A Very Big Day Out

Early Saturday we took a train down to that London.

We arrived in St Pancras International where a small selection of ordinary punters amazed and astounded us as they sat at the public pianos and showed what they could do.

My favourite was the young guy who played a variation of the first movement of Mike Oldfield’s Tubular Bells.

Then we took a tube to Hyde Park Corner where we joined up with a big bunch of like-minded people on what was a lovely sunny afternoon.

We stood about for a bit. Then moved onto some parkland where we sat down and I most definitely did not fall asleep,

After a while that was an age and also not an age, we (eventually) walked from the foot of Park Lane to Whitehall.

When we’d finished with all that we walked to Covent Garden where, amongst the trendy eateries and hipster drinkeries we found a proper pub.

A pint of cider shandy, half a pint of cider, a small dry white wine, and a diet coke which cost the wallet-robbing amount of…

£20!

Have a word with yourself London. That’s bonkersly mad.

Anyway.

It was the most overtly political day of my life, and that day was all the better because there were four of us, marching as a family.

Here are just a few photos (but between us, we took dozens):

#PeoplesVote

#PeoplesVote

#PeoplesVote

#PeoplesVote

#PeoplesVote

#PeoplesVote

#PeoplesVote

#PeoplesVote

What kind of a weekend did you have?

Earworms

It’s bizarre, the musical interjections that my hindbrain throws out, unbidden.

This morning I woke up with Supertramp’s ‘Asylum’ pitched crystal clear in my head which is wow, what a way to wake up at 5.20am.

I have no idea why, obv.

I used to love Supertramp. Crime of the Century was (and still is in vinyl form – but stay away from the digitally remastered copies that are downloadable via iTunes etc) a classic album.

I’m just going to have to go off and see what the member of Supertramp are up to these days.

Out of Office

Hi, thank you for dropping by.

We are currently away, enduring the hardship of 41c in the sub-Sahara.

We are putting on brave faces against the unrelenting bar service, awesome food, and top flight customer care.

Enduring this for a week is going to be tough, but we’re determined to give this our very best shot.

Back to the UK next weekend.

Meanwhile, we’ll do our best to cope with everything this place has to offer.

Biker down

Yesterday evening, taking a leisurely trip home on the ZX10R, I was involved in an accident.

While travelling around a smaller roundabout in the village, a lad who was dribbling a football, kicked the ball across the road in front of me.

An awesomely stupid thing to do, I’m sure we can all agree.

However the ball struck the opposite kerb on the inside of the roundabout, and bounced back into the immediate path of the ZX10R.

The front wheel impacted the ball, the bike went down and I hit the road very hard.

I estimate the cost of bringing the ZX10R back to its spotless showroom condition to be not less than £1,000.

And I’m damaged.

My helmet is only fit for the bin.

My leathers are scuffed up.

This occurred in the shadow of the lad’s house. He went to fetch his father.

His father was most defensive of his son’s stupidity, and asked if I’d never kicked a football.

I said I had, but I’d never kicked a football into the path of oncoming traffic.

As a result of this lad’s ridiculous logic (that it is acceptable to kick a football across the road in front of traffic), I now have no means of transport.

And I hurt.

And I have to lose the maximum amount of no-claims it is possible to have.

But even with all of these things, this is the level of parental responsibility that this lad’s father feels is acceptable:

Don’t apologise for the actions of your offspring

Don’t offer any degree of financial assistance

Attempt to justify the actions of your offspring

Offer no assistance at the scene of the crash.

I’m tempted to try one of those lawyers who advertise no win no fee services.

A foreign country explored

Yesterday, taking advantage of the heat, it being a Saturday, having a spotlessly clean motorbike, and having nothing else to do, I went abroad.

A453, A42, M42, M5, M50.

Yes, I went to Wales.

I left the house at 6am, and arrived in Abergavenny at 9am.

The Blorenge (rhymes with orange)

The Blorenge (rhymes with orange)

I had a hot chocolate and very healthy bacon sandwich, whilst sitting outside the Get Together in St John’s Square.

Putting picnic benches outside there is a great idea; gives the area a very cosmopolitan feel, and enabled me to sit where I could keep an eye on the ZX10R.

Needless to say the local bureaucrats don’t like that idea and are working hard to stop someone from having a success.

Kind of shoots down the ’embrace café culture’ policy of a former Prime Minister.

The fun police strike

The fun police strike

Anyway.

Nicely refreshed I went up the Blorenge (rhymes with orange), and just chilled out. Walked about a bit. Lay down in the long grass and read a bit.

May have accidentally dozed a bit.

Keeper's Pond

Keeper’s Pond

After that break I went down through Blaenavon and up the mountain opposite, Coedcae, to Forgeside, where I went to junior school.

I left it in better condition!

I left it in better condition!

Then I dropped back into Blaenavon, and took the Garn Road through Garn-yr-ew, Brynmawr, into Merthyr Tydfil, through Nant-ddu, and down off the mountain into Brecon, below.

I walked around Brecon a bit, but didn’t hang around because the town was heavingly full of people and far too hot to be in close proximity of many strangers.

I bailed out of Brecon, turned left at Llangorse and headed, generally, north-north east.

I stopped at a country pub about halfway between Hereford and Worcester for some much-needed refreshment.

Ahhhhhh

Ahhhhhh

And then back home.

When I had started the trip I was considering staying out overnight.

Frankly I should have.

The round-trip came in at 427 miles. And that was a bit too much. The heat of the day didn’t help either.

I would definitely do that run again.

And I would extend the road-miles, maybe aim for the west coast of Wales.

And I would stay out overnight. I wasn’t as sharp, towards the end of the day as I should have been, despite frequent stops.

But it was a great run out, I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

What did you get up to?

Now that’s what you call a commute

In a fraction under two hours Sam will arrive in Dubai, at half-past midnight.

At 02.50am she will get on another airplane and at just after midday she will arrive in Bangkok.

At 4pm she will get on another flight and at 6pm she will arrive in Hanoi.

The car that will meet her at the airport will take her to the hotel.

At 7.30am another car will take her to the factory.

Now that’s what you call a long commute.

Blogathon 2018: The wrap party

Jesus, what a night!

A certain Miss T Swift caught snogging a paparazzi behind the greenhouse.

Mr E John making off with 5l of engine lubricant and a child’s paddling pool.

Busted getting, er, busted by the rozzers for doing things with Rizlas.

Mr T Jones (no relation because that’s not his real name anyway) getting upset about the green green grass of home turning brown in the heat.

I could list all of the events of the night, but then I’d be here until next year…

And I have alternate plans.

Not least being catching up with my sleep after the very late/early morning finish to the festivities.

I hope the noise didn’t disturb the neighbours too much.

And I hope the sound of furious blogging didn’t disturb the neighbours too.

Let’s face it, the neighbours are disturbed enough already so…

Anyway.

I’d like to thank everyone for not complaining about the last 30 days’ of activity, and the noise, and the dust, and the smell.

Sorry about the smell in particular.

And I’d like to thank you for sticking with it.

The theme seemed fair at the start of the month, but by about day 15, when we were stuck in the high Andes, drawing lots on who we should eat next, the joke began to wear thinner than Donald Trump’s hairstyle.

But I’m glad we ate him first anyway.

So yeah, thank you for sticking with it, whether you were a blogger like Young Masher and Dangerous Dave, or whether you were an avid reader like, erm, an avid.

Let’s do it all again next year!

But with fewer penguins eh? Sorry Elt.

Blogathon 30/18

Concluding the everyday look at everyday objects through the camera lens…

This isn’t the post that I wanted to write, but the one I wanted to write was about a very small group of people. And that means photos and shyness and permissions and all that stuff, so instead of paying tribute to a small collective of awesome folk…

Despite it being waterproof, I only take it off when I’m swimming or in the shower.

I check it so many times a day I couldn’t count.

It measures the distance I walk (not far on a working day), the number of steps I take (as before), the number of stairways I walk up/down, and my heartrate.

It is, of course, my Fatbot Fitbit:

Fitbit

Fitbit