something witty and erudite will appear here eventually
I’ve a quick question for all you guys out there surfing the waves of the World Wide Web and for those of you idling in the shallows too, have any of you ever been to the Faroe Isles?
I ask because I’ve decided that’s where I’m going to go next summer for a bit of a break. Anyone?
Apparently, they look like this. Lovely.
Have you ever done something on a whim, just because, well, why not? I have. I do it all the time, though few people know it. I’m the chap you see in the middle of nowhere, paddling in a stream, taking pictures of his feet. Those people you sometimes see in the most unexpected of places; the man reading a book halfway up a mountain or sitting on a distant beach? That’s me; I’m one of those people.
You see, I like the sensation that I’m doing something that other people don’t, that the things I see and experience are in some way special and just for me. It’s a strange and selfish urge, but then if I hadn’t been at the City of Troy three days before Christmas, who would have seen the sun come up? No one, no one at all.
This sort of behaviour quite rightly leads to gentle mocking from my friends and jokes at my expense, which is fair enough I suppose. However, sometimes the wrong end of the stick is grasped and conclusions are drawn before mitigation can begin. It was a situation such as this that lead to the unfortunate decision, by my good friend Duncan, that I will be going camping with Wizards this summer.
I won’t be. Wizards aren’t real, something I’ve always found bitterly disappointing, and are therefore unable to indulge in barbeque food, a few beers and campfire songs. This doesn’t matter however, because Duncan knows that I like Sci-Fi and therefore, by extension, fantasy. Now, for some reason Duncan hates Sci-Fi and Fantasy with a vengeance, and he downright loathes any crossover between the two genres so my willingness to while away an hour or two watching Stargate SG-1 or reading Harry Potter upsets him.
Apparently he was somewhat alarmed when he found out that I went camping in Skipton last summer with the lovely guys and gals from Tar Valon.net, because, well, why not? Therefore, when I mentioned that I was making my way to the Netherlands for a long weekend this summer, he enquired as to what I would be doing with more than a hint of suspicion. Before I could answer though, the decision was made; I was going camping with wizards again.
Which suits me just fine, really. I’ll get my hat.
I don’t see how another day’s gonna make us change our minds,
So why don’t we go separate ways and save us a bit of time?
We can’t go on trying living behind this worn out and thin disguise,
I don’t want to try talking it out I don’t need another fight,
It just won’t work when
All I want is a little peace and quiet.
All I want is a little peace and quiet.
I just don’t wanna live this way cause lately we’re up all night,
I can’t speak free when your in my face and I don’t like to be unkind.
But constantly you try and turn it around when clearly its black and white,
Something’s gone and now I’m feeling down cause I’ve been here a million times,
It just won’t work when,
All I want is a little peace and quiet.
All I want is a little peace and quiet.
Dear God,Where is the fucking summer you sanctimonious tit? It’s been raining now for about a year and frankly I’m sick of it, you’ve done the whole “deluge” thing, move on. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that there’s more than one type of weather.
Sort it out.
Regards,
James
If that doesn’t work, nothing will.
On the grounds that, deep down, I am a terrible snob and that it’d be jolly good fun (rather), I accompanied a few of my friends down to Henley at the weekend to see the Royal Regatta. The impetus for this came from Laura because once, long ago in 1949, her grandfather won one of the races and had his name engraved upon a silver cup which, as any fool will know, is as good a reason to do anything as there has ever been.
I should start out by saying that I did enjoy myself, I really did, but that it would have been so very easy not to, for reasons I shall shortly explain.
With regards to enjoyment, a large part of this came from spending the day in the Steward’s Enclosure wearing a dapper suit and people watching with a glass of Pimm’s. I’ll say this for the privileged and the powerful; there are some stunning women among them and no mistake, they almost eclipse the number of freakishly tall me who, no doubt raised upon a diet of only the richest and most nourishing foods, ascend to frankly preposterous heights and look at you with their teeth.
It was nice though, and fun. The people were almost unfailingly polite and courteous, confident without being overbearing and willing to chat about anything. I loved it.
Then I met their children.
I have to admit that stereotypes do play a part in my perceptions, as I’m sure they do in yours; despite my best efforts to take everyone for who they are I still make assumptions. Therefore I rather expected that the children of well-to-do families, people who, for want of a less cliché statement, have had everything provided for them, would be conscious of their good fortune and somewhat more reasonable than they are. I realise that this is a sweeping generalisation, that there are always good and bad in every bunch, but with the exception of a chap named Johnny, a girl called Caitlin and her friend Jo, every single other person below the age of thirty was a complete and utter wanker.
I mean it. I have never had the misfortune to be surrounded by quite such a crowd of over bred, over privileged, obnoxious little idiots in my entire life; I cannot even begin to describe my hatred of them. Good god. Chavs, I mean chavs, I figure perhaps they have cause to be how they are, they attend – albeit intermittently – run down inner-city comprehensives, the level of parenting they receive may not be the best, money and prospects are an issue. I can see why they’re angry, why they seek escape in getting drunk, doing drugs passing on the hurt to other people with their swaggering faux-West Indian idiocy. I can understand someone who has nothing being moronic swine, there’s a good chance no one has ever taken the time to explain to them that their behaviour is unacceptable.
However, this lot went to public schools, they’ve never had to want for anything. They’re supposed to be well-educated, well-heeled and frankly, there’s no reason for them to behave worse than Chavs. The argument could be put forward that they’ve been spoiled, and yes, they probably have been, but that still doesn’t cover the monumental scale of their obnoxious twattery. I hope they choke on their caviar.
Fortunately, all of this was forgotten on Saturday night because there were fireworks, something I love to a near infinite degree, and nothing could spoil that, not even the three toffs who sat behind us braying like mules and generally deriding the show.
Just as an aside, rich kids having a fight are one of the most hilarious sights it is possible to see in this world, they haven’t a clue and mince about like dandies which, I suppose they are. If you get the chance, watch.
I miss my grandparents; I wish I’d told them how much I’d loved them when they were alive instead of being an obnoxious teenager. I wish I’d kissed that girl in Ghent when I had the chance or gone for a walk with the girl I met in Paris. I wish I’d never done all the hurtful things I’ve done and instead seized the chances I was too afraid to take.
I wish I wasn’t so insecure.
But mostly I just wish that regret wasn’t so persistent.
What’s the best way to convey the idea that not all overweight men are roly-poly figures of fun with a preternaturally jolly outlook on life?
I ask because I’ve been informed that a fist to the throat is not an acceptable method.
I mean really, who knew?
I don’t think there’s anything wrong with telling strangers that they’re pretty or asking an honest question, even if it does seem foolish.
So I don’t see why the policeman got so upset when I enquired if he’d joined up to stop people photographing the Houses of Parliament or if he’d actually intended to make a difference to the country.
I guess sometimes the simple questions are the hardest to answer.
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