...how not to blog

Following an absence of nearly 4 years, I've decided to try and resurrect the blog. Lots to talk about including a round-the-world trip, temporary blindness and beard growing...watch this space.

...BBQs

Glorious sunny Saturday afternoon+good friends+good wine+good food, cooked outside as nature intended...sounds like the perfect way to while a way a good solid section of the weekend.

That depends on whether you have a BBQ that actually cooks food or if, like me, you have one that musters the firepower of a wheezing octagenarian, blowing warmly onto your burgers for several hours until you all decide to give up and use the cheap disposable BBQs that I got on a 2for1 deal in the local Somerfield.

There was actually a point at which I genuinely considered putting the Pinot Grigio onto the BBQ to keep it chilled.

Ok, so maybe I didn't put enough fuel onto the BBQ to start with, but the label on the bag of charcoal suggested that if I dared to use more than the recommended 'one bag per session', I would be unleashing a combination of the worst parts of the Old Testament and the 1990s movie Backdraft.

Oh dear...

...Twickenham

Some mates and I went out for a few quiet beers in Twickenham recently. It ended up being a very pleasant and peaceful afternoon but it didn't begin well.

1) Shortly after boarding the train it became clear that my left shoulder was covered in bird excrement. Trying to get the worst of it out on a train crammed with club-tie wearing rugby enthusiasts bound for the Premiership Final (a mad way of settling a league competition but I don't have time for that now) was a tricky feat.

2) Having consigned my jumper to history, we then got off the train just as Noah-style rain started throwing itself at us from the south-west London sky. We ran to the nearest pub as fast as our little legs could carry us.

3) Seconds before entering the hostelry in question, my friend executed one of the best comedy falls since Frank Spencer was at the height of his powers. One minute he was determinedly running into the pub, the next he was horizontal and heading into the ornamental shrubbery.

My mate claims that it was a case of the 'grip' on his shoes aligning with the grooves of the decking outside the pub's front door. He also claims that he only pulled off this glorious slapstick moment to make me feel better about my jumper.

Welcome to Twickenham. Alight here for lying on your backside in the rain, covered in bird mess. And a pointless rugby final.

I should of course add that Twickenham is a great place with many very nice pubs, bars and eateries. We just had a bad intro.

...tonsillitis

The left side of my throat is currently swollen to the size of a moderately large moon. I have therefore been confined to the flat for the best part of 6 years, or so it seems.

Such is my desperation for any form of mental stimulation that I have set aside my life-long fear of pigeons to watch some programme on BBC2 about a million dollar pigeon race in South Africa. Some of the scenes so far are reminiscent of the very worst of my nightmares.

Someone bought a pigeon for £14,000.

Time for another Strepsil...

...exploding sunglasses II

This will teach me to buy cheap rubbish...

Following yesterday's self-disintegrating eyeware escapade, I purchase a replacement pair of sunglasses at a central London market stall for £4. They lasted until this afternoon when the screws fell out of the left lense on the down escalator to the DLR platform at Bank underground station.

Am I just wearing them wrong or something? I'm going to have to specify that my next pair are made from steel girders and sponsored by IRN Bru...

...exploding sunglasses

On my way into work this morning and, without warning, my sunglasses snapped in two at the in the middle and fell off my face. It was really surreal - I assume the equally puzzled inhabitants of East Dulwich who saw me must have assumed I had an unusually sharp nose.

The sunglasses were my contribution to London's response to the weather being quite hot; my behaviour is of course fairly mild compared to those perennial optimists who take the first possible opportunity to shed as much clothing as they can, and either throw themselves into the nearest public fountain or bask on the closest piece of municipal grass. All very worrying.

'Posh' pubs

After a great afternoon/night out in the Chalk Farm and Primrose Hill areas of London, some mates and I ended up in a particular hostelry where we duly ordered yet another round of beers. Having been on the go for quite some while by then, we were in need of some sustenance and asked the barmaid if they were still doing food:

Me: Are you still doing food?
Barmaid: I'm afraid not sir.
Me: Do you have any crisps?
Barmaid: No, I'm afraid we don't do crisps, we only do nuts.
Me: Ok then, I'll have a couple of packets of peanuts then.
Barmaid: We've only got pistachios.
Me: Fine, I'll have a bag of them
Barmaid: We only do them in half-pint glasses - it's quite a posh pub.

I've seen the class system interwoven with many aspects of life in this country but being made to feel socially inferior for daring to order a packet of ready salted took me by surprise.

After eating the aforementioned half pint of pistachios I developed a bout of uncontrollable shivering and spent the next day in bed with a stomach bug and a temperature of 101...

Good luck to the Spurs for tonight's return leg in the UEFA.