To the hill fort!

We walked up a hill just behind our campsite - the one behind Yos in yesterday's picture - to see the iron age hill fort there. It was spectacular. It's called Tre'r Ceiri Hillfort.

Trefor, Llyn, Ed's birthday

To celebrate Ed’s birthday, we all went camping to Anglesey. The roster was as follows: Ed; Miriam; Thom; Patti; Ali; Sam; Ben P; Yos; Dunk; Laura; me; someone who wasn’t very friendly whose name escapes me; Owain the climber. Laura and I ran into Dunk in the big Tesco at Bangor, and we conspired on what food to pack. The weather was lovely, and we pitched the tent in the sunshine.

We cooked a barbecue on the beach, and then huddled around a fire made from driftwood as the night drew in.

"Put your finger in cider"

Laura and I went to the Manchester Winter Ales Festival, and tried lots of ciders. We tried:

Crones Rum Cask
Dunkerton Kingston Black SV
Gwynt Y Draig Scrumpy
JB Cider
Lyne Down

But the winner, by miles, was...

Christmas Dinner chez Miriam

“Come for Christmas dinner DTRMCR,” said Miriam, “it’s going to be lovely!”
“Yes, please, that sounds lush! I will. What can I bring?”
“Well, may I borrow some chairs?”
“Yes, we’ve got loads, how many do you want?”
“Erm… seven?”
“No problem!”

Break on through to the other side

Bleugh! After our heavy, heavy night in Chorlton, I had a spectacular hangover. Kate did too. Unfortunately, Kate had to go to work at 8am, and then go dancing to celebrate her own birthday that evening. I was able, thankfully, to stay in bed.

Lucian called, explaining that he was in town, and asking if I fancied joining him for a pint. Yes, I thought, why not? Because you feel rough as arses, and very dehydrated? Not good enough! We met in the Northern, and enjoyed a few pints in the company of Jamie. Jamie, a teacher, had raised two butterflies in his class at school. The kids had named one of them Michael Jackson. Pun king Lucian was soon riffing away - "It don't matter if you're Cabbage White." Jamie pointed out that these puns were amongst the least transferrable of all gags because they were so specifically tied to the concept of a butterfly named Michael Jackson. Four pints and many laughs later, we said farewell and I shot back to Stretford.

I don't know how Kate managed to push through her tiredness, but after some booze in the house, we were out again. In the Sand Bar, we ended up divided into two groups: Chaw's friends and Kate's friends. Danesh Ali, Miriam, the Padmores and several others showed up at once, which furthered the wedge between the two halves of the party. So it goes, I guess. When it came to moving to a dancing place, Chaw and her friends elected to drink at the Deaf Institute, while we trooped to the Tiger Lounge. Robbie was there, and Champ too. We danced and drank and danced some more. It was - I think - a brilliant occasion. I think, because my drunken memories are vague... Karaoke at 3am... Chips... Another hangover approaching...?

Joining the dots

Had I not gone to Didsbury last night, I'd have got to work before 9.20, but I would have missed Miriam Brown in the street outside the C_____, and I wouldn't have been invited to the pub with her after work. "It's someone's fortieth, you should come along."

The Peveril was rammed. "Hello Miriam!" I was introduced to people left right and centre, typically in the form, "This is _____," he works for the C_____," or "This is _____," he also works for the C_____." A trickle of fear snaked down my spine, as the wheels of my tiny mind turned.

"Miriam," I asked in a rare quiet moment, "does everybody here work for the C____?"
"Yes, yes it's a work function, so yes, they all do."
My heart stopped, and my mouth went dry.
"Is Liz going to be here?"

Liz, you see, works for the C____ too. Liz and Miriam used to work on the same desk island. I know Liz partly because of Miriam. Liz and I haven't spoken for months. It's like that with some break-ups - most, in my experience. Whilst it might be quite nice to be friends, things haven't taken that route. So it goes. And there I was, in the middle of a work function that she might be at. Yikes.

"No, she's away at her sister's wedding."

Phew! I have no beef with Liz, but it would have been awkward for both of us if we met by surprise, especially on "her turf."

The evening developed into one of the best nights I've had in ages. The company was wonderful. Like musical chairs, I found myself sitting next to a new face every ten or fifteen minutes. Stories of volunteering, of Lagos, of poo flying twelve feet, or dogs being put down as a smokescreen. A riot of conversation. As various names were attached to faces around the table, I started to remember some of the stories Liz had told me about her colleagues. In incompetent temp here, a married man having an affair there. Pulling up their file from my mind once I'd identified them made me feel like I was Robocop, or The Terminator.

You'll never get to heaven in a camper van...

T Shirt: Batman, light blue
Weather: Hot, with light rain later on.

What a relaxing day. Partly out of solidarity for Dunk’s driving, and partly as a result of feeling queasy during the day on Saturday, I decided to stay off the booze all day. My knee hurt a little too, so I planned to spend as much of the day sitting down as possible.

We ran into Miriam and the Padmore party, Evan, Clem and Al at the bank by the main stage. In a tumble of hugs and joy, we sledged down the hillside on our backsides.

The group dynamics of the festival as a whole were strange – the parties that we lounged around with were made up of various friendships, some strong and deep, others mild and frivolous, some overlapping, others independent of one another. I know Thom, who knows Spud, but Spud and I don’t know each other at all. The rules of interrupting a conversation between two of your friends are markedly different to those governing interrupting a conversation between your friend and a stranger. With the former, in general, one would wait until they were done, whereas with the latter, in general, one might interject earlier. This difference was very prominent in the festival environment. I found myself interrupted as the stranger, or interrupted as the friend, on more than one occasion. I’m sure I must have interrupted as the outsider too.

There were so many people there, flowing past, who maybe I’d meet again, or maybe not – Sally Pilkington, Evan, Spud, Cassie. Who knows?

I wasn’t impressed with Trembling Bells, whose vocal gymnastics bored me, but I thought Cranium Pie were ace. I might have gotten over my crush on the She of She Keeps Bees – not quite as charismatic when she’s a bit further away. I thought that the Yellow Moon Band didn’t really get going, a difficult trait to succeed with at the tired end of festivities. Dirty Three were fun, and funny. And Wilco? Wow. Stunning.

Dunk’s endurance drive home started at 12.26, and ended at 4.20. What a hero. We tried to keep him awake with classic rock, volume up LOUD, and with a little rhyming game…

You’ll never get to heaven in baked bean tin…

…because a baked bean tin’s got beans in.

The best of which was

You’ll never get to heaven in a bacon sarnie…

….because a bacon sarnie smells like Arnie

“I’ll be BAC-on.”

The Green Man party line-up

looks like this:

Dunk
Kate
Ryan
Miriam
Culture Thom
Ali Danesh
Ed Chemical?
Paul Collins + some
Saxaphone Kate
Nic from Oddest + some
Sionedd + some

…and I think there are a couple of bands on too.

Work sucks, I know

Sam, whose job has changed under the workings of a Dark Lord and is moving to a police station...

Thom, trying to find a job in London to be with his belle...

Miriam, whose organisation is making 50% of its workforce redundant...

...hanging out with some friends this evening made me feel better about my current working arrangements.

Cycling, Miriam, Beer, Beer, Beer

I went to a cycling conference with ALF. The audience’s attire was mixed: a suit here; a short-sleeved shirt, smart shorts and loafers combo there; several in a polo shirt and khakis; one or two hardcore types in neon and lycra.

Afterwards I met up with Miriam, who I hadn’t seen for ages. It was brilliant to see her. We talked about cycling, about running, about work, and about chewing gum. Nothing much, but much more than nothing too. We pulled into Stockport, and hooked up with Thom and Al before the Beer Festival. Thom was being weird again, as he has been for the last six months since he moved out of Withington. Distant, disinterested, elusive. Where’s his appetite for fun gone?



At the beer festival I drank…

Crown Wheat Beer 5.5%
Ulverston Harvest Moon 3.9%
Salopian Barry's light Mild 4.0%
Marble Bee 4.8 %
Farmhouse medium 5.8%
Janet’s Jungle Juice at 6%
A pint of something else strong

…and thought I’d lost my keys. Hammered.

“Maybe she’s not a keeper.”

"Maybe she is."

As I arrived at the Sand Bar, Ed was chatting to some strangers about Kraftwerk. He looked well, all smiles and little boy haircut, and collar sticking out of his jumper. When was the last time I’d seen him? For some football in the Vic, maybe three months ago? Wow. We had a couple of beers, and caught up. The saga of Ed and Miriam goes on. I think it will go on and on, and I believe it will end in a good way too. A few words of wisdom really got me thinking about some things to do with me. I bloody love Ed Padmore.

Thom's house

My good friend Thom moved away from Manchester today. He was the main connection in my life between Sheffield and Manchester, and now he has gone, to Chester, briefly, and then on to London. Last night I went round to his house to collect the Woody Guthrie CD I’d lent him, and for one last beer under his roof. I was glad Ed was there too.

I felt sad. With all the toys packed away, it didn’t seem like their house anymore. What happened to the bookshelves? And where had that breakfast bar come from? It was like looking at an echo of the place I knew, the same but fainter, distorted. Thom’s house was the setting for lot of fun times. I remember sweet potato and goats cheese mash and making a crumble one Sunday after the football. I remember playing the name game on the night that Owen was leaving. I remember a very spicy Chorizo soup. I remembered kissing Liz for the first time, the exact moment, in the yard. The pizza party, jerk chicken with Kier, watching The Warriors projected onto the wall. I remember chopping with Miriam one afternoon, as we waited for everybody else to get there. I remember taking Pippa round for mulled wine last Christmas.

“It’s odd how your situation mirrors mine,” said Thom. “There’s something therapeutic about putting things into boxes, don’t you think?” Thom’s house was a happy place for me, an escape from Everett when I wanted to bolt. I wish that I could get it out of a box when I need it in the future. That’s not how things work though.

Fireworks

Ingredients for a good fireworks night:



4 bottles of good cider
1 flask of mulled wine
Miriam
Liz



10 sparklers
Thom
1 chicken, roasted
tonnes and tonnes of tasty cheese

Chorizo soup, Pete, 4-1

Chorizo and bean soup with Thom, Miriam and Ed, was very tasty, but also so spicy that my ring stung the next day. Yum, but oww! Pete, Pippa's ex with whom I'd not seen eye-to-eye back in the day, was in the Vic. We chatted, got on ok. Very well, actually. England won 4-1. Walcott scored a hat-trick. I'd predicted a 2-0 defeat.

Top shelf material, jerk chicken, jerk fish

My new phone arrived today, but it didn’t come with a back. Rubbish!

Not rubbish, however, was dinner at Miriam’s house. Spicy fish soup! Jerk chicken! Tasty bread! Yeah! Kier, who I’d met at the Green Man, came too, and it was brilliant to catch up with him again. He’s very easy to get along with. Jos, on the other hands, ground my gears a bit. I like him most of the time, but he was being a bit of a show-off, in my opinion. Oh well, we all have bad days, and that was one of his, I guess.

Where the fuck are Punt and Dennis?

I watched my first Olympic events today. The Spanish and Russian creative synchronised swimming was amazing. I remember sarky gets like Punt and Dennis spouting off when team synchronised swimming was made part of the Olympics in ’96. Twelve years on, sychronised swimming is still entertaining millions on the telly. Where the fuck are Punt and Dennis?

Liz and Gemma came with me down to Old Bedes to watch Paul play his first game of rugby in fifteen years. Gemma and Liz get on very well, which is good for two reasons: one, it’s good that they get on because it’s good when ANY two people click; two, it meant that they could chat to each other, and wouldn’t get too bored whilst I watched the game. It was a gorgeous day, and I was really in the mood for booze, so I hit the Strongbow straight away. A good move!

After the match we met Miriam in the Red Lion, and then all headed over to 46 to rustle up a Bolognese. It turned into an epic session, with Pervy and Paul getting on like a geek house on fire(fox) – interfacing, someone said – oodles of drinking, and loads of fooling around. I think Lu was a little embarrassed that Pervy pumped up Miriam’s tyres, but it was a well-intentioned move, bless him.

Ed, Miriam, Ed

Pizza party

Miriam invited Liz and I round to hers and Thom’s (and Ed’s) for one the best dinners I’ve had in ages. Skater Paul made the table up to six. Ed made courgette fritters from a Nigel Slater recipe that we astonishingly tasty. I felt I’d eaten mine rather too quickly as I lustily watched everybody else savouring theirs. The main course, the main joy of the meal, was pizza.

After part-baking the handmade base, Ed brought it over to the table, and – by committee – the six of us decided on our toppings. Five more minutes in the oven, one slice of heavenly pizza each, repeat until fade. Delicious, and easily the most sociable and collaborative meal making process I’ve been through for ages. And the most enjoyable.

At one point in the evening, smoking outside with Liz, we shared a smile and a little reminiscence. It was where we’d had our first kiss.

I hadn't played chess for ages...

...not since Uni, at least. I think it might have been against my old housemate Ben. But I played tonight, and I won.

I met Liz after work and went for a sly couple of pints at Dukes 92, then we ate chips over ale together in the back of the Vic. I went round to Thom and Miriam and Ed's house for a few beers, a nibble of bruschetta, a little pot and a consequently very intense game of chess.

Never the master tactician, I didn't set out with any particular strategy, other than to try to keep hold of my big hitter pieces. I tickled Thom into leaving his Queen open, then rattled around the back corners of the board clearing out his rooks. Blitzkrieg!