happy easter!
And a restful, roast-lamb-and-chocolate-egg-filled weekend to all (well me, at least). And Ben-Hur is even on tomorrow afternoon – who would have ever suspected?
It’s now a full week since I arrived home safely from Douglas (and the relief of touching down on my joint-favourite little island in the first place was not only palpable but actually touchable, in that my hair stopped standing on end in abject horror and my blood pressure returned to normal) after first three of the single oddest touring/whoring days in history followed by three of the nicest, thanks as ever to the lovely Manx folk.
I can say that Chester is no longer on my To Do list, having Done it and found it to be one of the most spectacularly weird places in which I have ever set foot; anybody who is old enough to imagine being trapped in an episode of The Prisoner might want to give it a wide berth. I have been quizzed as to whether I pay tax (by an otherwise pleasant gentleman who apparently pays it too), been shouted at and hung up on by somebody unable to understand why I didn’t want to do an outcall to a total stranger’s house in Wrexham and unbelievably, very nearly spat on in the lady-garden (I got out of the way). For the love of God, I never, ever mind how inexperienced a punter is but by way of a benchmark, if an act is considered so disgusting that it would automatically get you a red card on a football pitch it should surely stand to reason that it’s probably not a good idea to do it when you’re in bed with somebody.
Chester can also lay claim to hosting the most appalling and fetid smelling taxi in living memory, to the extent that I stayed aboard for all of thirty yards before handing over a £2 coin and bailing out before my steak slice and Ben and Jerry’s lunch did. This makes it also the shortest taxi ride I have ever taken – the source would appear to have been a pair of dangling plastic ice cubes (which looked suspiciously like bog blocks apart from not being yellow) that hung from the mirror, but I wasn’t waiting to find out. I can only imagine that the hospital scenes in the Saw films smell rather like that.
This last followed a delightful few days in London where the sun shone throughout and the heat on the Tuesday in particular caught a few folk unawares (and I was no exception, quickly wilting in the bank after a ill-thought-out dash across Waterloo Bridge and up the Strand to make it before it shut and requiring a restorative pitstop at Herman Ze German for Fritz-Kola and some wurst). Next month’s visit will be with us in no time after the East Coast main line has done it’s bit following Glasgow and Edinburgh, but for the moment all is calm(ish) in sunny Scarborough and as regular readers will know, my very favourite of the horror festivals Dead By Dawn begins on Thursday and I will be away until Monday 28th getting backache, commenting pointedly on the weather as only people who are spending four days in a cinema auditorium can and generally having a lovely time in Edinburgh amidst it all. No punter-time then, but I will be in far more suitable surroundings not far from Waverley a scant two weeks after and will be happily available all the weekend – yay!
So for now another four days at home, much to the excitement of the fishes who are not allowed chocolate and will have to make do with a bit of banana. For anyone who had wondered, New Fish has settled in nicely and everyone in the house has been enjoying a bit of sunshine for what seems like the first time in months – the place smells slightly less of paint, as I type we’re all watching Trainspotting and all is well. Travel plans are now pretty much settled until the start of July and a return to Jersey! I will be taking my bucket and spade over for a couple of days for the first time in a couple of years, and not before time – plans are also afoot for the next New York trip; watch this space…
Back to the here and now, and some heartfelt thanks to the generous folk who brought the spoils pictured below; as it’s now well after midnight and some three hours since this was taken, the Davison’s box is no longer looking quite as resplendent after making it all the way from the Isle of Man intact and as for the B&Q vouchers (from a fellow WeightWatcher for whom I will be saving a few buttons) they’ll be instrumental in some problem solving on Monday afternoon. What would a proper Bank Holiday be without a trip to the DIY store, after all?
Egg is reserved for later, possibly after the teatime Bond. More soon!
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