Nose back to the grind stone...
"I Have Never played such a pathetic Ten Pin Bowling game."
My lack of a post yesterday was purely out of drunkeness.
It being pay day, one of my colleagues had organised a night out. I'd had every intention to get home relatively sober and post at the end of the night. This didn't happen because I was feeling decidedly morose.
About 15 of us had signed up to go bowling. However, we were not booked in until 9pm. What to do between 5pm and 9pm? Of course! Retire to a local hostelry. Three or four pints later and it was time to go to the alley.
I've not been to this particular place before. First impressions were that it was a bit dingy. I played a game of pool with one of the customer assistants. The fact that I lost both frames should have warned me that tonight was not going to be a winner. A little too much alcohol had definitely impinged on my focus...
The lanes were now ready for us, so we got changed into our bowling shoes. The security guard who the place employed was a bit of a muppet - he ordered us to change shoes somewhere else, away from the front entrance, because we were 'Making the place look a mess'. A fine bit of customer service, if ever there was one. I finished putting my shoes on where I was, but he had deeply irritated me. Not the right mood at all to start bowling.
For the rest of the evening, this self serving jobsworth proceeded to give us grief at regular intervals, ordering us to be careful with our drinks etc. etc. I was ready to complain by the end of the night, but it turned out that one of our party knew the owner of the venue, and had complained to him direct. Suffice to say, it's unlikely the security guard will be in that job much longer.
This imbecile was not my soul source of dissatisfaction, though. My bowling was appalling. Now, I'm not a bowling king by any means, but I usually get over 100 and have been known to reach 140.
Tonight was not one of those nights.
Tonight my highest score was 72.
72!!!
I could blame various things...
a) The security guard.
b) The fact that by the time I was bowling I'd drunk 5 or 6 pints.
c) The lack of sleep I've had this week.
All feeble excuses. However, the one I can't shake is the pain in my wrist.
It's been getting worse over the last couple of weeks. I blame overuse of a mouse. There's this continual dull ache in my right wrist, which naturally intensified eah time I attempted to lift a heavy bowling ball. My aim was predominately erratic because each time I stepped up to bowl I got a shooting pain up my arm...
Some people will probably say, 'Yeah right, you just can't face the fact that you were beaten by the majority of your employees, the majority of whom are female.' Well, I can't deny that my pride was considerably punctured last night. Even so, I really should go to the doctors and get my wrist checked out.
Of course, being in Denial, I'm not actually registered with a doctor...
I'll probably just put up with the ache and hope it goes away.
Typical 'bloke' behaviour.
One things for certain, I won't be going bowling again anytime soon.
"When did you last have your pride punctured?"
Sorry, no post today...
"I Have Never felt as guilty as now..."
Purposefully approaching a Traffic Cone at 90 Miles Per Hour...
"I Have Never been as exhilarated behind the wheel of a car."
Wow.
I had to write about this as soon as I got home. What a day.
I got up at 6am. Drove to pick up my boss Charlotte and colleague Jeremy, who were due to join me on the driving day.
Drove another hour up towards Darlington, where Croft Race Course is. We were half an hour early and it was raining.
Anyone who knows anything about driving knows that rain is not the best condition to drive in...
We went to sign up, show our licences etc, only to discover that there was no record of us. Where we thought it was going to be a networking event for a range of AMCAT customers, it turned out that it was to be just the three of us being treated by their racing team, while other members of the public drove their luxury cars around us. Naturally, this made us feel considerably more special.
The morning remained overcast. Conditions were not best for someone who had last seen a racing track upside down. My first drive was decidedly shaky. The gear stick of the souped up Fiesta we were to spend the majority of the day driving was very sensitive. I succeeded hitting 4th instead of 2nd gear on various occasions. Lotus's (Loti? What is the plural of Lotus?) & Lamborghinis sped around me. My driving support was vey understanding.
After lunch, we had the chance to be a passenger in a racing car. By this time, the clouds were starting to clear, the course drying out. The speeds went up. Motors all around were firing loudly.
I got my second run as driver as the sun began to come out.
What a drive!
Our driving support was more than supportive, and somehow really broke down my normal safety barriers. How? Mainly by grabbing the steering wheel from the side and directing me at various cones around the course, while commanding in my ear "Put your foot down!"
Over a mere three or four laps of the course, I must have improved my lap time by a remarkable amount.
I've said it once and I'll say it again.
Wow.
More please. Soon. Thanks to all involved.
"What has recently succeeded in making your heart beat twice it's normal pace?"
Driving Day
"I Have Never been a guest at a Corporate Entertainment Event."
Tomorrow that's going to change. I've been invited to attend a racing day, courtesy of the kind people who have recently installed our very expensive new phone system. I figure that I'm really going by default - I've had no real input into the purchase of said system, but both the guys who have don't yet have their driving licences...
Now, don't get me wrong. I've been to these type of events before. With the big chemical company I mentioned a couple of days ago, life was one big round of corporate entertainment. The only difference is that I've always played the role of host. At various golf days, it's been me chugging around in the buggy, the back loaded with drinks and chocolate, dealing stuff out on the freeway.
I've been to go karting numerous times. As the sponsor. Plenty of people all around me (who I don't know) all patting me on the back and thanking me for my generosity. I've always found it a bit false...
Is it going to stop me having a ball? Hell no!
One thing, though. The last time I went to a day on a racing track, I wound up upside down in a BMW.
OK, maybe I should back peddle a bit. Now my previous company were (and probably still are) profoundly interested in 'Safety Driver Training'. Good sense for their people, or cheaper insurance premiums? You decide.
Anyway, it had been decided that we should all do skid pan training. There were 7 or 8 of us, my ex boss included. The morning had passed off without a hitch.
Then my colleague John stepped up to attempt the 'Avoiding The Box' maneouvre.
I should highlight here that the training company, in it's infinite wisdom, had assured our company that it would be 'perfectly safe' to use our company cars. Hence John sat in the driving seat of his own BMW, the instructor sitting next to him, me wedged in behind John. 3 of us sat at the top end of a wet runway...
We set off. The instructor was to motion for John to deliberately swerve (as if Avoiding a Box in the road). He did so. We swerved. John corrected, then over corrected. The car went into a spin, then slid sideways towards a rather more 'grippy' part of the road. The change in surface led to the car flipping and landing on the roof.
Unless you've been in an upturned car, it's difficult to explain what an alien environment is. Once the car had stopped spinning, my sole focus was on getting out. I'd seen far too many action films where cars exploded... I wasn't going to be in it if it chose to ignite. Here I was, suspended from what had, only seconds ago, been my seat. Now it was the ceiling. Reaching up, I unhooked the seat belt and fell to the roof. The door handle was also not really designed to be opened from above, but I was out in under a minute.
John told me afterwards that his first thought was if everyone was OK. He'd asked the question in the car, and had no response from me. Adrenalin must have kicked in. I was so focussed that any extraneous sounds had been shu out. The escape mechanism had kicked in.
There was a huge kerfuffle. We were both informed that we were not to drive home (let's face it, John couldn't as his car was now a write off). Everyone was asking us if we were OK. John was as white as a sheet. I, on the other hand, saw it as a situation to joke. It had been like a rollercoaster and as no-one had been hurt, I was heard to comment 'Again! Again!' Maybe not the best way to amuse your boss, who has just been faced with the possibility he might have lost half his sales team... and the definite fact that one of the company cars is going to have to be signed off with no comeback.
So, off I am to a different race track. I won't be driving my own car, though.
What's the worst car accident you've been involved in?
Fluid
"I Have Never had to dry a bathroom with a hairdyer."
Lost my point a bit in last night's post. Think I'll try and keep this short and sweet.
One of the comments I got today reminded me of a story from when I first got my job with the big American Chemical Company.
This was pre Emma. I was seeing a girl called Sonia. She'd moved into my flat down near London two or three weeks after we'd started seeing each other (don't ask... this is not that story). I, hot thrusting salesperson that I was, had been tasked with going up North for a couple of days, leaving her alone in the flat for the first time.
She'd asked me to ring her when I got to Leeds...
Now having studied in this fair city, many of my uni mates still lived here. In fact, I think I was staying at one of their houses. As soon as I got there we were down the pub, me treating my skint mates to a round. My promise of a call was long forgotten.
It hit me as I was driving back down the motorway the next day. Doh! Was I going to be in hot water when I got home. I stopped at a service station and purchased a token of apology - a green, fluffy frog shaped thing. I figured that, although it wouldn't stop me getting an ear bashing, it might reduce it's duration.
Yet, when I got home, what did I find? Not a raging, livid banshee, but someone in floods of tears, all apologetic.
We went into the front room, and I sat Sonia down. She started to explain how, as I was away, she'd decided to have a soak in the hot tub. She'd turned the taps on and, just as it was starting to run, the phone rang. It turned out to be a friend she'd not spoken to for a while. She'd perched on the sofa and got into a bit of a natter...
I'd not looked into the bathroom as I came in. Sonia led me there now. The bathroom floor was soaked. She'd been in tears because she was scared that I would lose it. She'd rung her parents. I think her mum had come over during the day to help her with a hairdryer, but still the carpet was saturated.
I just laughed. Here we both were, thinking that we'd both messed up. Expecting the worst. Each as bad as the other.
I gave her the frog thing. Told her not to worry, it would dry out eventually. Apologised for not calling.
It lasted about three months.
Why does it seem that my relationships hit the buffers after three months?
Sales Plan
"I Have Never tried to write a sales plan."
OK. I know that sounds mind numbingly tedious, but I have been running away from my past work history for too long. I am steeped in sales up to my neck.
I used to work for A Big American Chemical Company. I gave them six years of my life.
The first three years I really enjoyed.
I was straight out of Uni and into a well paid job. I was soon driving a company car (a BMW) and out on the road.
Selling insulation into the building industry. Again, not riveting, but hey, how many jobs are?
I really enjoyed sales, too. The buzz of persuading someone to buy something that hours, days, weeks ago they would not have considered. My ethics were important to me and I believed totally in the product.
Then Emma joined the company. I'd been single for a while. She came in to replace my boss's outgoing secretary.
We got on. After a couple of months we 'really' got on. I guess I persuaded her. I sold the idea of me to her. The buzz of the sell maybe blinded me to the importance of the after sell.
Looking back, I was naive. After three months it petered out. For me, that three months had been great. She'd been a support at work, promoting my best features to my boss. I'd been very demonstrative about our relationship. Foolishly I told everyone at work. I'd meet her when she flew up to Manchester from London with flowers. I'll never forget the look of disgust on her face.
"How could you embarrass me like this?"
I'd never thought that someone wouldn't appreciate flowers. However, I see now that she was intensely private, and this caused a scene where everyone was looking at us. I like being the centre of attention. I guess Emma didn't.
Anyway, we split just after New Year 2001. I took it badly. My work declined. I was scared, though.
How could I possibly leave this great job? That paid well? Gave me a great car?
The material things blinded me to the fact that I could never be happy in this environment. I was no longer talking to Emma, and because of that I was no longer talking to my boss. I was left hanging out in the wind.
But I stick with it for what? 2,3 years?
I read somewhere recently (another blog, sorry I forget which) that if you put a frog in a pot of boiling water it will jump straight out. Put a frog in a pot of cold water though, then gradually turn up the heat - eventually it will boil alive.
I was definitely a case of the latter. I'd found this cosy pot. I wasn't just going to jump because it got hot. I boiled.
My boss eventually told me that things needed to improve or I would have to be relocated to Germany.
Even then I considered bashing on.
What made me leave? One spring day I was sat in my parents' back garden. We were talking about work.
I admitted I hated it.
Mum said "So why don't you leave?"
I'd always thought that my parents would be disappointed if I quit this well paid, high flying job. I have this 'perfect son' thing. Here I was being faced with the fact that all my parents really cared about was my well being.
I rang my boss and quit the next day.
I remember listening to "There Goes The Fear" by Doves. It could never have been more appropriate. It was over.
I've always put this failure down to my dislike of sales. I never hated sales, though. I hated having to deal with a failed relationship. Having it rubbed in my face (Emma got together with another sales person in the company).
Now, in my new company, I am ready to re-approach sales. With open arms.
Come to daddy.
What have you learnt from failure?
Replying to comments.
"I Have Never attempted to reply to everyone who has posted a comment here."
Well, I thought it would be good blog etiquette. I had an empty day today, so figured what the heck?
Two hours later and I'm pretty much spent. I decided not to post comments on people who were under sixteen, as I thought it would be perceived as a bit odd. Some bloke who's nearly thirty talking to 13 year old girls? That sort of thing tends to be frowned on.
I also found one site where my comment was rejected for 'possible dubious connotations'. Now, I can't decide whether that was because of my name, or the fact that I was referring to a post she had made about her cat. All I wanted to do was tell the story of a friend of mine who had a cat crawl into the engine space of his car... for those of you concerned, the cat was discovered safe and well before my mate had a chance to drive any great distance.
What's the funniest comment you've posted on someone else's site?
New Skin...
"I Have Never wrestled so extensively with the complexities of HTML."
I've just spent about 4 hours changing this blog's template... It has sapped my creative writing juices.
What do you think of the new design?
If you like it, I must admit I can't be held totally responsible. I found it here. Thanks go to Annie once again for directing me there...
Gutted...
"I Have Never been as disappointed by an answer machine message."
The results of my audition came through on my phone today. I think the title of this post says it all. No cigar (and I expect not even close).
Bugger.
Still, it's not the worst thing I've got through my mobile. That would have been just over a year ago (March 6th 2004)...
I had the role of 'Inspector' in Christie In Love by Howard Brunton. Ironically, it was also directed by Iain who has just put my theatrical plans for the next month into turmoil (yes, I know - chickens, hatched etc. Bad Me!).
I have never been as pleased by a performance I have given as I was in that show. However, I didn't invite my parents because of the subject matter. Also, dad was performing with his choir on the Saturday performance.
I knew Grandpa wasn't well. He'd not been well since Christmas. I thought I'd get down to Birmingham to see him once the play was over. I was so deeply involved. This was the part I had put my all into. The theatre had been closed for renovation work since Christmas, and we were the show which would re-open it. Through tight direction ('Don't act, BE etc.'), I had managed to dispense with my 'thinking face' (a gurning trick I would pull on a bizarrely regular basis, which in no way could be representative of thinking, but more related to some form of internal constipation).
Grandpa could wait.
So I thought.
I came off stage after the second and final night triumphant. Dashing downstairs, I got out of my 1950's get up. Took a razor to the (perculiarly) ginger moustache I had cultivated for the role. Got back into my casual gear, ready for a night out with the rest of cast and crew. Got myself a bottle of beer. Chatted with pals for a couple of minutes, then remembered I'd left my mobile on silent. Went to switch it back to ring, to discover I had 3 texts which had arrived through the evening. They were from my sister, and ran something along these lines...
"Grandpa's taken a turn for the worse. Me and mum are with grandma."
"We're at the hospital."
"Grandpa has just passed away."
Just recounting it brings a lump to the throat. I was outside, I remember that much. My back to my friends, reading the last text over and over...
I just turned around. Kat (for regular readers, my chum who is currently in Barcelona) was stood there. I'd told her about Grandpa not being well... I think that she was the only one I'd told.
She gave me a hug.
I can't thank her enough...
"When has someone been there for you when you least expected? Do you have a good samaritan?"
Nerves
"I Have Never been so nervous about an audition."
I've just got back from the theatre. That was a long audition.
I got there early. I may have mentioned this before, but I'm an "on time" not an "in time" person. The former (invariably) is ridiculously early, but arrives safe in the knowledge that they'll never be late. The latter usually turns up at exactly the right time... unless they get delayed. I blame my mother - but then that's another story, and it would be churlish to complain after yesterday's gush.
Anyway, I arrive at about ten past seven to find the place deserted. Concerned I've got the wrong night (is it really Thursday? Strange. It still feels like Wednesday) I call Iain, the Director. No... I have got the right night, but he and Mike (the writer) are having a drink in the pub before things kick off.
They arrive 5 minutes later, followed by numerous people that I don't know.
I'd not expected this. I though it would be the 'usual' crowd. Clearly Iain has been spreading the word far and wide. I begin to worry. Some of these people even begin to look like 'professionals' in my warped mind. I know they're not. I think...
We go upstairs. Do a few warm up games (running around, sitting on each other's laps in a circle). Then we get asked to go back downstairs and wait our turn. We'll be called up in pairs (male/female) to do a piece of the script 'blind'.
Again this is not what I'd expected. I'm used to workshop auditions where everyone pitches in simultaneously. I get paired with Lucy, who fortunately I know. We do the scene about 3rd. I have to play the part of Mo. Mo is supposed to fancy Kat who Lucy plays. The impression I get is that he is supposed to be quite lewd about it.
I don't really do lewd.
Instead, I do a kind of cross between schoolboy crush and scary stalker. I doubt that this is what Iain and Mike are looking for.
Still, I'm really targeting the character of Jack. I'll get another chance with the next piece we do.
I return downstairs, and get chatting to someone I'd not met before called Claire. She proves highly entertaining and this passes the time very enjoyably. Then I realise that M is here.
I don't want to say too much. Let's just say that I'd cast M in the past. It didn't work out. Now I have two options.
1) Acknowledge M and bring him into the conversation.
2) Ignore him.
Even though he is sitting right in front of me.
And staring at me intently.
Naturally, I choose the path of the coward. Still he interjects anyway (after about 10 minutes...)
He tells us he is wearing two bracelets. Except they're not bracelets. They're really necklaces. He just prefers to wear them around his wrists.
We nod.
We smile.
Iain saves us. It's time to do the next section.
I get grouped with Lisa (someone I know! Hoorah) and a kid (who I don't and now feel somewhat foolish that I didn't catch his name - he'll probably get the part now).We run over the scene we've been given a couple of times. Then it's up the stairs of doom...
I can't say I gave my best. I'd been much more convincing as Jack downstairs (in my head).If you hear no more of this, you'll know that I didn't get in.
(Although I may still try and wangle a role as Shadow Director. After all it's a really good script)
When have you unexpectedly got nerves?
Pride
"I Have Never been as proud as when my mum won an award."
I thought that, seeing as I'm using one of her photos, I should post about my mum.
My mum started taking photos in earnest in the early 90's. She wanted a change of direction after having been a teacher for most of her life. So, she enrolled on a two year course at a local college.
Her break came in a bizarre fashion. While taking a picture of a local fair, she came across our local politician (a Conservative who shall remain nameless) and a UK children's TV presenter (Andy Crane). The politician was playing a game which involved throwing darts at a board covered in playing cards. The TV presenter was having his picture taken with a kid by my mum.
The politician threw all three darts at the cards, and missed with every throw. Turning around, annoyed, he spied my mum and stormed over. Grabbing her by the lapels and shaking her (mistaking her for the paparazzi) he demanded.
"You'd better not have taken any pictures of me doing that!"
My mum's response was something along the lines of:-
"I'm just taking pictures of Andy here with this child. I only take pictures of happy stories."
The politician was somewhat taken aback. He retreated.
Mum told us the story when she got home. We suggested that she contact the press, but she refused to do so. You see, she didn't want to get involved in a 'nasty' story.
Now (perhaps completely unrelated) the next day, mum was offered a job. With a local newspaper. This paper had 'contacts', shall we say. Mum, naturally accepted the job. After all, it was a chance to take happy pictures and get paid.
Every now and then one of her pictures would attract the interest of the Manchester Evening News. She began to court this interest by taking the editorial team jam and bakewell tarts. This seemed to amuse them, but it also seemed to be that her pictures started to feature more prominently.
The Guardian took some interest. So did the Times Educational Supplement. 5 years or so later I found myself in the Guildhall in London at an awards ceremony.
Labour had just come to power. This particular award ceremony was one of Tony Blair's earliest engagements. He was to present the winners with their awards. I'd been invited because at the time I was living close to the capital. Mum had travelled down with other nominees from the Manchester Evening News.
The award ceremony was sponsored by Guinness (something to do with Black & White pictures I think). Now, as you may realise from last night, this is my tipple of choice. As I didn't know anyone other than mum, I drank quite a few pints...
Soon the presentation ceremony was under way. Mum was up for three awards. Each nominee was to receive a glass decanter, which meant that mum was going to at least walk away with three pieces of glassware.
In great pomp & circumstance the PM arrived. Lots of flashbulbs went off (well it was a Press Awards Ceremony). The evening got to Best Regional Black & White Picture.
My mum won it.
Drunkenly, I think I jumped up and down and punched the air. It was an exhilirating moment. She collected her (third) decanter, but this one was filled with Guinness and came with a £1000 cheque.
That particular decanter was the one I ended up carrying around. Maybe I drank a bit of the contents, too. The end of the evening rolled around and I attempted to put the (now empty) decanter back in it's box. The box had a sleeve that you had to slide it into. I decided to balance the box against my belly while attempting this task. The box slipped...
There was a sound of breaking glass. I sobered up pretty quickly. The Guildhall employees looked at each other and raised an eyebrow or two. I picked up the pieces and took them to my mum.
"Erm, I'm afraid I've dropped your main award." I said. Feebly attempting to garner sympathy, I also pointed out that I'd cut my finger on the broken glass.
"It's OK," said mum. "I've got another two of them. What would I do with three crystal decanters anyway?"
Bless her.
She got another decanter the year after and a couple of years after that.
You can see some of her pictures here.
Who are you proud of?
Do you ever tell them?
Workmate
"I Have Never really got to know my work colleague Martyn."
I'd planned to get home tonight after work at 5.30pm and spend time on sorting out my blog skin. However, Marv asked me if I fancied a pint and it seemed churlish to say no.
I don't want to go into detail about what we talked about. I've had 4 pints of Guinness in the middle of the week which I never do ;-). Things have been got off our chests. Compliments have been paid. I rolled in about 10pm. My blog design can wait another day.
Oh, and I do intend to respond to every person who has been so kind to comment on my blog so far (but do be aware this is a drunk man talking).
Question is, How well do you know your work colleagues?
My fears...
"I Have Never been filmed talking about my fears before."
There's a new show happening soon at the theatre I'm involved with. It's called 'The Cleaners' and it's been written by the writer in residence, Mike Stewart. I'd do (almost) anything to get a part, as there is talk of working with professional actors and the possibility of a Spring tour...
Anyway, part of the build up occurred tonight. Mike's been asking people from our theatre group to be filmed talking about their fears. Well, the audition's not until Thursday, but I thought, what the heck? Nothing better than a bit of pre audition priming...
So, this is how I found myself in a room with Mike and a cameraman. I signed a waiver form to say that anything recorded could be used in the show, and I would not be able to see the edit beforehand (I'm not averse to chucking my rights away every now and again). Mike suggested we try a couple of dummy runs, where he comes up with things I could be afraid of, and I ad lib...
First of these was 'Hair'. Have you ever heard of anyone being afraid of hair? Well, I witter on for a couple of minutes. I talk about my dislike of long hair on men. I theorise that the logic of the fear is that long hair could get trapped in heavy machinery. I conjure up an image of some long haired workman being trapped in the cogs and being inexorably sucked into the guts of the beast... I then take an abrupt left turn and discuss my concern that I might find hair in food. I never have, of course (I usually eat in fairly poorly lit environments, it makes the food look better). However, I envisage finding a curly hair... I think I'll draw a veil there.
This first train of thought has amused Mike, so he chooses to try me with another random 'fake fear'. TOMATOES.
I ask you, tomatoes? How can I work with this material? Still, I persevere.
I reminisce about when, as a kid, I stepped on a ladybug (out of normal boyhood malice). How the bug came back and haunted me in my dreams (so far, so true). Then I explain how, in the dream it became a huge animated tomato (ok, so now I'm diverging). How this giant tomato has chased me ever since, chanting 'You stood on me, now I'm going to stand on you, see how you like it." Again I throw in a curveball. My concern that so much of our daily diet is now made up of tomato. Think about it - pizza, lasagne, chilli con carne, erm, well, other stuff...
(KETCHUP ah ha!)
What would happen if our tomato supply became contaminated? I leave this hanging in the air.
I think I preferred talking about hair. Mike asks me to move onto my real fear. I decide to discuss one which I have confronted and dealt with. My fear of talking to people on the phone.
I don't know where this really came from. It was not the fear I'd intended to discuss. Good ol' me - same as usual, living in denial.
I explain how, when small, I would let the phone ring when I was the only one in the house. How, I wished we'd got an answering machine sooner. How making calls out was excrutiating when I had to talk to my grandparents. Strangers were even worse.
It seems ridiculous looking back. After all, I work in a call centre now. I faced the fear head on in my teens, doing a couple of telesales roles. It was just another part of growing up.
I didn't think it turned out as interesting as the fake fears. It definitely wouldn't have trumped my initial plan of talking about my fear of love. I reckon that would have floored him.
But I bottled it.
So, What Do You Fear?
Oink! Oink!
"I Have Never drawn a pig to enable a psychological analysis before."
Pig Drawing
This was very entertaining, but way out on the tail reference... Also, think my pig should have been a little more portly...
Ooh, and I've just learnt about links. I've never done that before either. So simple, too. Doh!
Thanks are due to Annie for pointing me in the direction of the pigs.
How about visiting my friend's blog?
"I Have Never asked the blog community to put a smile on someone's face."
OK. This is a bit of a bizarre one. I'd like you all to go and say HI! to a friend of mine. Kat's only just started up her blog. It's
http://tales-of-a-katakus.blogspot.com
Now, she's currently on her year out in Europe and has spent some time in France. She's now made her way over the border to Spain, more specifically Barcelona. I think she's feeling a bit out on a limb, though.
As you can see from the pic on her blog, she's a lovely looking lass (she's the ginge on the left...).
Why not leave a message in Spanish? (http://babelfish.altavista.com/ might help...). Oh, and mention I sent you...
Thank's for yesterday's answers. It's bizarre the places that people meet. 3 Blues and 2 Reds (and a rogue green...or two). Interesting that no-one chooses yellow, just as squares are not so popular...
Today's random questions are:-
"Who do you wish you were?"
"Which language would you like to learn? Spanish, French or Russian?"
Chuffed...
Well, that little test worked better than I'd ever expected! Thank you to Everybody who dropped by.
I make it 8 Circles and 9 Triangles (though a couple with square leanings - hmmm if a square leans I guess that makes it a rhombus...). 2 people abstaining, but thanks for saying Hi. I never thought that a simple question could produce such a varied response. I'm a circle person myself, but can't help being fascinated by triangles...
Thanks to those who tackled the 'I Have Never' question, too. Some intriguing ones to address in there. For example,
- as a European (and yes, some people in Britain do consider themselves Europeans), I'm conscious of people here who harp on about Americans never leaving the USA. However, "I Have Never left Europe". In fact, the furthest I've gone is Istanbul...
- "I Have Never broken a bone". Touch wood, I can agree to this. Nearest I ever got was going over my bike handlebars as a kid. I hit a knee-high wall head on (it's a long story).
- "I Have Never got a traffic ticket". I've had three in my time - two for speeding and one for parking in the wrong place. The parking one was rather unfortunate. I won a haircut in a raffle. Not knowing the area where the hairdresser's was, I parked just down the street. Blissfully unaware, I had a fancy trim, really happy that I'd saved myself £10. Emerging 1/2 an hour later, I just caught the traffic warden leaving me a £40 fine...
I'd love to respond to them all. Maybe I will if my comments dry up. Here's a teaser for today... "I Have Never asked my parents where they met before." On the phone with my mum, it turned out they met in a field in Oxfordshire - while attending an archeological dig. Dad was studying Chemistry at Oxford, Mum's cousin was running the dig. This struck me as odd. Why do I never do that sort of thing? Then I realised that Theatre is my equivalent I suppose. So, the questions for today. "Where did your parents meet?" Failing that, "Which is your favourite primary colour, Red, Blue or Yellow?"
Testing How Many People Read This...
"I Have Never had more than three comments on a post."
Bit cheeky, I know. Maybe I'm setting myself up for a fall. There will be egg on my face (and still in my cupboards...) if I now don't get any comments. Still, I fancied seeing how many people actually read this, or whether the number of hits I get are purely people passing through at speed.
So, tell me, What Have You Never Done? A big open question I know... but why not give it a whirl?
Failing that, here's a more closed question - one I asked the cast. "Given a choice of a Triangle, a Square and a Circle, which is your favourite shape?
Fingers & toes crossed...
Sorry, folks.
"I Have Never written such a short post."
Work got busy today. Big meeting with the new boss. All positive. Normal service resumed tomorrow...
A weekend of activity.
“I Have Never taken part in a sweepstake.”
It was the Grand National this weekend. The biggest horse race in the UK. One of my colleagues, Garry, organised a sweepstake. I picked three horses at £1 a go. They were:- - Amberleigh House – 16/1 Last Year’s winner.
- Monty’s Pass – 33/1 A winner from a couple of year’s earlier.
- Double Honour – 25/1 Not a winner.
40 Runners meant a jackpot of £40. Having watched most of the Royal Wedding on telly, I was now ready for some gambling action.
There were various mutterings about Monty’s Pass being a bit lame in the pre race build up. This didn’t bode well.
4.10pm and they were off! Lots of mention of Double Honour early on… until he fell.
No mention of Amberleigh House…
Monty’s Pass mentioned a couple of times…
The favourite, Hedgehunter, won. Best placed of my pack was Amberleigh House in 10th place.
Who won the sweepstake? Why, Garry, of course…
I think there must be some sort of gambling lesson in there somewhere.
“I Have Never rowed on the River Nidd.”
I was at a loose end on Sunday. Gilli, a mate of mine, sent me a text saying that she was bored and wanted to do something. I suggested going to see Mother Shipton’s Cave in Knaresborough (go to http://www.mothershiptonscave.com/intro.php for more…).
On arrival, I discovered that it used to be part owned by the magician Paul Daniels. This amused me greatly, as I had once met the diminutive gent at a fete in Ruislip, and had sold him a cake. - We wandered through the woods,
- looked in the cave,
- observed things being petrified,
- made a wish in the well, and
- visited the museum (which resembled Mr. Daniels stature in it’s size).
This left us with time to spare, so after having sat briefly in a pub beer garden, we were up for discovering a fresh activity. I suggested hiring a boat…
At £3 for an hour (each), this proved to be an absolute bargain. It was decided (mainly by Gilli) that I row. I’d not been in a small boat like this for ages. The last time I could remember was when, as a teenager, I had been punting with my parents in Oxford. The hour flew by. Gilli called her parents and played ‘Guess what I’m doing’. Meanwhile, I navigated two laps up and down the river, forging a neat figure of eight pattern around the train viaduct and road bridge. There appeared to be a multitude of chavs mucking about on boats, but I succeeded in avoiding any collisions with them, or indeed the riverbank.
Satisfied, but aching, we eventually disembarked. My left leg and bumcheek had become numb, but otherwise we were pretty much unscathed… if a bit wet (oar splash back etc. etc.).
So, that’s the weekend’s activity. Still no egg painting. A recommended film to see is Intacto (http://www.channel4.com/film/reviews/film.jsp?id=104626). Watched it Saturday morning and found it visually stunning.
Thanks to everyone for the complimentary comments that keep getting posted. It’s all appreciated. I’m not entirely sure what blogrolling or syndicating are, though. Could you explain golfwidow (oh, and have you ever met any of the Fawlty Towers cast)?
This is me from a couple of years ago...
"I Have Never worked out how to post photos before."
Ah, the joys of flickr! This is not a picture I am proud of, and
subconsciously resulted in me cutting down considerably on my alcohol
intake... still, all in the spirit of openess that I hope to embrace with
this blog.
Aaarrggghh!
"I Have Never had to rewrite a post."
How annoying. Wrote it. Went to publish. Then a blank page...
Curse you! My erudite text is forever lost.
Well, I'll try to replicate it...
"I Have Never had to explain my pseudonym."
I got into a chat on the ShoutBox at www.blogexplosion.com yesterday. I was asked why I had chosen the moniker dickdnile...
Well, my christian name is Richard. For years I have been known by my mates as Ric. However, I have decided to reclaim the D word (well if people can reclaim the C word and the N word...). Richards around the world need no longer be tied to a hefty two syllable name.
As for D'Nile. It's an anagram. I could have chosen D'Lien (sounds a bit like Lion - Richard the Lion... been done before), or D'Line (the last thing I do is tow the line...). Instead, I quite like being in Denial. Face it, if you deny it's existence, it's inactivity becomes less of an issue ;-)
Very Quiet At Work
"I Have Never had to train on a new phone system before."
Yes, I know this is not the most exciting 'I Have Never'. AMCAT have come in (www.amcat.com). I'm going to be in training all day with them. I have no underlings to keep me entertained.
I've decided to get the egg painting done at the weekend. I'll let people know the results next week... (Hope the eggs don't go bad - how long does it usually take?)
I can't believe I thought Chez was a first name. Doh! Here was me imagining Che Guevara... As to the question of how long you should allow for rehearsals, well it depends. These questions need to be answered first.
- What production team do you have in place? Producer? Technicians? Designer?
- How long a play is it? 30 minutes/1 hour/3hours?
- Is it an established text, or are you devising the show from scratch?
- What's the language like? Easy/difficult?
- How many actors are in the play?
- How experienced are your actors? Amateur/Non-Professional/Professional?
- How well do your actors know each other, i.e. are you going to have to establish 'trust'?
- How often are you going to be able to rehearse? Every day, or evenings & weekends?
- How soon (and often) can you get into the performance space?
I could go on. The bottom line is that it varies tremendously. Too much time and you will arrive at the finished product too early, leaving the actual performances feeling stale. Too little time and the product won't be finished... In my (limited) experience, I'd say six weeks. However, local amateur groups take six months to put on a big show, while I've known professionals to put together a piece in a couple of weeks.
Paris Match
"I Have Never posted a comment on someone else's Blog"
Well, the consensus seems to be that this is the way to increase the flow through my own... So responded to Chez.
- I'm now intrigued by what he is planning to put on later in the year.
- It gives me a chance to test my (rusty) French aussi.
- If my language skills fail, I can always turn to my friend Kat who is studying French & Spanish at Uni (even though she is currently in Barcelona until the summer).
I've never been asked for advice before on theatre. Still not done the egg painting. I'm such a procrastinator.
Images of the Body
"I Have Never been affected by the sight of a dead body on TV."
OK, this is a bit weird. I'm in no way religious. I never met him. I've seen dead bodies on TV before (granted, I've never seen one in real life). Even so, watching the news yesterday, I found myself profoundly moved.
It might be just me, but it doesn't look like the Pope anymore. With all the life gone, the vitality dissipated, it's just a mass of flesh & bone. A deep sadness has descended...
I really wasn't in the mood to paint with egg.
Got Blogmarked! Despite my bog standard blog.
"I Have Never been Blogmarked before."
Ta to daftkitty. I'm going to try and make some 'egg art' this evening. Now, what can I paint that's yellow? Thinking caps on...
Oh, and Gail's right, my grammar in the last post was totally wrong. My dad has not been 60 before. It was his first time yesterday. Knowing his love of hiking, my sister suggested we go for a walk. We ended up at Mam Tor (http://www.cressbrook.co.uk/hopev/mamtor.htm). Now I'd been here many times before as a kid, but 'I Have Never' realised that this used to be an Iron Age fort.
We walked about 10 miles as the crow flies. Unfortunately, this involved a lot of ascending and descending (which I'm pretty sure crows don't have to do...). Today, I'm aching pretty extensively. Any solutions to deep seated muscle trauma?
OK, So now I have 47 boxes of eggs...
47 Boxes of eggs = 282 eggs.
WHAT DO I DO WITH 282 EGGS?
Considered trying to learn juggling with them, but this would have rapidly got sticky...
Instead,
"I Have Never been to a folk club before."
Went last night to a pub I frequent called The Melborn. Saw a rather fantastic troupe called HowdenJones. Took me back to my childhood when I used to play acoustic guitar myself. Now, why did I never do anything with that? Favourite song of the night - 'Ne'er Do Well'.
This weekend it's my dad's 60th birthday. "I Have Never celebrated my dad's 60th before". Any suggestions? Good ideas for birthday presents?
In a couple of months, I will be exactly half my dad's age. This concept unnerves me. I am so behind on my life schedule...
P.S. BlogExplosion totally foxed me with their April Fool today. Doh!
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