OK Northwich is a big target and I don't miss it, Rudheath a little smaller but Tracy's gaff is a lot harder to find. I knew I was close but Blackberry nightmare (set to charge and Monst in a late night fit of flattening clothing switched it off) and I've left the device at home. Ring home talk Monst through finding me Tracy's number.
Ring Tracy but don't have enough change. Head for change ring back and in the meanwhile Andy like the cavalry comes to the rescue. Drop off cot etc.
Nice coffee and delightful to see Tracy again so soon.
Home and the family head out to Garston for a swim. Monst hasn't been to the pool with us for a while and is amazed how confident Cal is in the water.
Meanwhile for once I get a chance to actually swim. Or at least so I think until I find the pool full of lads and girls in the first flush of puberty and awash with hormones. Manage twelve very zig zag lengths before I jack.
Bit of a relief to be honest I clearly need more exercise.
Post-swim food and Monst wants to head to the shops at Speke. She buys half of Boots and leads us into the clothes shops.
Mind you I do quite well out of the deal with a couple of things. This is all the reult of the latest round of throwing out people's wardrobes. Cal shocks Monst by picking his own clothes.
I'm impressed he knows what he wants the poseur. Return home via Asda and a quick grub shop.
Morning and I'm on leave for half a day.
Sleep in and relax in bed until Cal ponces at aboout 7.30. Up, feed the boy, feed the cat and feed myslef.
Ring Phl Cribb to get his vrsion of recent events and he denies everything. Do I believe him or someone I trust. No contest, I know who I believe and it ain't him.
Still hopefully the message got throught. Monst surfaces around 9'ish and then we head for Whiston where Cal is due for a Dyspraia assessment with the OT. He ain't happy not liking the hospital environment and sulks his way through the assessment.
Don't blame him. Dash him to school and me into work. Go see my mole at the ministry.
Get the low down, it ain't pretty. Go see the folk in the library, say hi, pick up 7 of the induction packs Ally created and off to the Heath. I arrive one and a half sessions too early.
The person due to follow me arrives before I begin so I'm a little less than certain that my timing is out. Do the sesh with usual digressions etc. Think Rachel from HR is less than impressed but hey what the hell I know at least one of the audience of old and the others seem to be content to come along for the ride.
Return to Hammy House, catch up on events. Sally has broken a clock, we're not sad to see a poo example of late 70s early 80's shit brown plastic die. Plus having killed and repaired a clock with vista foil, paper and pritt in my time she has my sympathy.
Home and food followed by an hour playing with Cal who is now hacked off with me for sending him to bed. Monst headed over to Marie and Terry's so avoided the protest. Washing up and then work beckons.
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Eventually I succumb to the lure of sounds and get round to finishing the Field Mice album. I watch the football via the Beebs live action text reporting, updated every two minutes and checked by me every 10. So I know up to two minutes ago it was still 0-0.
I also have learnt that if Chelsea win tonight and at the weekend it'll be 50 years to the day since Ted Drake (Gooner goal scoring hero and geezer who played golf at Streatley to have is clubs hefted around by the old fella) managed to take the title to Stamford Bridge. Hope to non-existent deities they screw that up then.
Bored right now and leaving Nuneaton.
Crewe beckons...
Deep joy.
1) I walk into 4 places selling music (yes that was 4) and buy nothing.
2) I walk into three places selling books and buy nothing.
3) I buy coffee for the return journey home not beer.
Something is wrong and it's all because I'm kinda hacked off.
I get the gory details about Phil Cribb's FoI group from my mole ain the ministry.
Suzanne is the one agitationg for my transmogrification into FoI guru. Kind of hacked off I fire a mail back to my source and ring Jim for a bit of advice on how to get yer woman to cease and desist. My personal beef is we don't have enough resource to do this, I don't get paid to do it.
My professional beef is it's irresponsible of people to abdicate their responsibility in this way. Rather than a model based on a central unit offering advice (and I learn to my horror maintaining a disclosure log for the lot of them) and a central gathering of FoI folk I'd advocate small patch based groups along the lines of Phil's. Better for discussion.
Better for decision making and better for free and frank interchange.
Jim listens to my rant and will have a word in her shell like. I resist the temptation to fire off an email.
FoI gig in the smoke is good, practical and to the point. Best one of these things I've been too because it was focussed. Post gig hit the Jack Holborn for a pint.
Walking to Euston to catch the train later.
The stupid thing is as ever I start the journey with a vague sense of excitement. I like the notion of travel for about an hour.
I just know that I'll get bored in a while. Meanwhile entertain me as a precursor to some Steve Wynn. The coffee is good.
I have a book and am tooled up to do some work when I get to the other end (although I do have plans to catch a showing of 'Downfall' because I can't see Cal and Monst voting to see a film about the last days of Hitler). Plan is to check in to my room, hoof it off to eat and visit some sort of sight, catch the film, return and write the night away.
Steve Wynn, why don't I listen to his stuff more.
It's perfect for travelling with. Decide I'm a simple soul, books, music, decent coffee, the odd pint and I'm contented. Then decide a sunny spring day and a glimpse of Gresty Road go a long way to explaining current contentment.
No doubt I'll return to my disgruntled self later. Mind you I can't ever remember being gruntled.
On the sun front I notice out the window that the cows of Cheshire are lying down which means it's gonna piss down.
Either that or they're just knackered after a night of raving with the sheep. By Stafford the coos (note jockish spellin it ain't a mistake) of Cheshire look like they might have a point as things cloud over.
Next stop is Nuneaton, home town of Penny from the SHA.
She maintains it ain't worth the space it occupies. Me, I just know it as part of my route to the smoke. The weather predicting cows now have a point as it starts to piss down.
I meanwhile have great view of Nuneaton Asda.
Free railway entertainment is provided by a German tourist who has jumped on the train without a ticket, speaks little English and is arguing with a conductor who looks like a younger version of Big Bri Davis from IT at Hammy House. All this kinda drowned out by Chumbawamba's 'Showbusiness' at a caustic volume.
Which has sleeve notes which serve to remind me that it was Michael Howard who took away a suspects right to silence. Confirms to me all necessary letters can be found in coconut. Mind you the other lot ain't much better at preserving our civil liberties.
Good news the coos of Rugby are all standing up. Which either means the weather is fine or they just couldn't give a tinkers cuss about it. Now somebody opposite me has a Torygraph and I see a pic of the '79 cup winning side.
The legendary two minute final. I want to read the stuff it's appended to but I'm not a fan of the Torygraph in anything other than its e-form plus nicking someones paper isn't good form. However if they leave it behind I'm away on my toes with it for a bit of guilty pleasure reading.
Travel through Tring and I have vague jangling memories of the old fella playing cricket there. The thought occurs to me that my head is making this up. I must check.
By Berkhamstead I'm bored and hungry. Odd I can put in a full day at work and fuel myself on coffee from a disgustingly filthy mug that frightens off all comers but put me on a train and I'm that hungry that I start munching on a packet of extra strongs that has not only seen better days but has seen better weeks. Bourne End home town/village/whatever of my religous Godfather Reg don't exactly flash past.
I must be a sad dissapointment to him. That's not to say I don't support his beliefs, I once gave up the opportunity to go to church to ferry old dears to church with him in the open cast cemetry that is Bexhill. It must have been impressive because one old dear told me how wonderful it was that I was giving up my Christmas service to help them.
There then followed the explanation that it was no bother because I'm an aetheist and the quiz as to why followed by the usual challenge to name a war started by religion. Unfortunately I told her for about ten minutes.
After Watford we speed up.
Even the train companies know that no bugger ever wants to be in Watford.
Hit the smoke at about chinese dentist, hoof it over to Victoria and dump my stuff. Hoof it sarf of the river to the Imperial War Museum there's a Holocaust Exhibition I want to see despite the fact I know it will depress me.
I also spy an exhibition on escapes. Spend a fascinating couple of hours in the place. Ring Monst get the low down on Cal and Dr Jay.
Then off for round two of depression a-go-go buy a ticket for Downfall and head of for food. Have an hour and a half to kill before kick off. Pint bit of desultory shopping then.
The result is I pick up 'Snowball' by The Field Mice. We kind of have history because I saw them in Oxford supported by the Dentists on a weird post relationship date type thing that had its origins in bloody minded I've bought the tickets now you are going to see a band I like whether you like it or not. What made it freaky was a set including 'Let's Kiss and Make Up', 'The End of the Affair' and 'The Last Letter'.
I knew they were coming because I'd bought 'Coastal' too. What I didn't ralise was that it'd take me five years to play the tape again and see the wonderful thing it was. Result I have a melancholy link to music I really like and downer three for the day.
See a pith helmet in a surplus shop I wanna buy it for my trip to Egypt so I can say I'm taking the pith. I opt out Monst'd kill me.
Bizarre a few people searching wander in today looking for mind you that worries me less than the geezer who wanders in looking for a pic.
Combine that with the fact I've appeared on the news page of what is IBS (irritible bowel syndrome) and bowel movements seem to dominate today. Still I dare say it's all a flash in the pan. OK so today away from my usual perch on the first floor and spending time on the second is an education in its own right.
First off I discover that David Tennant one of the stars of the Beeb's 'Casanova' appeared last night in a kilt last night on some awards ceremony and amongst the girls of the second floor many were hoping to find out what a jock wears up his skirt and that he will have a ready audience when he becomes the new Dr. Who. I also discover that there is a universal belief that George Clooney and Brad Pitt are too pretty.
Picked up a copy of 'Employment' the as a birthday gift from Mattie (not that she realises that's where her Scottish notes went), think Sally might enjoy it. Nice album but then I like and it has that sort of vibe. Home and food and drop Monst at work.
I'm meant to be working but too tred. Plan is 45 minutes more work and an earlier kip. Early wake up, pack, write and off to the smoke.
Start dragging together some stats and as usual the search stats fascinate me. Of Central Liverpool PCTs searching in total, we as a service account for 48.46% searches completed.
Works out on average as a service we conduct 18.1 mediated searches a day which rises to 27.77 by the time you take out weekends and annual leave.
OK maybe I'm weird for finding this fascinating, I confess now! Send a mail to everyone letting them know this.
We got, and with no hesitation We should think, can we meet this need?
We gotta help, with no irritation, procrastination or vacillation, Who writes to ask, man what you got? Of twenty working days, not a lot, Let me tell you too, so you get reflective, But be of good cheer, But to help you all without too much straining, Would we leave you without advice? So public sector people, you guess Bit of blogs.
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. James from sent me a request the other day to fill in a survey for some research he's doing which was no bother. Now being the stats whore I am (well to be honest I like to know how many Velma Dinkley Porn merchants (one today looking for Velma Dinkley Naked - the perv - she's a cartoon character and not real) are hitting the place only to be disappointed) I notice his blog.
Minor alarm that he's a specialist in 'work-related misbehaviour' er...
is that what I'm up to? Anyway sufficiently interested I add the blog to my aggregator. Another one to watch.
Also add the feed I spy mainly cos I'm a lazy git and it'll save the bother of visiting them to find their health news. Day spent with desultory news blogging, taking Cal swimming (panic I forgot the float so a nip into the Early Learning Centre at Speke locates a blow up float that results in me feeling knackered before we even hit the water), the annual amazement at runners in the London Marathon. On which my aggregator has just flashed up a headline too late for the last post but I laugh at the thought of Hilary Jones cheating by having his son run the race for him.
Cheating get, bet he's been lording it on that sofa telling everyone how he's been training so hard, meanwhile he's been sat back drinking gin and tonics despatching his poor son on endless training runs. Monst now peparing the for work begins the negotiations with Cal to arrange a hair wash. The reality is the Homer/Bart strangle move as I pur water over his head, responded to by the dog like sharing of the experience by Cal (little less dramatic in reality but you need to exaggerate these things).
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