It's been a while, hasn't it?

It sure has - and so much has happened since I last caught up with you all. What kind of thing? Well how about:

• Quitting my job - part one, part two, epilogue
• Joining the gym, losing 21-ish lbs
• Visiting the Tower of London - it's awesome!
• My sister's had a baby, a healthy girl called Baden Rose
• Finding out about JET - I'm in!
• Having an inpromptu Parsonage reunion
• Deciding to move to London for July

And that's just for the start of things, really. Busy busy busy. It's cheating I know, but I'll be backdating a few posts to fill in the gaps, and back-linking this post to them retrospectively.

And it's the end of things too. A kind of end at least. My last bullet point is the clue: no more Manchester. So no more DTRMCR? Well, let's see...

Impromptu Parsonage Reunion

Man, I love these guys.

Paul, meet Paul...

When I was talking to Pippa last night, she said, "Ah, so Paul's helping you move eh? He's always helping you out, that boy. What a good friend!"

Spot on, I thought. He sure was helping me out again, with all the big stuff - the desk, the bookshelves, the dining table. His big car and my big stuff...

Paul? Or Satan? Paul? Or Satan?

Wizard’s Sleeve, F.L.A.M.E ,Clown’s Pocket and so on

The scratch-marks down my back burned all evening; it had been an intense afternoon. I headed home after we’d eaten spaghetti, and went to ready myself for Eileen’s 30th birthday. Dunk and Kate were sat at the kitchen table when I arrived, eating pizza. We chewed the fat over a cider, and it was lovely.

Paul plus lamppost equals FAIL

Happy birthday to Lu

As I was walking to the shops to buy some eggs, I texted Lucinda, wishing her a happy birthday . "Oh DTRMCR thank you v much what a memory!" she replied. Several of my friends - Zoe, Jordanna, John M - and acquaintances - Nic, Jon Lyall, Lucinda - share a birthday on this date. And after last year - when Paul, Dunk and I saw Mark Morriss at the museum, then met Lu and Liz and all at Trof - how could I forget? Sometimes I think that having a blog means I'll never forget a significant moment again.

Nostalgia swept over me, and I found myself drifting into the mind of myself a year ago. It's been a period of great change for me.

This time last year I lived with Paul on the West Didsbury side of Withington. Since then I've lived in two different houses in Chorlton, and with five and a half different people. Five and half, because I have three official housemates in Stretford, but I think Dunk should figure in the count too. Ryan replaced Paul in some ways, and not in others. Domestic affairs have had a massive impact on my daily happiness, a fact most demonstrated by how happy I feel now at 106. Living with Kate is brilliant. Big changes. Good changes.

This time last year I was dating Liz, though in hindsight it was quite clearly coming to an end by the now of 2008. Since then we've broken up. Actually we've broken up twice, or three times, depending on how you count things. There was that awful situation in November and December, and the tears we wept afterwards. Beautiful, brave Lizzie. In between, a brief fun month of Stephanie. Over the summer, an ill-advised dalliance with Miss F from work, and the odd handful of flesh and nothingness now and then. Another important factor happiness-wise. Liz was the biggest deal for me romantically since Rigby, and in some ways more so. For example, sometimes it felt like I was dating a woman, rather than a girl. I don't know if I've learned anything about romance in the last year. Muddle on, blind man, beware the ditches out there...

This time last year I had two prominently chipped teeth in the front of my face. Lucinda, the birthday girl, fixed them for me. Looking back at 2009, I think having my teeth repaired will be the main thing that other people remember about my year. Everytime I clean my teeth in the morning I think of, and feel thankful for, Lucinda's amazing generosity and kindness. I feel like my smile works better now, and I'm much more confident about using it. Lessons? Erm...? Use interdental brushes?

This time last year I was starting to hate my job. Despise my job in fact. Lack of purpose was the main cause, and mostly down to the hand that was on the tiller. Since then, things have got worse, and then much worse, and then steadily better. Studying for my Market Research qualification, and the management course I started last month, has kept my mind busy. And my colleagues see what I see too. I feel much more in control of things at this stage than I did this time last year.

Running. That's new too. Cycling. Yup. Owning Batman comic books too. Good new.

My blog was two years old about a week ago. I'd wanted to do a Year Two summary to commemorate it, but I didn't remember the exact date, and ended up missing it. I wonder what Lucinda would think about my memory if she knew.

Bridges

I burn more bridges than I build. Like that DeLorean, a trail of flames often follows me. Unlike that DeLorean, I can't travel backwards in time to make amends.

Last night, at the death of Chubb and Steve's party, I answered the door, and found myself looking at to a once-familiar face. Suze. My old flatmate Paul's old girlfriend. Things hadn't ended nicely - things rarely do, I've found - and I hadn't spoken to her for years. Two years. The last time I saw her was, I think, in Starbucks on Oxford Road. I smiled at her, "Come in!"

There was a time when I saw Suze every day. She was a regular feature of the house on Parsonage Road as things there drew to an end, and the flat by the Bridge Club when things there started out. And then, when things with her and Paul drew to an end, I became increasingly hostile to her. She was, I thought then, treating him badly.

A lot has changed since then. Assuming good faith has helped me handle behaviour I don't fully understand in a more balanced and even way. But somehow Suze had slipped through the net of my zen. Somehow my stubbornness, my affinity for grudge-holding, meant she was stilled filed under *shit* in my mind. My fault.

It was nice to see her. I gave a shit about what she was up to, what she had to say. I tried to show her that I was past all that guff. I don't know what she thought about it.

I burn more briges than I build. But I tried to build last night. I tried.

Be a better friend.

Woody's lectures are going to be just round the corner from work. Well, until we move to Moss Side, that is. If we move to Moss Side. He gave me a call as he was walking past my building, and I went to the window to wave at him as we talked. Do I want to go for a pint, he asked? Yes please.

We caught up. His course. My ill-fated cycling excursion. My course. His bar job. Films we'd seen. Music we'd listened to.

Clare joined us, and Ollie, in the BP, and we headed to Didsbury. Clare and I had pasta and pesto. She wept as she told me about work. I felt useless as I watched, offering advice that wasn't very insightful. My work doesn't make me cry, I thought, at least there's strength there. She apologised, poor love. Is there anything I can do to help, I wondered. Yes. Be a better friend.

Kumbi was in O'Neill's with Steve, Craig and the other Fordbankers. She's not working because of problems with her permit. Will they throw her out, and back to Zimbabwe? Poor love.

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?

Keck hearts Jackon's Boat

After watching the Lions beat the Boks in the thrid test, I walked with Ollie and ZBox to collect Ollie’s car from Chorlton. We went along the river in the drizzle, looping around Mersey Bank park, then up to the lake at the Water Park. We saw a burning bin, and called the fire brigade. It had almost burnt itself out by the time they got there, and I was embarrassed to have troubled them. Safety first, eh? We saw frogs the size of our fingernails. Jackson’s Boat made quite an impression on Ollie. Ollie has a field that we could camp out in, it turns out. I was asked to plan something. It could be very cool – late night games in the woods, beers around the fire – I guess we’ll see what happens.

After chips from the Atlantic Fish Bar back at Rock HQ, Ollie drove me down to Didsbury to see Jim and Sean. Paul’s parents showed up. Steve’s were there too. Guardi said that he has Shed Seven tickets, do I want one? Yes please. I saw Bernie for the first time in ages – since Leo’s birthday, in fact. She was very interested in Lucinda’s handiwork on my teeth.

Impromtu barbecue

I hosted a barbecue for seven this evening, without really meaning to. Woody left his fresh herbs under my care during Glastonbury, and they grew and grew during that time. When I saw Clare for lunch yesterday, I suggested that she should come to my house to collect them.

“Why not come for food too?”
“It’s nice out. Why not have a barbecue?”
“Why not indeed?”

Zoe, Woody, Durex, Paul and Ollie all came by too. The house and garden went down a storm, and the company was great. I’m still a little nervous that the house is a long way for people to come too, especially from Didsbury, but I hope that tonight lessened that psychological distance for my friends.

England vs Argentina

Clare and Paul helped me move house in the morning. Later on, Nick, Kumbi Paul and I went to the England match at Old Trafford. Our seats were so high up in the East Stand that we couldn't see the top half of the goalposts, and couldn't tell if conversions or drop-goals were successful. And there was quite a lot of kicking. The crowd began booing each time ball went to boot. Daft, in that England were fielding a relatively un-tested centre combination, and were never more than a converted try ahead until very close to the end. Bah!

Nick, Kumbi and I went into Chorlton for a couple of pints after the game. Well, more like five pints, as it turned out. Were they more drunk than I was? Well they had started earlier on, during the Lions game.

Mock mock

A morning of revision was broken up by a brief turn out to Clare's for an hour at her barbecue. Woody and Clare, Ollie and Z-Box, Chubb and Steve, Max and Wallis, and Paul were there. I hadn't seen anybody in ages - studies before buddies, right? - and I was a little overwhelmed to be faced with so many all at once. Only Milney was missing from five-seven. What a sweltering day. It wasn't easy to tear myself away, but I did, and pedalled off home.

My mock mock exam went pretty well. I wrote about sampling, and about evaluating a research proposal. Checking through the model answers was reassuring. I think I'll do okay tomorrow in my real mock.

Sunday Blues

At about 9pm, something happened that hasn’t happened for a while. A bout of the Sunday blues. Mild, but there nonetheless. Not so much the dread of having to go back to work tomorrow, but a mild downer at the thought. And another thing - I miss Paul. The stubbornness in me faded, and I wished he was there. *sigh*

Good day, weird evening

After a belting study period in the morning, I met Kate and we checked out the cup cake shop in Chorlton. Lovely! I had Johnny Cash (oreo cookies) and Iggy Pop (vanilla and peanut), and Kate had Omar Sherif (pistachio and Turkish delight) and Chaka Khan (coconut and chocolate). In our sugar high, we charity shopped, and I found American Pie on vinyl for a pound. Smashing stuff!

After a few beers in West Didsbury with Parsonage and 57, I had another one of those weird confidence vacuums, and made my excuses. It had been coming all evening – I’d wobbled on the barbecue and on Ryan’s Irish Centre party – but I was shocked it hit me so hard and so suddenly. It was home or bust, and I went home.

The evening air by Chorlton Park smelt of sulphur, like there’d been a gunshot.

Bluetones and Misty's Big Adventure

Two of my favourite bands? On the same line-up? I'm there! Where? Lancaster? Erm... ah fuck it, I'm still there! Alright!

Dr Jim pulled out at the last mintue, so I asked Paul if he fancied making the journey. He did, which was pretty lucky, as I can't drive, and Lancaster is quite a way away. We made it about half an hour before Misty's were due on, and had a beer and a chat about the rugby.

Misty's were excellent, as always. They started with Long Conveyor Belt, which I like more and more each time I hear it. Some old favourites - Story of Love, Smart Guys Wear Ties - made it on to the set-list, others - Dog Like You, Biscuit Tin - didn't. As always, the highlight for me was Fashion Parade. It's a masterclass in an ensemble stage performance by the whole band - the brass section mincing around like the fashionistas mocked in the song - it's genius. They do it so well, and even though I must have seen it five or six times, it's always entertaining.



The Bluetones were also really good. They played Expecting To Fly in full at the start of the show, and then played a few more songs to close things out. I love their bitter wit, and sharp acceptance of their fall into mediocrity. After we saw Mark Morriss playing under that whale skeleton in Manchester, and we found out that their manager had run off with all of their money (like in "Fashion Parade" Misty's, by the way), comments like, "This is the song that made us all millionaires" (about Slight Return) seemed even more poignant. They're still very good at what they do, but they're not fashionable. I still love them. I bought a t-shirt and three badges. Well, the manager has run off their money. They need all the help they can get.

Salford Mists

I met some really nice people from downstairs on my brilliant GIS course. Work took a turn for the better today as a result. Then I met Paul in the King's Arms for a pint. He seems well, if you exclude his toe. Later Becky and I watched Fellowship of the Ring in the lounge, my first movie in the new flat. It was good to hang out with her.

The story of my year, in not many words

January: Walking boots, job interview, new phone.
February: Tracy and Kate’s Manchester returns, lots of country walks.
March: The debut of the allotment, Libby and Cardiff.
April: Volunteering, a job offer, a crush on a girl in Waterstone’s.
May: The end of crimefighting, a test match at Old Trafford, a new job.
June: Woody and Clare, the first harvests, meeting Liz.
July: Mostly spent falling in love with Liz.
August: The Green Man, Vicky’s barbecue, Dr Jim’s Bank Holiday visit.
September: Lenny’s birthday, Izzy’s birth and work getting shit.
October: Mark Morriss, breaking up with Liz, ferry across the Mersey
November: The Lever Estate, Fireworks, flat hunting
December: Moving house, an upswing.

“I’m not wearing hockey pads”

I’m not enjoying work much at the moment. My boss came over today to talk to me.

“You look like you’re not enjoying work much at the moment.”
“Oh it’s not work. I’ve got personal problems,” I lied, through gritted teeth.
“You’re sure it’s not the job?”

I blathered on about how stressful moving house was, about Liz, about my shock at Paul and Clare deciding to live together, about anything except how little I enjoyed work. She seemed convinced, concerned and nodding. It wasn’t totally untrue; I didn’t fabricate any problems – each of those things has bummed me out in their own way recently – but I left a pretty big one out of the mix. Work. I can come to her any time with my problems, she said, work-related or not. Well that’s a relief, I didn’t say to myself. I couldn’t wait to get out of there and get to the shops. I finally found a toy for Owen, along with a hat for NYE. Blistering barnacles indeed!

Kate and Dunk popped round for a brew, both sniffly, both bearing gifts. Dunk’s gift rattles, like Lego (I hope!), and Kate’s gift feels bookish. I wonder! Pip popped round too with some homemade chutney. How exciting! With Tracy’s and J___’s gift too, I’ll have a mini Christmas all of my own once I get back to Chorlton on 27th. I’d meant to get on with wrapping gifts, but by the time Pip had left, it was quite late, and I had to cook before I could get my sellotape out, and that was before Kate texted. “Are you going to watch The Dark Knight? We’re watching the Dark Knight, so why not come here to watch it.” How could I say no?

On a second watch, on a smaller screen, I noticed more plotting than I had before. Officer Ramirez is prominent at several key moments, for example, where she seemed inconspicuous first time round. The Hong Kong sequence is very, very cool and I love how tight the first scene is. Lean and wiry dialogue, neat ideas, enough unexpected turns to keep the interest. It sets out the tone for the film, the brutal genius of the main character, and the under-plot with the mafia. I’d downloaded and watched it several times anyway, and it never gets tired. Start with a punch? “POW!”