Voodoo CSS (Slight Redesign)
Tonight, Tinseltroos and I are off to Brighton for the August Bank Holiday Weekend. It's been a long week at work and I'm knackered. I don't think I've quite recovered from last weekend either to be honest, my back's still giving me hell and the thought of three days rest and relaxation in a lovely boutique hotel with my belle is as lovely a thought as I can conceive of at the moment. One more day of HPatOotP trailer madness and then we may flee to the seaside.
Bring it on.
1) The bath is the second most wonderful invention in human history.
2) The bed is the first.
The court was told that under the Protection of Children Act 1978, as amended by the Criminal Justice and Public Order Act 1994, a pseudophotograph of a child is defined as an image, whether made by computer graphics or otherwise, which appears to be that of a child.
I've been rummaging through a load of my old photos and uploading them to the internets.
This is a picture of Hawksmoor, a wood in North Staffordshire that's now owned by the National Trust. Hawksmoor is the area on the left.
My whole family is from North Staffordshire; indeed my surname derives from a tiny hamlet near Oakamoor so my roots here go back a long way. Since I've moved around a fair bit during my life, and since neither of my parents live in a house that I spent any time growing up in I feel that the roots I do have are extra important to me. Whilst London is now home and I can't really imagine living anywhere else, Hawksmoor has always been my spiritual home.
My grandmother was born in the one house that used to be situated in the middle of the wood and she lived there till she married my grandfather. The house is now a ruin but you can still see the foundations, the front doorstep and the hearth. Both my grandparents' ashes are scattered there too. For me, it's the most magical place in the world, full of memories of picnics when my grandparents would take my sister and me for day trips and it's still full of the magic that I conjured up in my childhood imagination because it really has hardly changed since I first went there.
It is truly a place out of time.
Right now I hurt. This is entirely a result of my own (mis)behaviour over the weekend so no sympathy is necessary.
It all started out quietly enough with the first decent lie-in I've had in ages on the Saturday morning. Having rolled out of bed and cleansed myself I set about making another quiche ready for the afternoon where Tinseltroos had called her chums together to help her celebrate her birthday. I wandered into town and got to Lincoln's Inn Fields at about 5 o'clock. Much wine and food was consumed and a quantity of Frisbee played. As the clock headed for 8 o'clock we packed out belongings, did our recycling and headed into the West End for an evening's karaoke.
I've never done karaoke before but I was canny enough to know that my limited range baritone voice was not going to be suitable for most of the tunes and ahead of time I thought that Johnny Cash and Ian Dury were the best bets to fit in my vocal spectrum. In the end I did passable (I think) versions of "Ring of Fire" and "Sex and Drugs and Rock and Roll" and very non-passable versions of "Money For Nothing", "Jump" and a few other tunes that frankly I ought to have known better than to attempt. It didn't help having three members of the party who are highly trained singers but we hopeless amateurs must busk it as well as we can. Mawbius and I did a beautiful duet on Goldie Lookin' Chain's "Guns Don't Kill People Rappers Do" complete with authentic accents and terminology (hem hem). Sisoftroos did stellar versions of "D.I.V.O.R.C.E." and "Jolene" with a frighteningly convincing accent whilst Tinseltroos lit up the karaoke booth with electric renditions of "It's Raining Men", "I Dreamed A Dream" and "The Immigrant Song". According to authenticated third party witness reports we were the loudest room in the karaoke bar. Go us.
Today I have been nursing a very hung over Tinseltroos and then headed east across London to Rotherhithe where I met Tommy Dog, Miss Weeza and Joopie for a few beers and a Sunday roast. This cleared out the last cobwebs of my hangover and now I'm just a bit sleepy and my throat hurts and my legs ache and and and...
Too much fun for one weekend.
Tonight after a quick post-work beer with Tinseltroos I got the bus home as I had much to do. Luckily my friend Sissypops got on at Piccadilly so I had someone to talk to en route back to Atrocityville.
Upon arrival we went our seperate ways, hers to get Phad Thai and mine to briefly go home to check the levels of golden syrup and then off to the supermarket for some food shopping.
I got back to Atrocity Mansions at about 9 p.m. and set to work, first making a ginger cake to take into work tomorrow and then an aubergine quiche for dinner tomorrow night (well tonight actually, now I come to look at the time). I fried up some aubergine, finely chopped onion and mushrooms in olive oil with some chopped flat-leaf parsley and thyme and then put the mixture in a regular quiche. I was at least smart enough to remember to keep the oven on after the cake came out to put the pastry in once I'd made it. It looks promising but I'm keeping it intact for later, so tasting notes will have to wait.
Once the cooking was done I did a little work on one of my personal projects, of which more next week I think when I'll have something concrete to show for my efforts. And now I am knackered so I shall climb up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire, as my mum used to say when I was little.