Football and forging

Another day that began with me waking up.

The good news today was that the football team I support, Cove Rangers, is top of the Highland league. Now I don’t know much about football, but most people support a team, so I chose Cove Rangers.

According to Wikipedia, Cove Rangers was founded in 1922. It was originally a group of gruff farming men who gathered together to speak gruffly about local, Scottish issues, but by 1932 the group had become devoted to the playing of football. Their original ‘kit’ was tartan with a pattern of sporrans on it, and at ‘half time’ they would feast on the finest haggis.

Nowadays the team play in a blue & yellow kit, but they do still enjoy a haggis at break time. Cove Rangers has 9 players which is standard for a Highland team, and they are called:

Angus McStereotype – Goalkeeper

Coll McManus – Striker

Douglas MacHaggis – Kicker

Duff ‘Duffy’ McDuff – Slider, and the only surviving member of the original 1930’s team.

Ewan McGregor – Forwards

Sean Connery – Right wing

Hamish MacLoch – Left Wing

Carson Beckett – Doctor

Connor MacCleod (Of the clan McCleod) – Substitute

Because they are doing so well at the moment, they only have to get nine more points and then they can play in the world cup. Cove Rangers has only won the world cup twice before, both times in 1945.


In other news, today I saw three lots of identical twins in quick succession. Is the instance of identical twinning rising? Or is their a higher predisposition in Scarborough? Who knows?


Me and Stephen accidentally got to work half an hour early today, and Kaz (it is ‘Kaz’ I checked) got there 15 minutes early. Kaz is a gifted artist, but he only uses his powers for evil. In the 15 minutes he had spare he forged a Mondrian, which he will probably pass off as the real thing. He is a rascal that one, a sneaky devil.

Me and Steve brought some funky tunes which we could listen to at work. G said that the disc was ‘okay’ which is high praise from a chef. G wears a black bandana and looks like a pirate.

Later on I decided that both Stephen and I needed special ‘seduction names’ just in case the need ever arises. Stephen’s is Stevie Slicks, and mine is Richie Licks. We’ll have to see if they ever get put to good use.

Anyways, bye everyone.

I woke up this morning in good spirits after an interesting dream. Well, I say interesting, in actual fact I just liked the concept. My dream was that Eric Roberts was, for some reason, suddenly in charge of the dining hall where Stephen and I work. That was essentially it; we came into work, saw Eric Roberts eating a slap up meal, and then went home again. But imagine how amazing it would be to work with Eric Roberts.

Whenever I look at a picture of Eric Roberts I always get the unshakable impression that he has just finished a good meal. He just looks so immensely satisfied.



Anyway after waking up and getting dressed (always important!) I met up with Steve downstairs, and we set off to work. Whilst walking Stephen pointed out a car, some sort of Honda if I remember correctly, that was for sale. This amused me, as it reminded me of the kind of people who put everything down to the Recession.

“Oh look, selling their car, that’ll be the Recession, won’t be able to afford the upkeep”

“Burglary? Oh yes, that’s the Recession that is, people feeling the bite”

“See all these houses built with bricks? Recession will be the cause of that, look mortar holding them together and everything”

“Weather isn’t very nice today, all down to the Recession you know”

“Swine flu spreading? How could it not be, what with the Recession”

“People respiring oxygen? It’s all because of the economic climate”

And then we got to work.


At work Kas/Kaz (I’ll have to ask him about that) pushed me. I laughed about it, but inside I felt a deep hurt. He’s a scamp that one, a tyke.


In less than eight minutes we were done at work, and we began the journey home. On Valley Bridge Stephen pointed a ‘Limo Bus’ out to me. I’m not sure who thought that that would be a good idea, as it just looks like one of those vehicles that move people with special needs about, but darker. All I could imagine were people in wheelchairs rolling about in the darkness with their heads lolling, party hats slipping, and Basshunter playing in the background. A simultaneously amusing and saddening image.


In the town centre at the moment there is a ‘Continental Fair’ that has foods from every conceivable country that bothered to set up a stall. The area was bustling with holidaymakers and all the dregs of society. Eventually we managed to escape the worst of the crowd and emerge at the other side, or so we thought. Set apart from the rest of the stalls was one more, decorated gaily in red and yellow. In contrast to the other stalls, there were no customers whatsoever. Interested, me and Stephen decided to go make conversation.

Behind the stall were two men and a donkey. Both men had black moustaches, sombreros and ponchos. One man was called Estaban, and the other Pedro. We asked them why they hadn’t sold any of the nachos, burritos, enchiladas, or any of the rest of their delicious stock. In broken English they replied that they had no idea why, and it was quite annoying. I sympathetically agreed that it must be irritating not to sell any of their produce.

Estaban then turned to me and said “That is not the only annoying thing, we had to pay to get here from Mexico, and poor Pedro hasn’t been at all well, he has a sore throat and keeps coughing. It didn’t help that he had to go to the pig farm to fetch fresh pork for the burritos before we flew here”

I nodded sympathetically, and me and Stephen bought a few tacos to take home with us.


That evening we went to see the Wolverine film. It was pretty good, and is very similar to the real life story of David & Toastie Coates that I mentioned yesterday.

BYE!

A walk around the castle

Today me and Stephen went for a walk around the castle. It started well. Firstly I saw Toastie Coates with a smile on his face, which is something to put a smile on everyone else's faces as well.

Toastie Coates is the estranged brother of David Coates, a lecturer at Scarborough University. They are the twin sons of a miller named Nigel, and his wife Brunetta, who stole bikes. Both brothers were born with an unusual abilty, the ability to shoot flames out of the soles of their feet. At five years of age, Toastie could be found, in bare feet, selling delicious toasties outside of train stations that he had cooked using his uncanny power. David, on the other hand, went to school and got an education. By the age of nine, Toastie had saved up enough money to buy a small shop, which he called the 'Toast Box'. David instead stayed at school, then went to university, then went on to be a primary school teacher, and then a science lecturer. He still does use his power though, sometimes when he can't be bothered to fetch a bunsen burner, and on one memorable occasion he took Stephen, and the rest of the class, on a trip to the moon, flying there with his rocket booster feet. The two brothers don't speak to each other any more, as David thinks that Toastie could have done more with his life, and Toastie thinks David could have done more to 'help serve the community'

Anyway, after seeing Toastie we carried on walking.

I saw two people fall over today. One was a man in his fifties, the other was a child about three years of age. The three year old seemed unharmed, and quickly got back to his feet. the older man didn't. Probably just laziness.

Later on in the afternoon me and Stephen went to the skate park to do some 'gnarly' tricks. However, when we arrived, we found that the skate park had been replaced with a childrens play park. This was a shock to me and Stephen as both of us are pro skateboarders. In fact we are so good at skateboarding, or 'woodpushing', that we have been given special skater names.

Skateboarder names are a closely guarded secret that I am about to blow wide open because I am bored. When someone gets really, really good at skateboarding, they get given a new name, a skateboarding name. A skateboarding name is made up of two parts, a standard first name, and then a type of bird as a surname. For example 'Tony Hawk', or 'Steve Caballero', or 'Bam Margera'.

"Caballero?" I hear you say. "Margera? These don't sound like birds. And 'Bam', that isn't a standard first name"

Well you're wrong. DEAD wrong.

First off, 'Bam' is short for Bernard. Pretty standard name now eh?

And as for 'Caballero' and 'Margera':

A North American 'Caballero' with mate.

A Romanovian 'Margera'. Also known as 'land bird'.

So there you have it, all professional skateboarders have a normal first name, and the name of a bird as a surname. My skateboarding name is 'David Eagle', wheras Stephen's is 'Robert Gannet'.

Anyway, the skatepark was gone, replaced with roundabouts and swings and various other arcane devices. Luckily outside the gate was a man, a man called Tony Mutton. He informed us that a new skate park was being built further along the coast, and will be called 'Hairy Bob's Skate Park'. This should be open in spring 2009.

"Spring 2009?" I asked "Isn't spring 2009 already half over?"

"Well, er, we had a few delays" He stuttered

"So me and my homies are going to be denied somewhere to sateboard even longer?" I demanded.

"Well, err, umm" He said, then ran away and hid under a bench. I shook my head sadly and walked home. Where I wrote this.

Bye now!

Are Bearded Men As Happy As I Expect Them To Be?

Are bearded men as happy as I expect them to be?

That is a question I was pondering today. How could they be unhappy? Beards simply look so good that i can't imagine any bearded man (or woman) not spending their time in a state of orgasmic joy. Look at Father Christmas for example, a pretty jolly BEARDED fellow.

Think about it.


Last night at Tesco I noticed some dog toys on a shelf. Usually these wouldn't attract more than a passing glance from me, or if I was feeling accomodating, I might spit at them. But last night I noticed two toys in particular. Both were in the shape of a rolled up magazine, and both had doggy themed magazine titles.


Wait for it.


One was called 'Dogsmapolitan' and underneath was emblazened the legend 'The magazine you can really get your teeth into'.


The other was more of a disappointment, as it was titled 'The Guarddog', a shabby pun on 'The Guardian'.

The first toy made me smile, but the paltry effort expended on the second made me sombre.


Anyway, today at University we had lectures and stuff. I wondered what it would be like to kill a man, and decided that poison would be my prefered method.

As for disposing of the body, I think that digging a hole in the sand at low tide and then covering the body in large stones, and then covering that with sand would do well. I'll have to try it sometime.

I saw Jason again today, he seemed slightly shorter than yesterday, but he still towered above mortal men. He kindly directed me to the correct room for one of my lectures (c22 for any time travelers) but I thought I detected hate in his eyes. I will have to keep a look out.


Also, for anyone that reads this, if you ever need to use any music in a presentation, don't use Yann Tiersen's Comptine d'une Autre Ete - L'Apres-Midi because it shows a distinct lack of effort.

My day

I walked to work as I would any other day, but today my journey was punctuated by a Moment. it was one of those Moments which makes you challenge your deepest feelings and predjudices.

I was walking, wandering, lost in thought as I wandered up towards my workplace, but I was halted, stopped literally in my tracks by the traffic lights. I stood, whiling away the precious seconds, unaware of what was about to happen.

I looked across. There was a bus. A bus stopped at the other set of traffic lights. There was a man driving the bus.

(Well, the bus wasn't moving, but if it had been, he would have been the man in charge)

The man driving the bus had white hair, and sunglasses. He looked like I imagine Jack Black's grandfather would look. I let my gaze linger on him, wondering if he possibly was Jack Black's grandfather.

Why would Jack's grandfather be driving a bus in Scarborough, England? Would Jack not try to support his grandad instead of having him drive round metal boxes of people? Perhaps he was a stubborn, proud grandad who didn't want any help from his successful grandson? Perhaps he was just a little bit resentful of his grandson's success? Maybe he thought he could have set up a better 'School of Rock' than his granson ever could?

But then it ceased to matter.

He looked at me. Even with his sunglasses on, I knew our gazes had connected. Like two magnets our lines of sight had met, and I had no idea what was going to happen.

Time seemed to slow down, had I always been stood here on this cloudy day staring at a bus driver? Was this my life? Had everything that had gone before been building up to this? This endless moment being shared with an unknown bus driver?

I felt as though my soul was bared to him, and his to me. I had heard of people meeting and falling instantly in love, but this was different. I felt as though we shared something, me and this unknown bus driver.

I became aware that his name was probably William, as though just by looking I could tell. I wondered if we would become great friends, him and me. Perhaps we would spend days driving round the country in a bus, having adventures and other such nonsense. I might at least get some free bus journeys.

But then the traffic lights changed. The bus drove on. William didn't stop, nor call for me to get on. Had I misunderstood what had just happened?

I pictured the bus exploding, and thus cheered continued walking. Shortly after I noticed three people entering my field of vision. I knew them. The middle one, the tall one, was Jason.

Suddenly, and without warning, he shot at me, several times. I knew with Jason being as tall as he is, he would have misjudged the shots, so I kept walking and emerged unscathed. I then dispatched Jason with a quick shot to the temple.

"Job well done" I thought.

And walked on. I'd like to think that the bus driver, William, had shared the moment like I hope he had. William, if you read this, wipe your tears. Those adventures we dreamed of can still be ours, I'll be watching for your bus.

BYE!