To the lovely people who follow this blog:
A real big thank you for reading my blathering for the past year or so. I'm moving to a new url though, as the email account this is associated with is soon going to be deleted. If you would like to resume following me, please go to
www.musingsofaseriallurker.blogspot.com
Hope to see you on the other side!
Kim xx
Thursday, 11 November 2010
Monday, 19 July 2010
I like hats!
Walking through Oldrids (a local department store) with my brother, we walked past a couple of women.
Random woman: I like hats!
If we were near hats, this would have made sense - but there were no hats in sight.
Random woman: I like hats!
If we were near hats, this would have made sense - but there were no hats in sight.
Thursday, 15 July 2010
The Strange People of Derby
I don’t know what it is, but strange people seem to be attracted to Derby like iron filings are attracted to a magnet. The number of strange people in Boston is quite high – we have such legends as George (“Happy Easter, it’ll soon be Christmas!”), Cedric (the bad transsexual), and the dude who walks around wearing ear phones that aren’t connected to anything. But it is nothing compared to the weird and wonderful people who walk the streets of Derby.
They are so weird they even deserve a post entirely about them.
The first strange person I saw was when I was on the train, a few moments outside of Derby. He was in the back garden of his house and he appeared to be shifting a metal wheelbarrow onto the roof of his garden shed. Why would anyone do that? To use it as an ornament, perhaps? A simple ‘I can do it’ to the people passing on trains? Wayne came up with this idea: the man had seen himself doing it in a dream, and when his wife asked why he would do such a stupid thing, he had done it as a big two fingers up at her. I have no idea, all I know is that it’s a very strange thing to do.
I didn’t encounter this next guy, but Wayne did and I trust his telling of the story enough to retell it as part of my evidence for Derby being Strange Person Central. He was walking back from work Friday morning, and a random bloke stopped him and asked him if he had 38p. Not 40 or 35p, oh no - 38p. After Wayne told him no, he didn’t have 38p as he was just on the way back from work, Random Man proceeded to introduce himself and start chatting to him. This might be considered friendly, but I think it’s actually scary. Why didn’t he talk to Wayne before asking for the 38p? Here’s why: he wanted to know as much as possible about him so he could take revenge for the denial of 38p.
Watch out, Wayne – this guy’s after you!
Person number 3 was a bloke I encountered while with Wayne. He’s not a potential murderer like the last person – he’s an architectural nutcase, desperate to pass on his knowledge to the rest of the world.
We were walking across the Bridge of Lights (not as amazing as it sounds, I assure you) and I was taking the piss out of St Mary’s Church, which was right in front of us. Suddenly, a man appeared from behind us: “The interior was designed by the same man who designed the interior of Westminster, you know!” he told us, obviously taking my pisstaking as a sign of extreme interest. We thanked him for imparting this interesting information to us, and quickly moved on – he might be a benevolent teacher, simply passing on his knowledge to the uneducated, but he also might be a crazed professor determined to make us pass on all of his knowledge about architecture. While that could be interesting, we had much more interesting plans for the afternoon: Super Smash Brothers and Mario Kart Wii with a load of Wayne’s friends.
The final person was an elderly lady I met while sitting on the train waiting to leave Derby. She may have sang at me for no apparent reason. I found this to be both disturbing and amusing.
So yeah, you find some real characters in Derby, and I love it. How can you ever run out of inspiration for wacky characters when you are always surrounded by them?!
They are so weird they even deserve a post entirely about them.
The first strange person I saw was when I was on the train, a few moments outside of Derby. He was in the back garden of his house and he appeared to be shifting a metal wheelbarrow onto the roof of his garden shed. Why would anyone do that? To use it as an ornament, perhaps? A simple ‘I can do it’ to the people passing on trains? Wayne came up with this idea: the man had seen himself doing it in a dream, and when his wife asked why he would do such a stupid thing, he had done it as a big two fingers up at her. I have no idea, all I know is that it’s a very strange thing to do.
I didn’t encounter this next guy, but Wayne did and I trust his telling of the story enough to retell it as part of my evidence for Derby being Strange Person Central. He was walking back from work Friday morning, and a random bloke stopped him and asked him if he had 38p. Not 40 or 35p, oh no - 38p. After Wayne told him no, he didn’t have 38p as he was just on the way back from work, Random Man proceeded to introduce himself and start chatting to him. This might be considered friendly, but I think it’s actually scary. Why didn’t he talk to Wayne before asking for the 38p? Here’s why: he wanted to know as much as possible about him so he could take revenge for the denial of 38p.
Watch out, Wayne – this guy’s after you!
Person number 3 was a bloke I encountered while with Wayne. He’s not a potential murderer like the last person – he’s an architectural nutcase, desperate to pass on his knowledge to the rest of the world.
We were walking across the Bridge of Lights (not as amazing as it sounds, I assure you) and I was taking the piss out of St Mary’s Church, which was right in front of us. Suddenly, a man appeared from behind us: “The interior was designed by the same man who designed the interior of Westminster, you know!” he told us, obviously taking my pisstaking as a sign of extreme interest. We thanked him for imparting this interesting information to us, and quickly moved on – he might be a benevolent teacher, simply passing on his knowledge to the uneducated, but he also might be a crazed professor determined to make us pass on all of his knowledge about architecture. While that could be interesting, we had much more interesting plans for the afternoon: Super Smash Brothers and Mario Kart Wii with a load of Wayne’s friends.
The final person was an elderly lady I met while sitting on the train waiting to leave Derby. She may have sang at me for no apparent reason. I found this to be both disturbing and amusing.
So yeah, you find some real characters in Derby, and I love it. How can you ever run out of inspiration for wacky characters when you are always surrounded by them?!
A moment of mild wit
One of my gorgeous best friends, Fizzy, gave birth to a (presumably) equally as gorgeous little girl – called Poppy Jasmine - this morning. I have already bought mummy and baby a few things, but I still had to buy a card.
Today, Clintons, with Carl (my brother):
Carl: Where are they? Do new baby cards even exist?
Me: Yeahhh, I know they do – I’ve seen them before! Ah – hang on, what are these? *points to the side*
Carl: *Begins to laugh* “‘With sympathy’?!”
Today, Clintons, with Carl (my brother):
Carl: Where are they? Do new baby cards even exist?
Me: Yeahhh, I know they do – I’ve seen them before! Ah – hang on, what are these? *points to the side*
Carl: *Begins to laugh* “‘With sympathy’?!”
Wednesday, 14 July 2010
I just want to get home!
Up until the past few days, I couldn’t understand why trains in the UK - or at least England - have such a bad reputation among the people I know: okay, so they weren’t exactly plushy – or even very nice – but they got me where I needed to be and on time, too. The last five or so times I have travelled using the trains, though, I have discovered why they are mocked as well as gaining a loathing of using them.
Strangely, the problems never come from the Skegness–Nottingham line – they always (yes, always) come from the Birmingham New Street-Derby line. How it is that a line from a small seaside town is more reliable than a line from a city, I don’t know. But it’s true all the same.
Take this weekend, for example.
For the past week, I have been in Derby with Wayne. However, I had to be back today so that I could make an important dentist appointment. It took me four attempts to get here, and even then I didn’t make it on time to make the appointment.
What could have caused that?
Cancellations and delays.
The first time I tried to get home was Sunday. Not exactly a good day to choose due to the timetables being fucked up, but I was talked into staying longer than planned by Wayne. This time, missing the train was my fault. I fully admit to that (although I think Wayne deserves some of the credit, too, seeing as he was the reason why I was walking so slowly to the station - he doesn't half talk some rubbish!). It's the only time I take responsibility for it: the other times it was entirely down to the stupid railway service.
Tuesday evening was the second attempt I made. This time, the train arrived on time, but departed 3 minutes late. While this doesn't sound disastrous, I only have 10 minutes to get from the train to Nottingham to the train to Boston, so every single minute counts. Had that been the only delay, I could have possibly made it, although I would have been knackered from running – the platform my Nottingham train arrives at is on the opposite side of the station to where the Skegness train departs. Then came the killing blow for my plans to get home that night: about 3 minutes away from the destination, the train pulled to a halt, and didn’t move for about 20 minutes.
There was another train to Boston, don’t get me wrong. I could have got it. But I would have had to wait for an hour and a half, and the station was cold. And by ‘cold’ I mean ‘fucking freezing’; there wasn't much wind, but the station was funnelling it and making it chillier than Wayne’s old house on a cold day. Fuming and almost to the point of pulling my hair out in anger, I rang Wayne and let him know what was going on. Half an hour later, I was back on a train to Derby, planning on spending an extra night at his house. I was definitely not a happy bunny - especially as this wasn't the first time this had happened to me. It's happened once before, at the beginning of May: I was trying to get home, train was late, I had to wait for hours for next train. Okay, so they offered me a taxi to Boston last time, and I took them up on it. Last night, however, they told me to catch the train to Grantham (meaning that hour and a half wait) then get a taxi from there to Boston. But what's the point of that? I'd be getting home the same time as the really late Nottingham - Skegness train!
The third time I walked to the station was this morning. I was going to catch the 1110 and arrive at 1330 – just in time to get to the dentist when I reached Boston. The train was cancelled. The next train to Nottingham was only ten minutes later, but it meant that I missed the Skegness train…so I had to catch the one an hour later. And even then it wasn’t the last of the delays: the Skegness train, when it finally arrived, was 10 minutes late in setting off due to a senile old man running around and refusing to sit down. By the time I got home, I was an half an hour late for the dentist and fuming, once again.
Lessons learned: trains are rubbish, and should never be depended upon. Also, I really need to learn to drive or get Wayne to learn to drive so I don’t have to use trains as my main method of transport.
Now that I've ranted about that, I'm in the process of writing a collection of happy blog pots about the awesome time I had last week. I wrote out a diary (well, a mishmash of stuff) in a notebook while I was there, so I'll type them out and post them as separate days on here. It's sort of therapy to make me calm down after writing this out and getting angry (once again) at railways.
Strangely, the problems never come from the Skegness–Nottingham line – they always (yes, always) come from the Birmingham New Street-Derby line. How it is that a line from a small seaside town is more reliable than a line from a city, I don’t know. But it’s true all the same.
Take this weekend, for example.
For the past week, I have been in Derby with Wayne. However, I had to be back today so that I could make an important dentist appointment. It took me four attempts to get here, and even then I didn’t make it on time to make the appointment.
What could have caused that?
Cancellations and delays.
The first time I tried to get home was Sunday. Not exactly a good day to choose due to the timetables being fucked up, but I was talked into staying longer than planned by Wayne. This time, missing the train was my fault. I fully admit to that (although I think Wayne deserves some of the credit, too, seeing as he was the reason why I was walking so slowly to the station - he doesn't half talk some rubbish!). It's the only time I take responsibility for it: the other times it was entirely down to the stupid railway service.
Tuesday evening was the second attempt I made. This time, the train arrived on time, but departed 3 minutes late. While this doesn't sound disastrous, I only have 10 minutes to get from the train to Nottingham to the train to Boston, so every single minute counts. Had that been the only delay, I could have possibly made it, although I would have been knackered from running – the platform my Nottingham train arrives at is on the opposite side of the station to where the Skegness train departs. Then came the killing blow for my plans to get home that night: about 3 minutes away from the destination, the train pulled to a halt, and didn’t move for about 20 minutes.
There was another train to Boston, don’t get me wrong. I could have got it. But I would have had to wait for an hour and a half, and the station was cold. And by ‘cold’ I mean ‘fucking freezing’; there wasn't much wind, but the station was funnelling it and making it chillier than Wayne’s old house on a cold day. Fuming and almost to the point of pulling my hair out in anger, I rang Wayne and let him know what was going on. Half an hour later, I was back on a train to Derby, planning on spending an extra night at his house. I was definitely not a happy bunny - especially as this wasn't the first time this had happened to me. It's happened once before, at the beginning of May: I was trying to get home, train was late, I had to wait for hours for next train. Okay, so they offered me a taxi to Boston last time, and I took them up on it. Last night, however, they told me to catch the train to Grantham (meaning that hour and a half wait) then get a taxi from there to Boston. But what's the point of that? I'd be getting home the same time as the really late Nottingham - Skegness train!
The third time I walked to the station was this morning. I was going to catch the 1110 and arrive at 1330 – just in time to get to the dentist when I reached Boston. The train was cancelled. The next train to Nottingham was only ten minutes later, but it meant that I missed the Skegness train…so I had to catch the one an hour later. And even then it wasn’t the last of the delays: the Skegness train, when it finally arrived, was 10 minutes late in setting off due to a senile old man running around and refusing to sit down. By the time I got home, I was an half an hour late for the dentist and fuming, once again.
Lessons learned: trains are rubbish, and should never be depended upon. Also, I really need to learn to drive or get Wayne to learn to drive so I don’t have to use trains as my main method of transport.
Now that I've ranted about that, I'm in the process of writing a collection of happy blog pots about the awesome time I had last week. I wrote out a diary (well, a mishmash of stuff) in a notebook while I was there, so I'll type them out and post them as separate days on here. It's sort of therapy to make me calm down after writing this out and getting angry (once again) at railways.
Tuesday, 6 July 2010
First day in Derby
I arrived in Derby quite late this evening due to having a couple of other things on which meant I couldn't get a very early train. I don't know, you have nothing on for ages, and then suddenly everything collides: today, I had an eye test (I need new glasses, which wasn't much of a surprise), had my hair cut, and then had to get the two hour train to Derby. After the eye test and hairdresser I didn't much feel like going on the train, to be honest, but I pepped myself up with the knowledge that Wayne would be there when I arrived and I could have a much-needed hug. I might have only been in Boston for one week, but that was more than enough, believe me.
So I arrived about 8 and found Wayne outside the station, reading some signs about the history of Derby. After a quick RAARR hug attack, we set off for his new house - a house he only moved in to last week, and so a house I had never seen before.
The last house he lived in wasn't, to be perfectly and brutally honest, the best. It was too big, too cold, and although the atmosphere was cheerier than the one in the Boston house, it was pretty bad. This new house, however, is lovely. There’s no mould (something the old house had in great big green mounds), the atmosphere is cheery and happy, and everyone gathers in the room daily. The rooms are a nice size, and the house is away from the main road – it really is a lovely place. The only slight problem with it is that it is so far away from town, but hey-ho, never mind. It is only 6 minutes away from the Uni (at Wayne's regular walking pace (aka, snail pace)) so I can forgive it for being away from town!
After being shown around, Wayne made me a cup of tea. Ooooh, that reminds me of something I said I'd mention – The Kettle! When they moved in, Wayne sent me a really excited text about a really awesome kettle. I don’t know what I was expecting – perhaps a kettle that played music while boiling, mashing and fixing the tea – but it certainly didn't live up to the hype. A press of a button makes the lid flick up, and when you turn the power on, the water level lights up blue. That’s what makes it 'awesome'. Still, it makes a cuppa, and that's all that matters really.
Then we (Alex, Jess, Josh (Wayne's housemates), Wayne and I) sat down and stuck a film on. It was a martial arts film, so I wasn't entirely sure what I was letting myself in for by agreeing to watch it, but I went with it anyway. It would be rude not to, considering I was a guest at their house and everything. The film chosen was Ong Bak. Rotten Tomatoes gave it a percentage of 85% - way over what I was expecting. It wasn’t that the film was appalling – it wasn’t – it was just so laughable and silly. Obviously a showcase of the leading actor’s epic martial arts skillz, it was one chase (including one in tuc tucs) and fight after another. The best character in it was George, the idiotic and slightly adorable “sidekick” who kept making awesome mistakes. Not huge, momentous mistakes, but mistakes that are genuinely awesome and bring about the end of a load of bad guys.
The sidekick’s sidekick, a young girl, seemed to have no purpose except to stand there and look shocked or worried a lot. For example:
(She's the one in the middle. George is on the left, with the main character in the centre.)
But the film has ended so now we have to go to bed – I'm “more shattered than a smashed window” (to quote the text I sent Wayne this morning) and, since Wayne's been up since 5 due to work, he's just as knackered. He has Thursday morning off from Tesco so he can spend tomorrow with me, so I suppose that's one more good thing about this trip - it made him take a (much needed) day off from work!
Day one, done.
So I arrived about 8 and found Wayne outside the station, reading some signs about the history of Derby. After a quick RAARR hug attack, we set off for his new house - a house he only moved in to last week, and so a house I had never seen before.
The last house he lived in wasn't, to be perfectly and brutally honest, the best. It was too big, too cold, and although the atmosphere was cheerier than the one in the Boston house, it was pretty bad. This new house, however, is lovely. There’s no mould (something the old house had in great big green mounds), the atmosphere is cheery and happy, and everyone gathers in the room daily. The rooms are a nice size, and the house is away from the main road – it really is a lovely place. The only slight problem with it is that it is so far away from town, but hey-ho, never mind. It is only 6 minutes away from the Uni (at Wayne's regular walking pace (aka, snail pace)) so I can forgive it for being away from town!
After being shown around, Wayne made me a cup of tea. Ooooh, that reminds me of something I said I'd mention – The Kettle! When they moved in, Wayne sent me a really excited text about a really awesome kettle. I don’t know what I was expecting – perhaps a kettle that played music while boiling, mashing and fixing the tea – but it certainly didn't live up to the hype. A press of a button makes the lid flick up, and when you turn the power on, the water level lights up blue. That’s what makes it 'awesome'. Still, it makes a cuppa, and that's all that matters really.
Then we (Alex, Jess, Josh (Wayne's housemates), Wayne and I) sat down and stuck a film on. It was a martial arts film, so I wasn't entirely sure what I was letting myself in for by agreeing to watch it, but I went with it anyway. It would be rude not to, considering I was a guest at their house and everything. The film chosen was Ong Bak. Rotten Tomatoes gave it a percentage of 85% - way over what I was expecting. It wasn’t that the film was appalling – it wasn’t – it was just so laughable and silly. Obviously a showcase of the leading actor’s epic martial arts skillz, it was one chase (including one in tuc tucs) and fight after another. The best character in it was George, the idiotic and slightly adorable “sidekick” who kept making awesome mistakes. Not huge, momentous mistakes, but mistakes that are genuinely awesome and bring about the end of a load of bad guys.
The sidekick’s sidekick, a young girl, seemed to have no purpose except to stand there and look shocked or worried a lot. For example:
(She's the one in the middle. George is on the left, with the main character in the centre.)
But the film has ended so now we have to go to bed – I'm “more shattered than a smashed window” (to quote the text I sent Wayne this morning) and, since Wayne's been up since 5 due to work, he's just as knackered. He has Thursday morning off from Tesco so he can spend tomorrow with me, so I suppose that's one more good thing about this trip - it made him take a (much needed) day off from work!
Day one, done.
Monday, 28 June 2010
Clever Clogs strikes again...
Wayne and I walk towards the cash machine outside Sainsburys. There’s a billboard advertising a NEW WISPA DUO just outside.
Kim: What is it, then? A bigger version of the Wispa?
Wayne: You know how you get Bountys in two pieces, and Mars Bars? I think it’s like them…
Kim: So not a bigger version of the Wispa then?
Wayne: No, not a bigger version of the Wispa. Although…wouldn’t a larger version of a Wispa be a shout?
Kim: *groans* *punches Wayne*
Kim: What is it, then? A bigger version of the Wispa?
Wayne: You know how you get Bountys in two pieces, and Mars Bars? I think it’s like them…
Kim: So not a bigger version of the Wispa then?
Wayne: No, not a bigger version of the Wispa. Although…wouldn’t a larger version of a Wispa be a shout?
Kim: *groans* *punches Wayne*
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