(It’s like it’s my superhero power or something!)
Anyway! Once again, Monday rolls around and the age-old rallying cry is heard; ‘This week, everything will be Different!’
And then it isn’t, of course. However, the boiler situation is stable, and the wine situation has hit a quite literal bottleneck (this will happen, if you have four demijohns and a whole vat of wine to bottle off at the same time). And the Allittlement has been dug over once more and planted with clover, the last lot of slug fodder has not been eaten (!) and the waspinator is doing its work at keeping the wasps off the plum tree. Hurrah!
(The waspinator is a bag, vaguely painted to resemble a wasp nest, which you hang in a tree/ from your patio/ off your barbecue. Apparently, wasps are territorial and will not go near another nest. Also, wasps are easily fooled!)
So with that all out of the way, and finally feeling like somewhat less of a useless slacker, it was finally time to start doing something creative for the first time since, um. June? Jesus*. And aren’t I in a fortunate position that I have a couple of things I said I’d draw for mates, and a couple other peeps who might maybe want to part with some money for other things? All I have to do is sit down and make the things! Easy as falling off a log!
*(Don’t ask about the engineering course, just – don’t**.)
So I raked around in all the stuff I haven’t sorted out since I had to clear the studio contents into my bedroom at the start of the month sat down with a big blank piece of paper. And couldn’t do a thing with it out of fear that I Just Don’t Deserve To Get Paid For Making Things. So I drank some mead. Well, it needed testing, after all, and mead has to be the ultimate drink for bringing on creativity, right?
Damn, I have made some good mead. It’s a whole load better than the last batch, and that was pretty good. Definitely misread the recipe and add far too much honey and sugar again!
Alas, though it kicked like a mule, it did not kick anything creative out of my head onto the paper.
This is just going to be one of those trying summers, isn’t it.
Anyway, despite not making up any of the hours lost to boiler maintenance last week – there is no earthly point, Dr Hurricane is on her hols and I would only be twiddling my thumbs – I did no good to man nor beast at home either. Le sigh.
And at the weekend, I did nothing of use to man nor beast either! For the Bossman took me on this big whirlwind tour of things! Behold!
– Pub with me mates! Nice and simple Friday night out; or it should have been, anyway. I did not get to buy a round all night and people got downright aggressive when I persevered, bless. Clearly word of the boiler fiasco has Gotten Out. This was mighty humiliating, for I would not go down the pub with me mates without the intention of putting my hand in my pocket, however much it might hurt (yes, three squares a day and I have put on weight recently, boom boom). I was very touched; when I got over being brittle about it, anyway. However, Beer and Whisky are engaged, ohmygod, and Beer was waiting to tell me In Person, I am so touched. There are shiny rings and if the powers that be are willing, there will eventually be the snarkiest wedding ever!
– The wargaming convention! Not my usual thing, especially when we were pounced on, on arrival, and force-fed more information about Band of Brothers than I thought anyone could realistically divulge in a mere five minutes. We fled. Alas, we fled to the bring-and-buy room, so I accidentally left with a pile of second-hand books nearly as high as I am, whoops. But even that could have been worse; I coulda left with a whole stack of miniatures and the announcement that I was picking up where I left off, aged twelve. It was horribly tempting.
– Nap! There is no better thing to do than go back to sleep, seriously. Especially if you’ve been in the pub till Very Late then had to be up at six to schlep across the country. Yes, even at the thinnest part of the country.
– The UFC houseparty! Where I showcased all the wines I’d just made (and got sat next to by a guy who, no lie, after condemning Catholic/ Protestant sectarianism in Northern Ireland and saying they should let it go already, told me with a straight face that he dislikes people with the surname Campbell ‘and if you knew your Scottish history, you’d know why’*. By the grace of god, I managed not to advise him to let it go already. Although later he was having a rant about ‘people who buy all the sports channels just to watch the racing’, whereupon I remarked that my mum does that, and there was a very loud silence. At which point I remembered that accusing someone of Slagging Off Your Mum is fighting words. Whoops. Mercifully, we did not fight, because with four dogs and six folks, the room was beyond cramped for that sort of thing. I mean, I woulda got my arse kicked).
*(I do, thanks, and jeebus, let it go already).
– Truckfest! With added delugey goodness! Oh my god it was impressive, partly for being right on the heels of having been up till three in the morning, but it looked like the whole thing was going to get rained off. The stewards were threatening to flee, people were trying to flood (ha) out of the place as we tried to get in; the only problem was, the flood had blocked the exits. We sat in the carpark for half an hour while I chortled merrily and realised I hadn’t managed to have any coffee yet.
Eventually it cleared off and they interviewed the lassie from Ice Truckers while we trogged about trying to find a caffeine vendor. But the stunt bikes came out to entertain us, which was quite impressive considering it was still raining (I will turn cartwheels on a motorbike forty feet in the air in the dry, or not at all, personally, and the correct answer is of course the latter). We found a toffee apple stall that did ‘proper’ donuts, so we were both happy, except my fingers won’t stop being stained red and I think my gums got cut open, while our relative risks of diabetes ratio is unchanged; and the Bossman’s mates turned up and were really nice and dressed rather more sensibly than me (they’d all worn small frocks on the grounds that they get less wet than jeans, and they were right. And I had a frock, dammit, but my brain wasn’t working properly this morning).
And then, eventually, hurrah, Bigfoot and Slingshot came out in the absolute peeing rain and crushed a load of cars and it was awesome. Although I have to wait and see if the Beast survived getting soaked. (Yes, I could have Not taken photos, but we’d been getting drenched for hours by that point).
(Prediction for next week: lurgy! I take to being drowned like a drowned rat does.)
– Nap! Back in Glasgow this time. I have now napped in two cities this weekend, which is quite good going.
– the Rasslin! The spelling of which changes from week to week, I know. We were a bit late, due to the nap, but I presume all we missed was the half-hour of everyone chanting, Cuntosaurus, at the start. (For reasons that still remain unclear; but if you start a chant of almost anything nice and short, someone will sing along. Hell, I’ve done it myself for several minutes, without paying the slightest attention to what it is). Sadly, we were also too late to get a space next to the lassie from the canteen (position in the crowd only known because she’s mates with The Guy In the Bearsuit. Who, rumour has it, had Mikey Whiplash stick his finger up his arse for heckling the one time we didn’t go. Which is reason enough to attend the rasslin’ religiously FOREVER.)
This week’s rasslin’ highlights:
– Mikey Whiplash’s testicles (allegedly – the Bossman saved me an awesome place but these guys totally crowded me out of it. so I saw sod-all. Bastards.)
– Grado versus Red Lightning for the belt. My, Grado is a popular chap. The crowd was baying for him all night, while I racked my brains to recall if I’ve seen him before. And I was astonished to see they were baying for him against Red Lightning, whose last appearance featured him sneaking up under cover of darkness and laying out both the guys who had just fought for said belt with a chair. (Hence, Red Lightning has the belt). And the crowd went apeshit with adoration for it.
This time, the latest hero of the hour came on with the lights on – to Madonna’s Like A Prayer, moonwalked badly round the ring, and was generally extremely camp and jokey. The crowd foamed at the mouth in adoration and fell at his feet. Strange, I thought. But then he fought his opponent in much the same spirit, and the atmosphere was amazing, so fuck it, go Grado! (Ah Red Lightning, I hope you weren’t upset by our fickle loyalties. But we are just here for some cheap entertainment ahead of Monday Morning.) And Grado won, well-played; ooh, you woulda thought from the tearful and even viscose reaction that we had some of this ‘Olympics’ stuff going on in our very city. (Oh, we do? Oh. Eh. I just can’t keep up with sport, it has no plot.)
– The five-a-side-a-thon showdown between The Official Community versus Jester-and-Chris Renfrew and-the-Bucky-Boys, (who seemed unlikely, er, bedfellows, but sod it, they’re all the good guys, erm, for a given value of ‘good’, and also, they featured Jimmy Havoc, hurrah! He never comes all the way up here unless it’s to bleed copiously in public, so I know this is gonna be good!)
It certainly looked extremely promising when people came and laid out a variety of weapons on the side of the ring, including Jester’s trademark giant corkscrew, a frying pan and a virulent-green plastic baseball bat that someone had lovingly spent hours gluing drawing pins all over, in immaculately straight lines. (I was down the front, by this point, crowd peristalsis being what it is. Or maybe, everyone else was slightly less thick and twigged that this was definitely the Audience Participation round.) And I was not disappointed! There were fights to the left of me, fights to the right, fights behind me and in front and I was so torn between watching someone be thrown from the balcony and torn to pieces by Jester and Jimmy Havoc getting whaled on with his own Pinhead-the-baseball-bat that I totally failed to notice Stevie-boy had been chucked into the crowd right at my feet, so I was a bit shocked to turn round and find him lying on his back with his legs up against me like he was a dead spider. Bless, I think he tried very hard not to kick me on the way down. Which was of course ruined when he vaulted back over the rail, slipped, and kicked me very hard indeed, but such is life.
At least I can’t complain; I wasn’t the one with several dozen drawing pins embedded in my back, for instance. Although, if he had really hated it, he would have had them removed at any point after the fight, I am just saying. Props to the boy for being insane.
So. I think our side won?
– The aftermath. Red Lightning came back on and cheated his way to getting the belt back off Grado. Fortunately, despite the promises on the signs, there was no riot as a consequence.
– Total lift home off the Bossman, no expensive taxis, yay! And one kiss and then he was gone into the night. Sniff.
Feck. The weekend, it is over. G’night y’all.
**(The engineering course? oh, you’re still here? Okay, fine. I’m finally admitting to myself that with 18 months down and 1.7 of eight modules likewise, there is no way in hell I’m gonna get the damn thing done in five years – five whole years! Who couldn’t? – at this rate. This means also admitting I am a hapless hopeless failure and never trying to do anything ever again adjusting my plans accordingly. I mean, it’s not like I will have this exact lifestyle for the next three years, after all. Perhaps I will get a new job with less stress! Perhaps I will totally crack up and have some months to get my head round trigonometry! Perhaps I will get binned or crack up so badly I end up fired and lose the flat and, er, let’s not dwell on this one, eh. Perhaps the Bossman will buy a big house in the country and employ me as a gardener! (he has already said, I am allowed to sleep in the barn, in this eventuality). Perhaps the Bossman will buy a big house in the country and dump me immediately (somewhat ‘silver’ lining: can now study all weekend instead of gallivanting!). Perhaps aliens will discover all this warbling is the perfect energy source and hire me to transport their spaceship around the galaxy. Though probably not.
Or perhaps I could drop lots of other things for the course instead, and then come out the other end and discover that nobody wants to hire somebody with the last thing on their CV being ‘secretary’ (as has often happened to me before, drat it all).
However, since things aren’t looking good as they stand, it may/ may not be sensible to take a step away and maybe pick the course up again later. One thing is for sure; the boiler just ate the money for my next module!)