns out the quiz was Arnie themed, in honour of the great man's birthday tomorrow. The quiz was made for me, Kate said. We didn't win though. Boo.

Remember that I'm still inside, but I'm dry, I'm dry…

My planned evening of peppermint tea and Batman didn't quite work out as I'd planned. Pippa was just back from her holiday, did I want to meet her for a drink? Antibiotics my foot, I thought, yes I do! Even if my drink is going to be alcohol-free! We went to Oddest, and got some food. It was still really busy, even on day two. We had a mexicana combination platter, which was ace. Once Kate finished work, she joined us, and Dunk soon followed. Pip's holiday sounds like it was amazing, especially the water park. As the bar busied up, ZBox and Chubb came in. "We're meeting Steph!" said Chub with a wink. Zbox and Ollie think I should pull Steph - we'd talked about it last week. I wonder if she likes me. The chance arises, and I'm not drinking - bah! Oh well, so it goes. Steph arrived, looking hot.

Shortly Paul, Louise and David showed up. Pippa, can you talk to Louise about Spain? Paul, can you talk to Dunk about Germany? Thanks! Wow, it's easy to introduce people to common conversation topics when you're stone cold sober and they're a little drunk! Is there a career in that? Probably not. In come David III, Amanda and Ruth. I tiptoed down the smalltalk tightrope with Ruth, who I don't know that well - in as much as I was talking to her about appropriate conversation topics for the hairdresser. If I'd overbalanced, it would have been clear that I was putting my smalltalk tips into practice there and then. Luckily, I had my sobriety to act as a balance bar and keep me stable. Phew! A little excursion over to Steph, Chubb and ZBox, a little bit of chit-chat, and then back. Sobriety is exhausting because you get bored much more quickly than if you're drunk. Especially when it comes to talking to drunks.

On my way home, I ran into Sam outside the Marble. She was wearing a red scarf on her shoulders, and was rather drunk. We're going for a beer on Tuesday night. That's payday eve, I thought, but this dry weekend will save me a bomb. As I passed by Fox Plaza, I found myself thinking that I'd had a really good night. And not a drop of booze. Hmmmm. Could I get used to this?

Room to rhyme

After a lovely tea of chicken, spinach, mushrooms and apple amber, Louise and I went to the Chorlton Irish Association Club to watch “Room to Rhyme,” an evening of Irish poetry and folk song. Sounds shit, I thought, I’d much rather go to see the Tempest. How wrong I was! The poetry came in two sections. The first saw each of the women taking on characters from a traditional time in Irish life – the post-mistress, the layer-outer of the dead, the travelling tinker – and the second saw them each tell their own tale of how they moved to Manchester. The first half was entertaining, funny, whimsical, but the second part was really emotive. Moving in the 1950s and 1960s as children or young girls from the countryside to the smoggy brickwork of a dark and grim place was traumatic as described in their mouths, but wonderful too. All of them missed Ireland. None of them wanted to leave. The fear that change brings, and the opportunity. Very moving.

The poems were interspersed with beautiful folk songs. The other people in the room, old, Irish, all sang along.

Holly Wong, 9, knows the truth.

Today was, so the papers said, the most depressing day of the year. Coincidentally, as a good way to tackle this, Louise and I had half-planned a cultural outing. We discussed it last week.

“Would you like to go and see this exhibition at Urbis on Monday?”
“Isn’t Urbis closed on a Monday Louise?”
“No, no it isn’t – I’ve checked the website.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes. 100%”

We got there. Closed. I gave Louise a look. She knew exactly what it meant.

Later on, Dunk invited me round to his for the Liverpool derby. I thought I’d pick up some beers from Carrington’s. Closed. What is it with Mondays? The game was okay, a 1-1 draw that didn’t make either team look particularly good. Dunk showed me this brilliant article (click here) from the International Herald Tribune that collected children’s advice to Barack Obama following his election. Charming stuff. My winner is Holly Wong, aged 9, from San Francisco, who wrote…

Dear President/Mr. Obama,

The best thing about living in the White House would be running around like a maniac. The thing I would like least is the work.

- Holly Wong, age 9, San Francisco

Adult conversation, child’s play

Louise invited me to come for drinks with some friends of friends of hers. Dave and Gemma had an open house, and invited neighbours and friends to pop round. How thoughtful, given that I’ve struggled with getting to know my soon-to-be-moving-out housemate. I really enjoyed meeting everybody. It was a very grown-up bash. Dave is a scientist, Gemma works in IT, Holly for the Geographical Society, Chloe manages a children’s home, and Joanna makes TV advertisements. That’s the Chorlton I want to be part of. Dave suggested we meet up for a pint some time. Yes! What a good idea!

I got into costume, and wandered past Didsbury pointless on my way to Old Lansdowne. On the way, I stumbled across Pervy, struggling to park his car on Cavendish Road. I helped. It was nice to see him, but sort of strange too. I shook his hand and wished him well. As I walked on, for a few sad seconds I thought about what my New Year plans would have been if I were still with Liz. So it goes. Someone called out “Aye Aye Captain,” as I passed the Lime Tree. I raised my hand in a goofy salute, and smiled.

I headed for the Fordbank Cartoon Themed Fancy Dress New Year’s party. I was Captain Haddock. It was ace.

I Am Shit

After another Liz breakfast special – poached eggs and sausages on toast – and a quick rock out to Stairway on Rock Radio, I headed to Spinningfields to meet my old school friend James. Town was very busy because of Gay Pride. A small stage next to Café Rouge hosted some local bands, but as we couldn’t drink and watch the music at the same time, we chose the pub. Louise and some friends came and joined us, with Paul, Guardi, Pippa and Liz not far behind. Pippa and Liz hit it off straight away, and James charmed everybody with his posh accent, noble vocation and tales of his well-travelled last decade. Guardi was a grumpy fucker, no change there. We sat in the sun outside HaHa bar and laughed and drank. I love it when friends that don’t know each other get on.



We watched I Am Kloot at the end of the evening. I Am Shit, more like. Next!



Next it was on to the Sand Bar, where Super Bruce tried to poison me with strong lager, and then to Big Hands. James loves Big Hands. Pippa loves Liz. Liz loves Pippa. James loves Liz and Pippa. I love my friends. And I really love my girlfriend. She’s the guitar solo in my life.

Umbrella

I left my umbrella in Waterstone's yesterday by mistake. I went back today to get it, and was served by the beautiful girl from the 21st May. We didn't have the same sort of zipping conversation, although she did say a couple of things that made me smile. I'd forgotten the New York Trilogy anyway, which was a blow to the plan of wowing her with kindness. I think it's probably too late to do it after today - I wasn't even sure if she remembered me. I remembered her though. Pints with the SACV volunteers and a glorious meal of orange salmon with Louise had taken my mind off my romantic failiure by bedtime.

Local elections 2008

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five.”

This is what counting votes for the local elections feels like.

Conservation, conversation.

With the new job, and associated drama I'd let the bigger picture career-wise slip out of view until today.

I had my first go at conservation volunteering today. In the morning we erected a fence around a bank in the lake at Chorlton Water Park. The fence was designed to keep waterfowl from eating the plants we put in. The roots of the plants will make the bank more resistant to erosion.



In the afternoon we thinned (non-native) Norway Maple saplings from a patch of woodland so that the indigenous flora could thrive, and planted bluebells. The group is made up of some nice people, and I had a brilliant time. Five hours on volunteering doesn't sound like much, but the satisfaction that I got out of it was reassuring - I'm making the right move, I can tell.



Pepe came round for some help with what we've dubbed testa merda - the shit test - a fiendishly difficult listening paper for his non-native English Speaker examination. It's bitchingly tough! Even Louise, who speaks several languages, thought it was hard. Once we'd nailed testa merda, we went on to some tasks for the speaking exam, in which Pepe gives a few short talks / speeches about various parts of his life. We talked about his home village, Montecalvo, and about his twenty-two years of naval service. He told me about his trip to South America, about his time in the Med after 9-11, about boats he'd sailed on and women that he'd known. It was fascinating. Five hours flew by.

Ten hours of work on a Sunday wore me out. In a good way.