Hoegaarden

Out last night with the family for a pizza after a very enjoyable Snow Queen ride 'pon the cold, dark ground.

I ordered a Hoegaarden. A beer I'm very fond of. One which goes very well indeed with pizza pie.

The waiter, a very young man, came back and apologised that they were out of Hoegaarden. I informed him that Hoegaarden was a beer I'm very fond of. 

He apologised again and told me that the only other ale they had was Smithwicks.

"Pardon", I said?

He said the only other ale they had was Smithwicks.

I asked him if he minded sitting down for five minutes. That I need to speak to him urgently.

"Pardon", he said?

"Would you please sit down", I repeated. "I need to speak to you".

He told me that he couldn't sit down. He was working. On top of that he was forbidden to sit down with customers. He asked me would I like a pint of Smithwicks.

I told him under no circumstances to bring me a pint, or indeed any other measure, of Smithwicks. Ever. I asked him to bring me a glass of red wine. 

When he returned with the wine and pizza he apologised again. For the third time which was probably only two apologies shy of what I deserved.

I told him it was a damn shame he was forbidden to sit with customers and was working. There was so much I wanted to explain to him.

DESSICANT!!!

SILICA GEL

"DO NOT EAT".

(their quotes, not mine)

THROW AWAY.

DESSICANT.

"DO NOT EAT".

Ok. I'll throw it away. I won't eat it. I'll ignore the word "DESSICANT". 

I don't know what you mean. I don't even know why you gave it to me.

Economy

I note with detached interest today that the pound and the euro are now the same thing.

In Ireland I paid €3.60 for a bottle of Black Sheep ale last night. In Scotland the same beer would probably cost about £1.60. 

What's that in euros?

Yes, €1.60.

For £ read €.

I'll tell you one thing. If I was English I'd be fucking furious at these Scotch bastards [1] fucking my country up. Why don't they just go back to their own country I might add. Before spitting indignantly.

[1] that's Brown, Darling.

Advent

Three setting of Our Father. From Hungary, Poland and Slovenia. One each.

A couple of Kyries, a Cantata to St Nicolas, a Gloria from Spain and three Motets before traversing the breadth of that great American hinterland for two very different but equally frightening Advents.

Oh Wisdom of God, the First and Last. He said. 

This woke me up. Afraid and trembling. Then, O Antiphons!

Note to self: It's a lot safer just getting up with the kids.

Started feeling better after the fourth sausage. Then we went to the beach and liberated several thousand discarded shells and unusually coloured pebbles with which to fill our house up some more with.

It's more full than empty. Lets just leave it at that.

Woodwind

Chris Bleth is a woodwind player from the City of Lost Angels.

He's incredibly talented and can play all woodwind instruments except the Piccolo which he fears deeply. He recently played Pan Pipes and Sea Kelp flute (for effects) in Don't Mess With The Zohan and has played on a variety of radio commercials and video games.

I'd love to meet him but, sadly, I've never been faced with Bleth.

Odetta

A friend came over to my desk the other day [1]. 

"Odetta is dead", he announced.

Not "I have some bad news, perhaps you'd like to sit down, great mate". 

I was already sitting, of course, but that's beside the point.

Not "I have some news. Can I make you a cup of tea, chum?".

I did already have tea but I'd made it myself and it's always nicer when someone makes it for you isn't it?

Just "Odetta is dead".

He's such a heartless bastard.

[1] He's also a colleague. My friends aren't in the habit of mooching into my office to tell me things.  My mate Hendo did it once in the late eighties but I had him removed immediately.

Men

I used to play golf. I'll play again when I have the time.

I don't give a shit about it or anything. I'm not mental. I just enjoy the fresh air and a bit of a laugh with my mates. Now and again you might even see some boxing hairs or a magenpie stealing a golf bag. These are the moments that make golf great and, believe me, these thieving bastards will take anything. They're only wee but they have great strength.

Back in the day we would talk of many things. It may have been the rise and fall of Worcester Sauce crisps or the difficulty in playing both Neil Lennon and Paul Lambert in the same midfield. 

It could have been virtually anything but, for sure, the approach to the third or the length of the rough on the twelfth would have been a mere sideline to, say, Roy Orbison's stunning version of Elvis Costello's The Comedians.

I overheard a chap in the airport the other day saying that watching Mamma Mia was a waste of time if you'd seen it in the theatre. He felt strongly about this. Apparently the film was just a rehash of the show.  Tonight in the pub I heard two men discussing the relative merits of the contestants on the X-Factor. I even have one friend who watches Strictly Come Ballroom. A man, yes.

Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on?

Nun

Prior to my operation this morning [1] I was placed in a small ante-chamber with a nun.

Apparently she had been asked if she minded if I sat with her prior to her own "procedure". She didn't so I could hardly object.

But what does one say to a nun?

I asked her what she thought of Gabriel Faure's Opus 48?

She'd never heard of it.

(She'd never heard of it!!!)

I told her that I, myself,  had, sadly, never been blessed with faith but was keen to get involved purely from a musical perspective.

She told me she had been retired since 1992.

This was an opportunity not to be missed.

I asked her if, when filling in forms, she entered Occupation as "None". Or still "Nun". It was a very difficult joke to get over as I was effectively saying the same word twice. It's a lot easier when you write it down.

She told me she had been retired since 1992.

The conversation seemed to dry up then and I was relieved to be called into theatre. The surgeon shone a bright light on it and said it doesn't look much, do you mind if we just scrape it off?

I actually did mind but you can hardly argue with these Billy Bigshots.

[1] a simple limb removal, if you must know

Films

Watched two films on the plane.

Before I went to sleep, when I was drunk, I watched Ghost Town. This is the one where Ricky Gervais plays a misanthropic dentist who dies for seven minutes and can therefore see lost souls. For lost souls read dead people with unresolved bidness with shoomans. Generally I have to say it was pretty poor but it did have some brilliant moments and I laughed like a drain might laugh (if it could) on a good few occasions. As I said, I was drunk. Like my good friend Ageing Hipster I fear I may be over generous with my plane reviews. Due to drink.

Then I want to sleep. Fitfully, to say the least. They use zed's to indicate sleep don't they.

z zzzzz  zzzzz zzzz  zzz  zzzzzzz zzzz zzz zz zzzz zzzz  zz zz   zzz zz z zzz

(The spaces show that the sleep was broken.)

When I woke up, and had a hangover, I watched Brideshead Revisited. I thoroughly enjoyed this. I am a bit of a sucker anyway for these period dramas but this was edgier than most and was about on a par with the extremely dipsomaniacal Withnail and I in terms of alcohol consumed. It was brilliantly acted and made. I can't pretend to understand these romantic male friendships which seemed to be all the rage back in those days but the poignancy of the relationship was not lost on me. 

I'll make a note to ask one of my Indian friends to explain them to me.

Opus48

I'm not a religious man. Sadly, I have never been blessed with faith.

On the plane though last night I was listening Faure's Opus 48 and, purely from a musical perspective, I was utterly entranced by this heroically beautiful setting. 

My enjoyment of the music was tempered only by the knowledge that I could never appreciate this as much a true believer. Being moved purely by the music is one thing but imagine if I could enjoy this and be filled with the spirit of the Lord. Wouldn't that be something.

Christians are such lucky bastards.