Arriving at Mrs Dietwoman’s house this afternoon I was a little worried about what she was going to tell me.
“So how was this week?” she asked, as she does every week.
“Not good,” I said, “I’ve kind of cheated twice.”
“How do mean cheated?”
“Well I had two meals out.”
She frowned a little but more so because she’d already told me that I’m allowed to break the diet if I want to as I’d still have lost weight if I’ve stuck to it the rest of week.
I explained to her about my parents coming to Dublin on Wednesday and we’d have a meal out. I told her about the half of a baguette I had while waiting for them at the airport. I then told her about the sunday dinner I had yesterday. I didn’t tell her about the fruit salad and ice-cream I had after dinner or about the one rich tea biscuit I stole last night while every one was having tea or coffee.
“Well, as I said to you at the first appointment, life goes on. Now lets weigh you and see what’s happened,” she said.
“Don’t be surprised if I’ve only lost 2lb or even put 2lb back on!” I replied.
So onto the scales I stepped, all worried and nervous about what she’d say. So much so that I couldn’t actually look down.
She looked at the scales, looked at me, looked back at the scales and then she looked at me again and smiled.
“You’ve lost 7lb.”
“What?” I said, astounded.
“You’ve lost 7lb. So lets see, in total so far you’ve lost,” she paused to work it out, “2st 1lb.”
I sat down, amazed I’d lost anything and even more amazed I’d lost that much!
So I’m not 2st 1lb lighter than I was this time three weeks ago. Holy fuck! I’m still in shock and still over the fucking moon!
I’ve been incredibly snowed under with stuff at home and at work. I’m on this course (as most of you know) through work and the workload for me is a lot so I’d hate to think what it’s like for those people on the course who have kids to look after as well!
Mind you, I shouldn’t complain. I’ve had two sets of results so far, both distinctions, and have been told I’m on my way for another distinction in the current module I’m doing. I don’t expect to get a distinction in two of the modules as I hate the lecturer, as do we all, and it would appear she’s lost one of my assignments which I now have to reprint and hand in again!
So on the weight front things are going FANTASTICALLY well!
Week one I lost 12lb and then in week two I lost 6lb. I think I’ll have lost 3lb on week three and not because I’m having it again but because I had a night off yesterday. When I saw Mrs Dietwoman I asked her about what I should do if I was invited out for a meal and she said (and I quote) “for God’s sake! Life goes on! If you want to go out for a meal then go out! Just try to eat sensibly and how I told you. You’ll still have lost weight as you’ll have stuck to the diet for the rest of the week, just not as much as you would have! Go out. Enjoy yourself!”
Well my parents came to Dublin yesterday to watch a football match, bringing with them my aunt and uncle who live in Australia. It was there grandson playing in the football match. I haven’t seen them in eighteen years and as much as my father protested at us travelling all that way to see them I had to really. They’d come halfway round the world so it wasn’t going to take much effect for me to drive 200km to see them!
Anyway it was because of this trip that I broke my diet. We all went out for a meal to an excellent restaurant called Le Bon Crubeen in Dublin. The menu actually had a low-calorie option which I chose but not just because it was low in calories but because it sounded gorgeous. Lemon & Thyme grilled chicken on a bed of spinach and red onion salad with chick peas and olives. I don’t actually remember seeing any olives which was fine as I hate them. When I started the diet Mrs Dietwoman told me that as my stomach got smaller I’d want smaller portions. Well I actually ended up leaving half of it! This is like me at all. I was also the last to finish whereas usually I’d have wolfed the whole lot down and then asked for a pud!
At the airport while waiting for them to arrive we treated ourselves to a baguette and coffee. Rather than a baguette each, which would be normal for me, we had one and split it. Again I was still eating long after Brad had finished and by the end of it I was full! Me! Full on on half a baguette! Will wonders never cease?
I’ve also found I need a belt! I’m starting to pull my jeans up more and yesterday I even got into a pair of jeans I’ve never been able to get in to. They were given as a gift before you think I randomly go out and buy jeans in smaller sizes!
So all in all the last few weeks have been tremendous. 18lb’s in weight lost, fitting in new jeans, seeing my aunt & uncle and parents, getting fit and two distinctions!
On Monday when I say Mrs. Dietwoman she told me that the first and second day would be the hardest. If that’s true then tomorrow should be dead easy!
Today has been harder than yesterday but then again I wasn’t at work yesterday I was on my course. Today I made breakfast for the lads and the temptation to have some toast was damn strong! The smell of the bread toasting, the butter melting on it and the crunch as I cut the slice in half all made the idea of one piece of toast seem perfectly naturally. ‘No one is ever going to know’ I thought. Of course, I would. I’d have known. It was only the fact that I managed yesterday that actually stopped me from eating it.
Those thoughts also stopped me eating curry at lunchtime, crepe’s and fresh cream from the fridge, Tayto’s in the cupboard and spring rolls in the evening.
I don’t actually have a lot in my life to be proud of, and that’s not a call for comments of encouragement telling me what you think I should be proud of, it’s just the way I feel, but I am proud of this. I’m proud that even though it’s for two days (so far) I’ve stuck with it when I could have just had one chocolate chip cookie that was staring at me from the press. As I said before, no one would know – apart from me! The only way I’ll prove to myself and others that I didn’t actually eat the biscuit, or anything else I had access to, is when I start to show that I’ve lost weight. Maybe I’ll gain a bit of self-respect as well as I have very very little of that left anymore!
I’m hungry now but then again I haven’t finished my two litres yet but there is just over a mouthful left so that’ll be gone before this post appears in the feed.
I’m hungry now but then again I’m on a liquid diet.
I’m hungry now but then again my body is used to a lot more calories than the 610 I’m getting.
Day one of my diet is going well. I’m hungry but not starving, although I was earlier. Thankfully I managed to stave off the hunger but keeping in my mind that I’d be enjoying my soup later. I still have one meal owing to me so that’s not bad. I was told the first 4-5 days would be like this and if this is as bad as it gets then it’s going to be a piece of piss! Talking of piss… I’m pissing like a fucking racehorse! I’m also incredibly tired but I’m blaming that on the dogs barking all night rather than lack of food!
So, in apparently 12 weeks I’ll be 17st 6lb… or there abouts. I’m not overly thrilled about that as I still think it’s too heavy for my own personal liking but after a short break I can carry on and by the summer I’ll be 14st something or other as long as everything goes to plan, and there’s no reason it shouldn’t.
So I went off to see my new fitness instructor and nutritionist today.
I knew I was in for an eye opening experience but didn’t realise just how much! For €80 a time she is well worth it. Actually, I think she is. Lets just say that right now she appears it, we’ll see if she’s earned her money when I go back next week and find out how much I’ve lost.
Because I wasn’t always this size my weight has never really bothered me but I’ve known for a long time I should be doing something about it. I once weighed twenty-five stone! A diet club helped me lose most of that but it was closed down when we found out the leader was on the fiddle.
Lovely Anita (and she really is lovely) has given me a strict diet of stuff and recommended little exercise for the first two weeks as if I do too much I’ll get angry at not being able to do it and that will lead me to not do any at all. Makes sense really but it’s not something I’ve ever really thought of.
So people, I have a little game for you.
Take a look at the two pictures below and tell me how much I weigh now. I won’t be offended with any guess. I was quite shocked. The person who gets closest gets a little prize of some sort, I don’t know what yet, maybe a cake I’m not allowed to eat! I’ll give you a clue… it’s more than 15st and less that 25st.
For a price I’ll post the nude ones!
P.S. I’m not smiling for a reason, not because I’m unhappy at being a tubby lump of lard.
P.P.S. Any one who wishes to shout abuse (and yes, there is a certain someone) feel free. Keep in mind that all you’re doing is pointing out the obvious. That’s hardly insulting is it? Oh and at least I’m losing weight, you’ll always be pig fucking ugly.
Before you comment make sure you’ve read the ENTIRE entry!
It’s my opinion and it may not necessarily match yours but it’s still mine so to me it’s right, to you it might not be but to me it is.
Florence + The Machine.
In my opinion she’s not “all that.” Mediocre unoriginal voice with old format songs. Nothing new, nothing special, not even very good.
I am sick to death mildly annoyed by people telling me she’s great and that I know nothing about music! I may not be some big record producer but I’m entitled to a fucking opinion and I know what I like and don’t like. I do not like her. You might, good for you, I’m pleased that our tastes differ as it would be a very boring fucking world if we all thought the same.
In my opinion the only reason I can see her doing so well is because she has a wacky* name and people think because she’s “a bit different” she must be followed. It happens quite often with new artists until they get a bit too popular and people stop following and use the excuse that they sold out or something similar.
Very recently people have been telling me that she’s good. Not that they think she’s good but that she IS and there must be something mentally wrong with me for not liking her! What is that all about? Why can’t people be entitled to their own opinions, why must mine be wrong?
I know some people having been joking about it and that’s fine, I know when it’s joke, but sadly some people have been quite serious about it.
I could quite easily point out that NME called Flo’s album “just okay” and that the the reviews of her appearance on the Live Lounge say that she was abysmal but I haven’t because it’s irrelevant when talking about my opinion and/or your opinion.
It’s not just Florence + The Machine though! What the fuck is there to like about Lady Gaga? Now, as hypocritical as it might sound I quite like some of his tracks, but he’s not the break-away artist of the fucking century, as I was told a few weeks ago. He’s a Gwen Stefani Wannabee and a failing one at that.
There are many other artists I could list that I don’t like and I’m sure some of you would suck through your teeth and be bitter at the fact that I don’t like that artist but tough shit! It’s my opinion, if you don’t like it it’s your problem not mine… but stop making it my problem!
Now, before you leave a comment, should you want to, if it’s a comment telling me how good Flo or Lady Gaga are then don’t bother. I’m only going to tell you that you’re talking crap and I may even delete the comment. If you want to tell me why my opinion is wrong then feel free to do that but give me some actual evidence, not your opinion. If your evidence includes phrases such as “you have to like her” or “she’s just brilliant” or even “you must be retarded to not like her” then I may belittle you. It’s my blog and I’m allowed to do that.
I’m often amazed at how the mind works when it comes to memory recall. I couldn’t tell you what I had for lunch yesterday but a simple comment on the radio has me instantly remembering something from over twenty-five years ago that I hadn’t thought about for probably the same amount of time.
On the radio today they were talking about the snow (every other news item seems irrelevant at the moment) when a caller said “and I could only go at about thirty miles per hour!” Instantly in my head it’s 1984!
I’m eleven years old and it’s my first year at secondary school. Earlier that year I’d bought a clipboard from WHSmiths with some vouchers I’d had from my Auntie Winnie for my birthday. What an eleven year old needs with a clipboad is beyond me but I know I wanted it! It was yellow and had “Speed Limit: 30mph when leaving class!” written on the front. I found it hilarious! The shame!
So there I am in a biology lesson with Miss Kelly and I’m taking notes with my notepad fastened to my clipboard. I was so proud and it obviously made me the most itelligent person in the class.
Without warning Spencer Glanville, a fellow pupil, grabs it out of my hands and “autographs” the back!
“That’ll be worth a fortune when I’m famous!” he says.
I was furious but could do little about it as I was already on report for telling an English teacher to fuck off so snapping at Glanville would have got me in more trouble!
I got my revenge by unscrewing the leg of his tripod while he fetched a beaker of water. As soon as he put the beaker on the tripod it gave way and 300mls of water soaked him and his workbook – the intended target.
Miss Kelly took one look at the tripod and knew it had been tampered with and muttered “bloody sixformers!” under her breath as she cleaned up broken glass and told us to settle down.
I still have the clipbaord somewhere at mothers and although it’s faded a litle you can still make out the feint nearly twenty-six year old signature of an eleven year old Spencer Glanville on the back.
Spencer left our school at the end of the first year and I’ve never heard of him since. If anyone knows if he ever became famous, other than his mention on the worlds most popular blog, let me know. I could be sitting on a small fortune!
I’ve been sat going though my blog entries of 2009 to try and boost my memory so I can write a review of my year but 2009 was so full of death and sadness that I don’t think it would make a good review.
Of course there were some good times like our trip to Berlin and then to Hull and the various visit here by our friends. RuaidhrÃ’s 1st birthday, the birth of Saroise and the various birthday parties we attended through-out the year.
I can only hope that 2010 is better. It hasn’t started out too well to be honest but they news officially came in on New Years Eve so I’m filing it under 2009 news so at least the first five days of 2010 have been pleasant.
New Years Eve was lovely. Very civilised at the Duggans with canapes and nibbles and champagne to toast in the new year. Mother rang, wankered, at 12.30 to wish us happy new year even though when I spoke to her earlier that evening she said she’d not be calling.
New Years Day was quiet. I was at work all day, as I was the day after, and all trips out and walks have been cancelled due to the icy roads. It’s a bit of shit as one of the service users doesn’t cope well with being stuck in all day and sadly wouldn’t understand why he couldn’t go out. He got a bit tetchy in the morning after having spent the previous day inside, but seemed to calm down when I gave him some attention.
Well what was going to be a review of 2009 has turned into something else so I’ll go now and write something else later.
I went to the doctor yesterday and have it semi-confirmed that I have Swine Flu.
Joy!
She examined me and listening to my chest and then said that given all the symptoms it was quite obviously swine flu. “Without swabs and tests I can’t confirm it but I assure it’s swine flu!” she said.
I have a antibiotics to fight the infection and stop it turning into pneumonia but she wouldn’t give me anything to fight the virus as she says it’s too late. She’s also given me steroids to help with my breathing as on occasion I don’t seem to do it so well.
I’ve had colds before and when I was little I actually had proper real influenza (spent a week or so in hospital in a big plastic tent with no contact from anyone!) but I don’t ever remember feeling as ill as I do now.
Occasionally it feels like the inside of my head is spinning and then I get a buzzing sound in my ears. My eyes get a bit bugged out and my nose is totally blocked. I feel so incredibly weak, to the point that even typing this takes more energy than I currently have available. It takes me an age to get warm and when I finally do I’m too hot and it takes just as long to cool down. My throat feels itchy and it hurts to cough.
I’ve had man-flu and gay flu but nothing compares to this.
On a more positive note I have discovered a new colour. When you look at it you think it’s green but the more you look the more it becomes brown and then on closer inspection it appears red before returning to green. It’s am amazing effect and I’ve yet to think of a name for it. It’s best I not tell you how I found it.
There was a time, back in the day, when I used to make short films. I’d advertise for actors and extras, find locations, and turn a short script or joke into a five or ten minute film.
I actually have a feature length film in the planning but after having the funding refused a couple of times I decided to put it on the back-burner, as they say, and reapply at some other time.
I think now is that time, but I also think it’s been that long since I’ve actually done anything along these lines that I need to get back in to the swing of things.
So, with that in mind I’ve decided to make a couple of short films and enter them into a couple of film festivals. I’ve entered some of my other works into festivals before and won a couple of awards at times, a fact I’m quite proud of and will happily display (brag about) on any curriculum vitae I attach to any future projects.
I’ve already got the story for my first short film sorted. It’s a short story by someone most of my viewers will know quite well. I’m not going to mention names, that’s up the author but I’ve spoken to them and have their full permission to use the story and they’ve even offered to help out here and there. I’m quite glad they’ve offered as it saves me begging in a couple of weeks when things don’t seem to sound as good as they should and it’ll all be because I’ve made some stupid mistake somewhere. Many of you won’t believe this but there are times I’m wrong you know.
All I have to do now is turn it into a script, organise a shooting schedule, find the locations and get the actors! Editing will be easy, music will be okay-ish and I even have a gimmick to ensure it’s entry into festivals! I’m not revealing the gimmick just yet as it’s something I want to be revealed at the very end of the short film, in the credits or such like.
I’ll keep you updated on here and on the soon-to-be-redeveloped-website and may even give some of you a preview. There is a small eighty seater cinema in Galway I can hire and I’m very tempted to have a “premiere” just for the hell of it!
So, anyone fancy acting? I’m looking for young woman, she is the only speaking part (this may and probably will change as the time goes), and loads of extras. The only requirements are that you can get to Galway and own something black! Let me know.
1. Have you ever taken part in a demonstration? Yes. Â It was fun.
2. Is there an issue you’d protest against no
When isn’t there an issue I’d protest again? Â I love soup in a polystyrene cup and standing round a burning oil drum!
3. Through-out history there has been an event that has lead to every day at one point or another being called “Bloody.” What’s the worst day of the week for you?
I don’t really have one as my work is seven days a week. Â I don’t work seven days a week though! Â Does any of that make sense?
4. There have actually been eleven Bloody Sunday events around the world, the last one (1972) leading to a song by U2. Which world wide event would you like to see a song written for?
I wouldn’t. Â I can’t abide tribute songs and shit like that.
5. The one person I’d like to see in prison is …………………… for the crime of … ?
I have a real issue answering this as there are so many people I’d like to see in prison for various crimes
So today we headed off to Enniskillen in Northern Ireland. For those of you that don’t know (and yes there are some surprisingly) Northern Ireland is part of the United Kingdom but Southern Ireland (the Republic of Ireland) is not, it’s a whole separate country. Bert and I live in the Republic.
On the radio last week they talked about how people are travelling “up north” to do their shopping, christmas and general grocery. I decided this sounded like a good idea so thought we should give it a try.
Enniskillen is only a couple of hours away from where we live and interestingly enough my maternal grandmother and all her family are from there so it was an extra special trip for me.
We set off around 7.30am and got to Tesco for 10am. We didn’t even realise we’d gone across the border until we saw the PSNI station in Belcoo. The PSNI is the Police Service for Northern Ireland. They didn’t want to be known as the Northern Ireland Police Service. The PSNI station is incredible. It’s like a small prison! It certainly makes you feel unwelcome as you enter the UK but it’s a left over from the troubles and as a border station has blast walls and bullet proof glass.
The Tesco store was laid the same as any Tesco store I’ve been in so we, thankfully, knew which aisles to head for.
Our purpose was to buy birthday, christmas and anniversary gifts and once we’d done that we’d do a bit of grocery shopping.
We had a nice slow walk round Tesco and then over to Asda and then into the Erneside Shopping Centre and by the time we’d finished we’d got a car full of goodies and sore feet.
The trip home took longer than the trip there as we missed two turns and really had no idea where we were going.
We unloaded the car in the rain and then loaded up with the stuff we need for tonight and tomorrow as we’re staying with Mr & Mrs Duggan tonight and tomorrow Helen and I are having a baking day.
So there you have my day and I bet you’re wondering why we travelled north to do our shopping given that we live in a very beautiful part of Ireland with every shop you could imagine. Well the cost was the issue.
I’ve already been told how I’m not supporting the Irish economy by doing this and I agree that I’m not but I have my reasons. I’m currently paying a pension levy on my pension contributions in my wages on a pension I will never get. This started in April of this year. In January we got hit with a 1% income charge to try and stabilise the economy and, as we all knew and expected, this failed hence the pension levy. Sadly the pension levy is only for those of is in the public service and in December we’re going to get hit by more taxes. In one year my income has gone down by 12% and even though the government tell me that the cost of living has gone down and I can assure them it’s not.
Fuel (petrol, diesel and heating oil) has all gone up, milk and butter has all gone up and alcohol has gone up. This list is not exhaustive. The only things I know that have down are house prices (we not buying yet), rental house prices (ours hasn’t!) and clothing prices.
Great, so the cost of clothing has gone down but the cost of food has gone up! It’s just as well it’s that was round so I can afford to buy new clothes as I get thin from not being to afford to eat.
Cowen and his fucking cronies can tell me as much as they want that the cost of living has come down but the people they really need to tell are the shops! Maybe they’ll reduce their prices then and prove him right! Until then my taxes think he’s a lying cunt, just like the lying leader before him (I’m stating opinion there – mine, no one else’s! I’m allowed to state my opinion!)
So once we’d bought all our christmas (and etc) gifts we bought some things from ourselves.
I’d now like to share five items from our shopping trolley.
1 x 250g Kenco Really Smooth Instant coffee.
20 x Tubes of Pringles*.
6 x 900g Tin of Cadbury’s Heroes
1 x 1ltr Smirnoff Red Label Vodka
1 x 1ltr Teachers Whiskey.
The coffee cost £2.49, the Pringles were £1 per tube, the Heroes were £5 per tin and the alcohol was £20 for the two (on offer).
In total (just those items) cost us £72.49.
In Tesco Ireland same items have a very different cost! The coffee is €4.50, the Pringles are €2.49, the Heroes are €12.49, the Vodka is €29.99 and the whisky is €22.49. There is no offer on the alcohol in Tesco Ireland.
That total would have been €181.72.
In sterling that’s £162.40. That’s a saving of £89.91 which is over €100!
Should we really shop in Tesco Ireland? I think not! This trip will now become a once-a-month spin. Not just for the shopping but so I can find my relatives!
I have been watching the series Band of Brothers recently. A friend lent me the box-set after telling me how good he’d found it. I’m half way through and I’m throughly enjoying it but it’s had an interesting but welcoming effect.
My grandfather was an engineer in the Royal Air Force, stationed in Burma during the second world war. My mother has all his medals and somewhere, I don’t know where (yet), she has all the letters he sent his wife, my nan, during his time away. Sadly he died before I was born so I never got the chance to ask him about his war effort but I don’t think I’d have got much information anyway as mom always said that he wouldn’t talk about even when she asked. She’s read the letters he sent home and from what she’s told me Band of Brothers (although about the U.S. army and not the RAF) has it about right with regard to the friendships that grew and the hardships people went through.
Apparently in one of the letters my grandfather sent home he talks about a busy day maintaining aircraft. He recognised one of the aircraft as that flown by a pilot he’d become very friendly with. The engineers watched as the planes took off and hours later watched as they returned. Of course not all of them did, one of those was that of my grandfathers friend. In the letter he talks about how he can’t afford to mourn his loss or take time to grieve as to do so would cause more problems. They prayed at a Sunday service and they remembered their lost friends but still couldn’t mourn. He wasn’t alone in this apparently. No one mourned for fear of breakdowns and becoming unstable and unable to carry out duties. In the letter he talked about how his squadron will mourn as a group when they return.
During the last ten months my family and I have suffered so much loss (thankfully none for at least eight/nine weeks now!) but I cannot imagine being surrounded by it on a daily basis, even more so when I can’t mourn or grieve.
I once tried to join the RAF. I wanted to be a pilot. Not a fighter pilot, those kind of planes never interested me. I wanted to fly troop/tank carriers, the big buggers basically! I did an aptitude test, a medical and had an interview and at the end I got told my eyesight wasn’t good enough to be a pilot but looking at my results someone had decided I was perfectly suited to be an engineer! You can imagine how excited my mother was and how disappointed I was. I didn’t join up in the end, as I’m sure you’ve already worked out.
Having watched Band of Brothers, a series based on real events and real people (some of whom are interview at the beginning or each episode) I have a new found respect for the armed forces, then and now!
A friend I went to school with joined the Navy at sixteen and went out to the Gulf. He was on board the Ark Royal during the first Gulf War. He’ll never know the respect I have for him. Mainly because we don’t talk about more for reason I’m not going into but even though there is that wall between us my respect for him is higher now than it ever was. Another friend is currently (as far as I know) in Afghanistan. A place where 223 soldiers have died since 2001. He’s lost friends, people he cares for. He could be next. That thought scares me a lot!
I always buy a poppy and occasionally my nan (dad’s mom not mom’s mom) and I would attend the Remembrance Day service at the Garden of Remembrance where all our families ashes are scattered but I think this year, having watched Band of Brothers and talked more to my mom about my grandfather, I think it’ll mean more than it has in previous years. I know that’s wrong, I know I should have always had this respect and I think I have in someway, just not the right way and absolutely not enough.
These people fight for our freedom. They fight so I can enjoy my life. I may not agree with why we went to war in the Gulf, I may agree with Thatcher sinking the General Belgrano but no matter what I think these people, these members of the armed forces go into this career of their own free will. They make the choice to enlist and face the possibility of dying for their country.
To them, those from the past and those willing to serve in the future I say thank you. Thanks is all I can offer but if you’re passing I’ll pop the kettle on and I’m sure I could spare a biscuit or two.
And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered; We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition: And gentlemen in England now a-bed Shall think themselves accursed they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.
Bert and I have been getting in to Nurse Jackie recently. If you’ll pardon the expression.
It’s a half hour American comedy from Showcase, the same people who bought you Dexter. I’ll be honest and say it’s not as enjoyable as the adverts made it out as there are certain parts that are quite sad but when it’s funny it’s fucking hilarious!
And here for your viewing pleasure is one of the funniest scenes I’ve seen on TV in a long while. Even though you know what’s coming it’s still fucking hysterical!
Reading Rampages post about being run over, other than making me worry about the little lambeen, it made me remember the times I ran over two people (separate incidents) and aimed at a third. You’d think I made a habit of it wouldn’t you?! I assure you I don’t!
Incident Number One
So there I am trundling along in my little 1963 Land Rover that didn’t go very fast. If you got above forty the whole thing shook until it felt like your eyes were melting.
Up ahead a bus had stopped to let it’s passengers off and as the road was clear I thought I’d over take. As I did a girl stepped out from the front of the bus, not looking where she was going, and I hit her. If you don’t included the bruising or damage to her pride she wasn’t really injured but there was a spectacular tyre mark up her tights.
She soon got up and appeared fine but the police had been called by this point so I was starting to panic. Thankfully she admitted it was all her fault and a couple of witnesses had backed me up. I was breathalysed, as per procedure, and given instructions to produce my driving license and insurance at the police station within fourteen days. The officer explained that there was nothing to worry about as she’d admitted fault and that the producer, like the breathalyser, was purely procedure.
Two days later I arrive at the police station with my documents and handed them over.
“You’re in trouble!” said the desk officer laughing.
“No I’m not!” I insisted.
“Oh yes you are!” he said chuckling.
“No I’m not, she admitted it was her fault!”
“Yeah you’re still in trouble.”
“Why?”
“The girl you hit was the sergeants daughter!”
Trying to be all brave and righteous I muttered something about it still being her fault but inside not only was I bawling my eyes out I was also preparing to spend the rest of my life getting ass-raped daily by Slasher Joyce my cell mate!
Thankfully a few weeks later I received a letter telling me the incident had been closed.
Incident Number Two
It was 1am and I’d just finished a radio show which had gone well and was giving my guest, who was a good friend, a lift home. We headed through the one-way road system of the town and chatted generally about how the show had gone and what feedback she could expect, as she was hoping to get a slot on the station.
Without warning a man ran out from a side street on the right and I swerved to avoid him, veering (over-compensating) to the left.
We both spouted out some kind of expletive and once we’d calmed down Emma asked “are you not going to stop?”
“What for?”
“That man!” she said.
“What man?”
“The man you just ran over!”
“I missed him!”
“No you didn’t! He was in the road! You went over him!”
I looked in my rear mirror and sure enough a different man was lying in the road. I think I shouted fuck or words to that effect but I couldn’t actually get out the car. I was quite sure he was dead.
I rang for an ambulance and explained what I’d done and asked them to send the police as well and it was the police who turned up first. I got out the car and headed over to them but kept my gaze away from ‘the body.’
“It’s me, I did it!” I said with my hands up as though they were going to shoot me.
“You did what?” the female officer asked.
“I ran over him!”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I hit him.”
“You hit him?”
“Yeah, with my car!”
“Hang on!” she said putting her hand up.
She called her partner over and explained to him what I’d said and he came over to talk to me.
“Sir, you say you hit him?” he said.
“Yes.”
“Just?”
“Yes!”
“Actually you just drove over his legs,” said Emma who was now out the car and at my side.
“Did I?”
“Oh yes, just his legs. He was already lying in the road!”
“And you didn’t see him?” asked the officer.
“No I didn’t! I’d swerved to miss a guy running out of Edington Street!”
“Right, miss,” he said talking to Emma, “can you drive his car round to the station please?”
“I suppose,” she said, “but I’m not too sure where it is.”
“You can follow us,” he turned to me, “sir can you get into this police car and go back to the station to answer some questions.”
As we pulled off I saw the ambulance turn up but I still couldn’t look at the body of the guy I’d just killed. At the station I was arrested and read my rights and then taken to an interview room, Emma was asked to wait in reception.
A few minutes later the female officer came in and started to ask me questions. She explained how everything was really a formality as, even though they hadn’t heard much of it, they fully believed my story and Emma had already given them a quick rundown (excuse the pun!) as well.
She breathalyser me, which was clear, and then wrote my statement out. It’s been too long to get anyone in trouble (because Staffordshire Police read my blog! – ha!) but she kind of lead me along, making sure there was no way I could get into trouble about it. In another room Emma was giving her statement but she didn’t mention the guy coming out from the right as she hadn’t seen him. This didn’t seem to matter.
Everything was going well. Too well. One thing confused me!
“Excuse me,” I said, “if you didn’t know what I was talking about when you turned up why were you there?”
“What do you mean?” asked the officer.
“I called you. I called the police to say I’d hit the man with my car but when you turned up you knew nothing about it!”
“Oh, we’d been called in for a riot in the chip shop!”
She continued telling me how they, two other cars and a van, had turned up to sort out a big drunken fight going on in the chip shop. The guy in the road had already had the crap beaten out of him and was lying half-in half-out the road with a dislocated shoulder. I just bounced over his legs!
I was relieved he wasn’t dead but now felt really guilty for breaking both his legs.
“Is he seriously hurt?” I asked.
“Who?”
“The man I hit!”
“Oh no! As soon as the ambulance turned up he got up and ran off!”
I never heard anything further from this one.
Incident Number Three
Dale, a best mate (and still so even after this!) was living with me on and off and I had to go away for the weekend.
I was in the process of sorting lots of things out and the house was a mess. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that the only carpet visible in the dining room was a thin path from the kitchen to the lounge.
Dale was under strict instructions not to let Rachel in while I was away for the weekend. No matter what! There were two reasons behind this. One I won’t be going to and the other is just that I didn’t want her seeing the mess.
Back from my weekend away Dale, Rach and I were in the pub having a drink when one of them (I forget which) let it slip that Rach had been in the house that weekend as she needed to use the toilet. Rather than shout in the pub I got up, walked out and got into my car.
Dale came out and stood in front of the car, wanting to talk and explain. I was in no mood to listen so I started the engine and aimed for him.
Thankfully he moved out the way! I drove home, furious, but him and Rach followed me. While Rach sat in the car Dale and I sorted things out over a coffee on the back patio. I’m trying to make it sound posh but really it was just a little back yard. But it was nice!
I’m quite glad he jumped out the way really as he and Rach are the Heroes I talked about in Ma’s post months ago as they’re both paramedics, and very good ones at that!
It’s good when actors can laugh at themselves. I’ve been in a number amateur and professional theatre groups and I’ve loved every minute of it. Sadly in any amateur group there is always a couple prima donnas who think they not only deserve the leading roles but should have also have a dressing room of their own, often with a star attached. These are the ones, male and female, who get angry if someone cocks up during a rehearsal. If someone makes a mistake, forgets a line or laughs at an inopportune moment they are tutting and mumbling about who should have got the part. Of course when they forget a line or make a mistake it’s the pressure of the role darling!
Thankfully most of the gags, gaffs, goofs and corpsing took place during rehearsals and once it was out of our system then the actual performances usually went on without a hitch. Unfortunately An Inspector Calls must have been cursed.
The set had been built to resemble a typical wealthy family dining room in 1912 and our set builders we’re fantastic at designing and building sets so it look extremely realistic. Leading from backstage into the dining room were a pair of huge doors which the director had insisted were both opened when we entered the room. This was fine other than once we’d let go of the doors they slammed shut and made the whole set wobble. Mr. Director wasn’t happy about this so David was ordered to find a successful way of making the doors shut quickly, without banging, without using anything that wouldn’t have been available in 1912. In the end it was decided that as we stepped through the door we should turn, grab the door handles, and close the door firmly but gently.
Cue opening night. Ann, as Mrs Birling, flings open the doors and storms in to give her line. As she turns and grabs the door handles they both come off in her hand! I’m stood getting a drink at the time (flat ginger ale as whisky) so I turn my back to audience and try not to piss myself. Jayne pretends to wipe her mouth with a serviette. The others look around wondering what she’s going to do. She calmly and strongly walks across the stages, slams the handles on the dining table and says “Arthur I’m sick of telling you to sort these bloody door handles out!” turning to me she continues, “Gerald maybe you could do it at some point as I can’t trust that drunk of a son of mine!” She then gave the line she’d actually come in to for.
Only certain members of the audience actually realised what had happened and there was a small titter racing from the front to the back and that would have been the end of it. If it wasn’t for Jayne! A very few short minutes later she picked up one of the door handles, thinking it was a salt shaker. Not knowing what to do she just shook it over her dinner, tutted and exclaimed it to be empty, slammed it on the table and carried on as normal.
During the interval Janet reprimanded us all for our on-stage conduct even though we all thought we’d done quite well. Ann got a round of applause and lots of “well done’s” and the director appeared pleased with how things had gone so far although we could see him chomping at the bit with David on stage behind the curtain trying to reattach the door handles.
Now with theatre the sad thing is that these bloopers often don’t get caught on tape. You only have the image I’ve created to get an idea of the mistakes made and how funny they are (well I think they are). Although you can still make your own mind up you can’t see it or see how funny I think it is. You can’t rewind to the funniest bits or skip the rubbish.
Thankfully, with film, you can capture those moments that make you giggle. In celebration of that (and the main reason for this post in the first place) here is something I was sent this morning that I find quite funny.
On Wednesday we we’re back in Wales for the wedding of some close friends of ours. The friends are the dirty lesbians so it wasn’t a proper wedding it was one of them there civil partnerships those disgusting queer people go through! Personally I don’t think it should be allowed and I totally agree with what someone once said to me which was “all gays should be stuck on an island and left to bum themselves to death!” Well I’m in!
So the wedding was lovely. Both Vicky and Denise looked radiant and so happy! The registrar made the event go with ease and was very accommodating and as it was only a small family affair once the ceremony were over with we all went back to the girls to enjoy drinks and enough food to feed the five thousand.
Of course with these being our friends that breed labradors, bassets and Rottweilers then the obligatory moment with a puppy came later on in the evening.
Here’s a few snapshots of the day and a puppy video to coo over.
I went to the doctor yesterday and have it semi-confirmed that I have Swine Flu.
I actually have a feature length film in the planning but after having the funding refused a couple of times I decided to put it on the back-burner, as they say, and reapply at some other time.
We set off around 7.30am and got to Tesco for 10am. We didn’t even realise we’d gone across the border until we saw the PSNI station in Belcoo. The PSNI is the Police Service for Northern Ireland. They didn’t want to be known as the Northern Ireland Police Service. The PSNI station is incredible. It’s like a small prison! It certainly makes you feel unwelcome as you enter the UK but it’s a left over from the troubles and as a border station has blast walls and bullet proof glass.
During a rehearsal for a performance of ‘An Inspector Calls’ in which I was playing Gerald Croft my on-stage fiancée, Shelia Birling, had the following line “He knows you know! And I hate to think what else he knows that we don’t know he knows yet!” She found this hysterical and would begin to giggle every time she said it. Nothing could stop her! Janet, the lady playing the Birlings maid, a role she didn’t want but took anyway, was furious! At one point, as the line approached, backstage we all heard her mutter in a stage whisper louder than her own stage voice “Do you think she’ll fuck it up this time!” Well we never actually got to the line at that point because Ann (Mrs Bilring), Terry (Mr. Birling), Jayne (Shelia Birling), Simon (Eric Birling) and myself fell about laughing. Of course this didn’t go down well so we took a break and came back to it later.
You said…