Life Isn't All Ha Ha Hee Hee
Wednesday
JY visits me in the library to inform me I have a flat tyre. Blogger is playing up so I'm behind on the news. Aaargh! Shit day and it's only a coupla hours old. The new Mrs Hicks informs me of a venue for tyre repair. I go fetch a new bottle of tyre gunk from the garage, pump up the tyre, get alarmed as I hear the air escaping but it hold out for a fair while pre gunk. I finish the news. Gunk the tyre and head to the RR, NC and Mrs Hicks recommended Jetyres. They replace it with minimal fuss and just charge me an arm leaving out the leg.
Other than that the day consists of me learning more about waxing than I care to know about. Still if anyone knows what a Las Vegas Brazilian is that's beyond my informants knowledge. It all sounds like the sort of torture your local inquisitor might dish out.
Finally locate the Mark Gardener album 'These Beautiful Ghosts' for download over at United for Opportunity. Don't have time to listen to it as I eat a ruby as I download because the family need picking up from town from Beauty and the Beast. Don't even have time to transfer it to Johnny Notpod (I eventually get a listen on Friday and it's beautiful an instant fave).
Thursday
Day off to get Visas at the Consulate General down in Brum. I have a cunning plan, catch the first train out of South Parkway that heads that way. The alarm cat wakes me early, too early. I catch up with some stuff I'd recorded, reset the alarm cat and fall asleep. The alarm cat wakes me 20 minutes before I'm due at the station. No probs, tumble into the car and head off to my fave local station. Grab a coffee from the trolly dolly and the jobs a good 'un.
The great book disaster. I have on my person 'Jude: Level 1' which I finish before arrival. Curses, don't have time to buy another book before heading to the consulate so grab an Indie.
Have a Manchester experience on the way to the consulate that is rescued when I see an advertising hoarding that I recognise. Get up to the consulate to find myself at the back of a significant queue. The bloke ahead of me is back from the previous day, he tells me that they ran out of tokens. No probs, I think that'll have been sorted by today, they just need to nip to the local cheese counter and blag some. 9.30 and the queue starts to shift. Then this bloke comes down the queue after about 10 minutes to tell us that they've run out of tokens an unless you are travelling in two days it's time to go away. So I leave, ring home to a frosty reception from Monst. She isn't impressed - she hasn't wasted a days leave.
So mightily pissed off I go back to New Street via the Central Library (I need a bog, and am quite impressed by the Cafe Library in the gaff). Hungry I sort a ham and cheese toastie and coffee at New Street. Then discover I have around an hour to wait for a train so sort new books in terms of a biog of Joe Strummer, some low life sub-victorian sci-fi and another of the Conn Igguldon books that I've been enjoying but not certain why - if you want a list there in my current reading on the Fade Library Blog right now).
By the time I'm back at the station I still have time to wait. So off for a pint of the black stuff. Train home. I get a massive welcome at home, no note of apology for the wild goose chase just the comment that I was meant to stay in Birmingham to sort it the following day. Ring work, check I've nothing on. Fill the car with petrol head to bed early - in grouch mode I don't wash up, set the alarm cat. Transfer things to the Notpod and hit the sack at 9.00.
Friday
The alarm cat goes off early at 2.00 am. This despite a twenty minute session explaining to her I wanted waking at 3.00 am. Stoopid cat. Watch some more stuff I recorded and get in the car after it. The M6 to Brum is fine, full of lorries but no more and I make good time. I suprise myself at rolling into the jewelry quarter just gone 4.00 am. Park right outside the consulate. More suprised to find someone else queuing already. I'm second in the queue at 4.15 and the place don't open for another five and a quarter hours. From that point on people drift into the queue, by 6 other people needn't bother turning up. It's cold out. I've restricted my liquid and food intake to reduce the need for a lavatory, I even eschew the bloke selling coffee from a trolly when he pitches up. 8.30 they let us into the building which is at least a little warmer. 9.30 up the stairs and the application is in. Wander off and find a welcome breakfast at the Orange Cafe.
To fill some time take some photos of the jewelery quarter, a graveyard and St Paul's church. Wander into town, revisit the public library and visit the Equiano exhibition. Fascinating and moving. We are a horrid species.
Return to the consulate for 1.20'ish prepared to queue in advance of the 3.00 pm opening. First in the queue as I hide from the sun. Sure enough I'm out by about 3.45 and on the road in time to catch the early dart to avoid the rush hour. The drive back is painfully slow as a result. Monst drops me a message to say that they are due to finish at Disney on Ice at the MEN in the land of Manc an hour before we expected. I head straight for the land of Manc. I'm knackered. Find the Pizza Hut they arranged to meet me by and go in for scran. It's off the Bagpuss diet but I'd eat the saggy old cloth cat himself right now. I'm just about finished when they appear. I ache, I'm dehydrated and knackered. Consequently not full of bonhomie.
Car demands oil on the way back so pull into the service station at Warrington. Home and bed to sleep the sleep of the righteously indignant.
Saturday
Lie in, sleep, read, sleep, cook, argue with Callum. Blog. Do no work. Listen to music. Watch some shite TV.
