So, about this trip to France...
It has taken a long while to write this post, for three reasons: I have been really busy, it is a really long post, and the first drafts contained some contentious material that I wasn't sure how best to handle. In the end, I have dropped this material, which has shortened the whole considerably.
The bus for France left at 6am on the Sunday morning, which necessitated getting up at 4 to get ready. This was just on my threshold for "is it worth even going to bed?", and in fact went beyond it when I found myself up later than expected completing my packing. Still, I did go to bed, and woke up feeling not at all refreshed. Little did I know that that would actually be the least tired I would feel all week.
The journey down proceeded well. We made good time, we didn't suffer any breakdowns, there were no notably bouts of travel-sickness, and all was good. I put my head down into my first book, and that was that. The ferry was fairly nice, but also mostly unremarkable - I have used ferries exactly like it before, and they are invariably much the same. The dinner was very expensive, but a reasonable spaghetti bolognese, and the after dinner entertainment was sufficiently inoffensive.
In the middle of the night, I was rather rudely awoken by one of the members of the band who was panicked by a desperate need to find the toilet, coupled with a complete inability to see in the pitch black. Unfortunately, once this was sorted out I was awake, as I would be for the day. So, I got up, and went for a wander. Then, breakfast on the ferry, which was both overpriced and deeply unpleasant. (Slimy scrambled eggs, lukewarm microwaved sausages, limp microwaved bacon. Not good.)
For the journey through France, the driver requested that I sit up front to help with the road signs, by virtue of my being the only person in the party with any noticeable ability to speak French. After a brief battle with our printout of instructions from the internet, and another brief battle with the satnav, we resorted to the use of a book of maps, and were quickly on our way.
We got to Guingamp, and were quickly confounded by the signs, which were numerous but also too small to read until after the decision of where to go next had had to be made. Eventually, we saw a tourist information office, and we went to ask for directions. Then to the town hall, to meet our contact.
However, he wasn't there. And, when I explained who we were, and that we were there for the festival, I was met with some rather unsettling blank looks. Had I not explained correctly? Were we in the wrong place? What was going on? So, I tried again to explain that we had to meet our contact at the town hall. Only, I found there was a key French word I couldn't remember: just what was the French for 'rendezvous'?
At length, we got the message across, they called our contact, and he came to meet us, together with our official interpreter for the week, a youth by the name of Raphael. Alas, our contact didn't speak great English, but that was okay because between his English and my French we were able to sort things out. And so, off to our accommodation!
We were staying in a former boarding house, in a wing containing lots of rooms. Most of the rooms were singles, which meant I was relieved to avoid sharing. Slightly more off-putting was the total lack of keys for the door locks (which, in the event, didn't matter; still, I wasn't too happy at this), and also a lack of seats on the toilets. Yes, we had to try to hover for the week!
We got settled in, then had lunch (traditional French fare; it was quite nice, but some of the kids had difficulty with the food all week), then a short practice, and then off to our first parade of the week. For the bus trip to that parade we were asked to provide a lift to one of the other bands, a Spanish youth band with whom several members of our band established something of a rapport.
The pattern of the week was then established: each day we were essentially free during the day, with an early breakfast and a lunch provided, but at 5:30 we would take part in a parade. After this, we would head back home for dinner, and then we would be free in the evenings. Various entertainments were available in the town, and as performers we were issued with access-all-areas passes. Also, there was beer.
The parades were also pretty much of a muchness. The bands would each be given a position in the parade, which would change each day. We would then march down the main street, before scattering to a parade at one of the local pubs (that were sponsoring the event). We played there for a while, then stopped for a complimentary beer, before resuming our march up to the Sports Bar, which was one of the primary sponsors, where all the bands would gather and play a little, and then have a complimentary beer.
In the Sports Bar, it was quite typical for the bands to each play a little. The fare was a traditional number from the region in question, frequently involving song and dance. The Spaniards, for example, had their own regional anthem that they performed several times. In response, therefore, we played our own very traditional Scottish tune, featuring a formalised dance, and ancient lyrics...
You put your left leg in,
your left leg out,
in, out, in, out,
shake it all about...
And that, essentially, was the week. The weather was very hot, and often sunny, which was nice. The town was really quite lovely, being built in a very old and traditional style. And, as I found when I went to Italy with my previous band, everyone was very friendly. That said, very few people could speak English, which created some problems...
At our stop in the middle of the first parade, our pipe major called me over. He had been speaking to Raphael, and it had become apparent that our interpreter didn't actually speak very good English. So, it fell to me to interpret for our interpreter. Excellent. But there was worse to come: one of the things we had hoped to do was to go play for the local football team on the Friday. The pipe major had asked out contact to look into this, but did Raphael know if it had actually been set up? Well, Raphael didn't know. There was a pause. Would we like him to go ask?
Well, it turned out that Raphael didn't ask. And, in fact, he pretty much disappeared after that point - he was frequently absent, he didn't speak to anyone in any language, and he was basically of little use. I think he probably just wasn't the right person for the job at all - some kid on a summer job, but who just wasn't really suited to dealing with the needs of a band of rowdy Scots. Or something.
The upshot was that I became the unofficial interpreter for the group. I translated newspaper articles (we starred regularly in the paper - they did like the kilt in Guingamp), I negotiated in shops, and I dealt with directions regularly. And, as all the information started to pass through me, I also seemed to drift into the role of unofficial team leader, which was slightly unfortunate. Still, it seemed to work reasonably well.
On the Thursday, we went on our one and only trip, to Mont St Michel. This proved to be a very long journey there, followed by a short stop in the town, and then a long journey back to attend the parade. A slight waste of time, but still better than nothing. (If we do this trip again, I'm going to advocate setting up some trips in advance. We couldn't do it this time because we didn't know the full format of the week, but now we do, and can prepare better.)
It was also at the trip to Mont St Michel that the issues with Raphael became known to the team of interpreters, because at the time we were ready to leave, he was nowhere to be seen. And so, the interpreter for the Spaniards acted as guide for both bands. The only problem there was that she spoke really good Spanish and, of course, French, but very little English. This meant she could only speak to me... and yet, she was of considerably more use to us than young Raphael.
Actually, there were three members of the team of interpreters. The third was Anne-Marine, who was a multi-lingual teacher, and who spoke really good English. For the weekend, she provided me with a detailed itinerary of what we had to do and when. Unfortunately, she was very busy looking after another band, and taking part in a dance display at the weekend, and so wasn't around much.
This left Marina, who turned out to be the most useful of the three, despite not speaking English. From the Thursday on, she made sure to keep me informed of what we needed to do, and where, and when. Which was good. She was also quite lovely - blessed with a smile that seemed to light things up, and she smiled a lot. A couple of the guys in the band expressed a certain jealousy at my ability to speak French, and so chat her up. (Bit of a nuisance that, actually - when I explained that I am spoken for, they returned with the inevitable refrain, "what happens in France, stays in France." I elected not to bother explaining the flaw in this thinking, and just ignored them.)
Anyway, that was the week. At one point, we considered going swimming, but when people heard that they would have to get swimming caps and (horrors!) wear trunks rather than swimming shorts, they elected not to bother.
Oh, actually, it's not quite. Remember how we'd asked Raphael to find out about the football, and he didn't bother? Well, we decided to go and play anyway. So, we showed up at the stadium (Raphael in tow), and set up and played a bit for the crowd as they went in. Then, I was dispatched to go and speak to security about the possibility of playing in the stadium. Naturally, I was to explain that it was all arranged, and surely it would be fine? (This task was made considerably easier by my reaching the gate just as three local youths did, youths who spoke really good English. After complimenting me on my French, they then helped haggle with the security guard, and we were in!)
So, we played on the pitch before the match, and again at half time. It was excellent. The match itself wasn't great, being a no-score draw, but the experience was quite good. At one point during the first half, the 'casuals' turned en masse towards us, and started chanting, "Scotland! Scotland!" Which was nice.
Raphael, meanwhile, must have weighed up this situation, decided he was going to get in a heap of trouble for being unable to control these crazy Scots, and fled in terror. Poor guy.
As I have alluded to previously, things were a bit different at the weekend. On the Saturday, we were taken to the nearby village of Pabu, where we played a very short parade, followed by ten minutes in the street for the locals. There was then a reception with the local luminaries, including the mayor. For this, we were asked to nominate two people to go forward to receive a medal of friendship from the town (nice), which would have been the Pipe Major and myself, except that they then specified one male and one female. So, I was let off. This proved to be particularly amusing when the local committee member asked if they could say a few words...
Saturday's evening parade was then slightly earlier than usual, after which we were taken to dinner in a school in the town (I wasn't impressed by that one). For that, I had changed into my other kilt, and looked positively dashing as a result. It's actually quite surprising the difference between the green and the red, more than I would have expected. The reason for this is that in the evening, after the dinner, there was to be the Fest Noz (night festival), the Breton equivalent of a ceilidh, something I had been looking forward to all week.
But, would the king of the ceilidh and the master of the barn dance prove similarly adept at the fest noz?
Well, it turned out that the answer was 'no', although not for the reasons I had feared. I had expected the format to be very similar - there would be lots of couples dances (so I could just copy the people in front), and also a Caller (albeit in French) explaining the dances.
But, alas, there was not. In the forty-five minutes I lasted before I gave up, there was a grand total of one couples dance (which I duly danced, with moderate success). The rest of the time seemed to be taken up with an endless repetition of a single dance involving everyone in a big long chain, with pointless shuffling steps and crazy hand movements. I tried it once, but wasn't very good. Also, there was no Caller, in any language. It seems everyone just knew what they were about.
It was all very weird. Eventually I gave up, and went to the pub instead.
The Sunday was a very long day. In the morning, we had to head down to the town to play a short performance on one of the stages. Then lunch, followed by a parade down to the town centre. This parade seemed suddenly to stop dead for forty minutes, and then was suddenly over almost before it starter - we would later hear that someone had taken a bad fall, had had to be taken to hospital, and that the parade had been rerouted as a result.
We were then free for a while, although there was a solo piping competition that two guys in the band entered (including our Pipe Major). Naturally, five minutes before he was due to play, I was grabbed, and told we were expected to be playing on the stage at any minute!
So, I rushed off and found an organiser. I explained the situation, and asked if it would be possible for us to switch with the next band. So, he and I went to speak to the leader of that band, and all seemed well... for about two minutes.
It turned out that we hadn't switched with the band that were to go on after us, but the band that was to go on before. Oops! (Although, I really am sure that I explained the situation correctly. Hmm.)
Anyway, I rushed back to the guy, explained the mistake, and got us put back to our normal slot. I decided not to try to get us pushed back further, not wanting to push my luck. So, instead I had to get the band together, quickly tune up, and go on without the Pipe Major. Not ideal, but not too disastrous. (In the event, he finished playing a whole minute before we had to go on, and so was able to take over. So that was another crisis averted.)
But I did get my chance to lead the band. Later that evening, there was the final parade, a shorter parade down the main street without the prospect of complementary beer at the end, and for which we were asked to play without stopping. Fair enough. However, the results of the competition were also due any minute, and so our two pipers wanted to stay for that instead. And so, for that final parade, I led the band down the street.
After the parade, there was one final reception, at which I had to serenade Madame the Mayor, with a view of getting invited back next year (I am not permitted to reveal the result of that), and then back to our accommodation to pack.
The journey home was very long and tiring, but largely uneventful. There was a pantomime on the ferry, but that was the only thing of great interest. And so, we returned.
I had a really great time in France, far better than I had expected. The band held together really well, and there wasn't even a single moment of trouble of any great note. It was quite odd becoming first the unofficial translator, and then the unofficial team lead, but it did work quite well for all that. And I had a couple of days afterwards to recover before returning to work suitably refreshed.
Unfortunately, with the weather now being as it is, I feel I really need another holiday...
Monday, August 31, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
The Cowal Gathering
So, we come to it at last...
I have been with the band for just over three years.
In the year I joined, we were at the tail end of the season, and we played two Majors. At Pitlochry (which I think was the European Championships) we qualified. As I had not mastered the tunes required, I dropped out of the final. We also played at Cowal, but failed to qualify.
The next two years, we only attended one Major, at Cowal. Two years ago, we qualified but came 12th in the final. Last year, we failed to qualify. (Particularly galling about that one was that I messed up the performance pretty badly, and so was largely responsible for the failure.)
As noted before, this year we attended four of the five Majors, coming 10th at the Scottish Championships, failing to qualify at the British, coming 12th in the Europeans, and missing the World Championships.
And so we come to Cowal, the climax of the season. It was also the truth for one of my goals: qualify and we achieve what I wanted to achieve for the season; fail to qualify and there would be no further chances.
It was a miserable day. The bus left at 5, which meant getting up at 3, which meant a shortage of sleep. It was cold, wet, windy, and generally unpleasant.
We went on for our qualifying performance, and played fairly badly. The start was weak, there were a number of mistakes in the first part, and then some trailing drones at the end. The one consolation I could take from it was that I, at least, had played well - it wouldn't be my fault if we failed this year.
Fortunately, despite our concerns, we successfully qualified! In fact, we qualified third out of our heat, which was a major surprise.
So, that was the job done, the minimum acceptable standard reached, and my goal for the season complete. The pressure was off for the final performance (although, there was always the dream...).
We played the final, and it was much much better than the qualifier. That said, the standard of the competition in the final is always higher, since you're playing amongst the twelve best bands there, rather than with a random selection of whoever happens to turn up.
The final result: ninth. Our best performance at a Major since I joined the band.
It would be really nice to end the story there, but alas that was not the end of our day. With the weather being as it was, with us not having anyone amongst us who hadn't done Cowal before, and with several people not having capes (big, bulky waterproofs, to keep the wind and rain off), we decided not to do the big street parade, and instead to head home early.
It was a decision I agreed with. In hindsight, I think it turned out to be the wrong one. A lot of the parents of the band were really keen to see us (or, more particularly, their individual children) doing the parade. So, as we got back to the bus, there was a lot of complaining about this decision.
But it gets worse. After waiting for several people to get back, we were left with a bus missing two. The police at this time instructed us to get moving from our car park down to the ferry. (Very odd decision that...) Anyway, off we went. Our two stragglers were contacted and told that they should not walk a mile up the hill to the car park, but instead walk a mile down the hill to meet us at the ferry (and, of course, we wouldn't board the ferry without them). Unfortunately, one of the two was absolutely livid at this, and had a real go at the bus driver for moving off without them. (While I get why he was angry, I thought this was out of order. Our driver only moved because he was ordered to do so by the police. Besides, the driver is there to do a job; he's not there to take abuse from the people he's giving a lift to.) Sadly, the consequences of this could be quite bad - we may have to exclude people from the buses in future, or we may have to find a new bus company. And, moreover, it's just wrong.
Sigh. It's funny how hindsight works - if we'd only made a decision one way rather than the other, this would have been a banner day for the band. As it was, it was distinctly mixed. Oh well. You make the best decisions you can with the information you have at the time, and if you make a mistake you try really hard not to repeat it. That's all you can do.
#40: "Thunderball", by Ian Fleming
#41: "Nineteen Eighty-Four", by George Orwell
#42: "The Spy Who Loved Me", by Ian Fleming
I have been with the band for just over three years.
In the year I joined, we were at the tail end of the season, and we played two Majors. At Pitlochry (which I think was the European Championships) we qualified. As I had not mastered the tunes required, I dropped out of the final. We also played at Cowal, but failed to qualify.
The next two years, we only attended one Major, at Cowal. Two years ago, we qualified but came 12th in the final. Last year, we failed to qualify. (Particularly galling about that one was that I messed up the performance pretty badly, and so was largely responsible for the failure.)
As noted before, this year we attended four of the five Majors, coming 10th at the Scottish Championships, failing to qualify at the British, coming 12th in the Europeans, and missing the World Championships.
And so we come to Cowal, the climax of the season. It was also the truth for one of my goals: qualify and we achieve what I wanted to achieve for the season; fail to qualify and there would be no further chances.
It was a miserable day. The bus left at 5, which meant getting up at 3, which meant a shortage of sleep. It was cold, wet, windy, and generally unpleasant.
We went on for our qualifying performance, and played fairly badly. The start was weak, there were a number of mistakes in the first part, and then some trailing drones at the end. The one consolation I could take from it was that I, at least, had played well - it wouldn't be my fault if we failed this year.
Fortunately, despite our concerns, we successfully qualified! In fact, we qualified third out of our heat, which was a major surprise.
So, that was the job done, the minimum acceptable standard reached, and my goal for the season complete. The pressure was off for the final performance (although, there was always the dream...).
We played the final, and it was much much better than the qualifier. That said, the standard of the competition in the final is always higher, since you're playing amongst the twelve best bands there, rather than with a random selection of whoever happens to turn up.
The final result: ninth. Our best performance at a Major since I joined the band.
It would be really nice to end the story there, but alas that was not the end of our day. With the weather being as it was, with us not having anyone amongst us who hadn't done Cowal before, and with several people not having capes (big, bulky waterproofs, to keep the wind and rain off), we decided not to do the big street parade, and instead to head home early.
It was a decision I agreed with. In hindsight, I think it turned out to be the wrong one. A lot of the parents of the band were really keen to see us (or, more particularly, their individual children) doing the parade. So, as we got back to the bus, there was a lot of complaining about this decision.
But it gets worse. After waiting for several people to get back, we were left with a bus missing two. The police at this time instructed us to get moving from our car park down to the ferry. (Very odd decision that...) Anyway, off we went. Our two stragglers were contacted and told that they should not walk a mile up the hill to the car park, but instead walk a mile down the hill to meet us at the ferry (and, of course, we wouldn't board the ferry without them). Unfortunately, one of the two was absolutely livid at this, and had a real go at the bus driver for moving off without them. (While I get why he was angry, I thought this was out of order. Our driver only moved because he was ordered to do so by the police. Besides, the driver is there to do a job; he's not there to take abuse from the people he's giving a lift to.) Sadly, the consequences of this could be quite bad - we may have to exclude people from the buses in future, or we may have to find a new bus company. And, moreover, it's just wrong.
Sigh. It's funny how hindsight works - if we'd only made a decision one way rather than the other, this would have been a banner day for the band. As it was, it was distinctly mixed. Oh well. You make the best decisions you can with the information you have at the time, and if you make a mistake you try really hard not to repeat it. That's all you can do.
#40: "Thunderball", by Ian Fleming
#41: "Nineteen Eighty-Four", by George Orwell
#42: "The Spy Who Loved Me", by Ian Fleming
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Experimental Cookery Breakfasts #11: Stewed Fruit
After a long spell away from them, I have decided to apply some effort to finishing off the breakfasts chapter of Jamie's book. There are two entries remaining, one of which I tackled yesterday, and the other I intend to tackle either next Sunday or the following Saturday.
Yesterday's effort was stewed fruit, which involved selecting some fruits (actually, four of his five chosen fruits - I wasn't able to get rhubarb in anything less than a huge quantity), cutting them up, adding some sugar, and stewing for a few minutes. I had them with pancakes, which I also cooked from ingredients.
It was all rather successful, I thought. However, it is perhaps worth noting that this was not a healthy breakfast. There is an awful lot of sugar in fruit, and adding yet more meant that this was a far cry from my normal breakfast of 2 Shredded Wheat. Still, I ate late, and so combined this to form a late breakfast/early lunch, which I don't think was too bad. Plus, it was definately at least two of my five-a-day.
Anyway, that's that. After the crushing reversal of all the eggs, it was good to finally be back with a winner. The breakfasts chapter now stands at 6-5 in favour. Next up, and completing the chapter, is a "Fresh Fruit Platter".
Yesterday's effort was stewed fruit, which involved selecting some fruits (actually, four of his five chosen fruits - I wasn't able to get rhubarb in anything less than a huge quantity), cutting them up, adding some sugar, and stewing for a few minutes. I had them with pancakes, which I also cooked from ingredients.
It was all rather successful, I thought. However, it is perhaps worth noting that this was not a healthy breakfast. There is an awful lot of sugar in fruit, and adding yet more meant that this was a far cry from my normal breakfast of 2 Shredded Wheat. Still, I ate late, and so combined this to form a late breakfast/early lunch, which I don't think was too bad. Plus, it was definately at least two of my five-a-day.
Anyway, that's that. After the crushing reversal of all the eggs, it was good to finally be back with a winner. The breakfasts chapter now stands at 6-5 in favour. Next up, and completing the chapter, is a "Fresh Fruit Platter".
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Experimental Cookery 'Tuesday' #49: Lasagne
One of the key outcomes of the Experimental Cookery thing is that I have been converted from using pre-processed versions of some of my favourites. When it comes to curries, chilli, and even burgers, I'm going to start making them from scratch. However, I wasn't quite converted with the fajitas - they were just too much hassle for not enough of an improvement.
And so we come to my #1 favourite: lasagne. This actually became installed as my favourite food during my stint in Yeovil, when it was one of a very small number of foods I didn't have the facility to cook myself (and one that I absolutely refused to go for the pre-processed alternative for). As such, it was something I couldn't easily have.
The selection of vegetables in the lasagne was certainly surprising. I might even say strange. Out went the mushrooms, and in came carrots and celery. As I said, strange. Still, it cooked up easily enough, being essentially the same as the Bolognese sauce from a couple of weeks ago. Sadly, there was a disaster to come...
The problem came with the blanching of the pasta sheets, which prompted them to all stick together in a horribly pasta-y mess that proved entirely impossible to separate. I have since determined that this was a completely unnecessary step (given that I had to substitute some of the now-useless pasta sheets with some unblanched ones), but it was extremely annoying at the time.
Also, Jamie's recipe calls for many more layers of pasta sheets than I am used to. This is fine, except that my lasagne dish just isn't big enough to accomodate so many layers. Fortunately, I had already weighed this up before I created a huge mess, and so only created a medium mess.
Still, never mind. It was all done, and assembled, and placed in the oven, and duly cooked. The key question, really, was as it always had been: what was the outcome?
Well, it was most definately a lasagne. It also seemed somewhat closer to the lasagne I've had in restaurants, which tends to be not quite so rigidly layered as the ones I have cooked previously (although that was somewhat by my design). However, it was not a significant improvement over what has gone before. This lasagne, at least, was insufficient to convert me away from using the jars of red and white sauce. Perhaps some other recipe will do that job better.
Still, the lasagne was good enough to count as a 'win', and so brings the score for this chapter to 6-0. The next recipe in the book is "Good Old Chilli Con Carne", which I have already tackled. After that we have a mince and onion pie. However, I might not get to that next week - I have run out of freezer tubs, and indeed space to store foods, and so may not be well placed to cook up the pie without it going to waste. Such are the perils of having a freezer filled to overflowing with delicious home-cooked foods.
Incidentally, I also picked up a copy of "Jamie's Italy" yesterday, as it was on special offer and I had had my eye on it for some time. However, I think I'll just dip in and out of that one, rather than following it in any sort of a sequence.
And so we come to my #1 favourite: lasagne. This actually became installed as my favourite food during my stint in Yeovil, when it was one of a very small number of foods I didn't have the facility to cook myself (and one that I absolutely refused to go for the pre-processed alternative for). As such, it was something I couldn't easily have.
The selection of vegetables in the lasagne was certainly surprising. I might even say strange. Out went the mushrooms, and in came carrots and celery. As I said, strange. Still, it cooked up easily enough, being essentially the same as the Bolognese sauce from a couple of weeks ago. Sadly, there was a disaster to come...
The problem came with the blanching of the pasta sheets, which prompted them to all stick together in a horribly pasta-y mess that proved entirely impossible to separate. I have since determined that this was a completely unnecessary step (given that I had to substitute some of the now-useless pasta sheets with some unblanched ones), but it was extremely annoying at the time.
Also, Jamie's recipe calls for many more layers of pasta sheets than I am used to. This is fine, except that my lasagne dish just isn't big enough to accomodate so many layers. Fortunately, I had already weighed this up before I created a huge mess, and so only created a medium mess.
Still, never mind. It was all done, and assembled, and placed in the oven, and duly cooked. The key question, really, was as it always had been: what was the outcome?
Well, it was most definately a lasagne. It also seemed somewhat closer to the lasagne I've had in restaurants, which tends to be not quite so rigidly layered as the ones I have cooked previously (although that was somewhat by my design). However, it was not a significant improvement over what has gone before. This lasagne, at least, was insufficient to convert me away from using the jars of red and white sauce. Perhaps some other recipe will do that job better.
Still, the lasagne was good enough to count as a 'win', and so brings the score for this chapter to 6-0. The next recipe in the book is "Good Old Chilli Con Carne", which I have already tackled. After that we have a mince and onion pie. However, I might not get to that next week - I have run out of freezer tubs, and indeed space to store foods, and so may not be well placed to cook up the pie without it going to waste. Such are the perils of having a freezer filled to overflowing with delicious home-cooked foods.
Incidentally, I also picked up a copy of "Jamie's Italy" yesterday, as it was on special offer and I had had my eye on it for some time. However, I think I'll just dip in and out of that one, rather than following it in any sort of a sequence.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
The Time Traveller's Wife
I got back from France at 5:30 yesterday morning, and promptly went to bed. Later that day, Lady Chocolat and I went to see "The Time Traveller's Wife".
It's quite a good film, but I'm not going to recommend anyone goes to see it. Read the book instead - it is much better.
The fundamental problem is that the book is very long, very dense, and quite complex. Boiling all that down to a sub-2-hour movie is a nigh impossible task, and has resulting in some very heavy cuts to the material, to the extent that two significant secondary characters from the book are reduced to being almost entirely peripheral in the film, while a third (very important) one is removed almost entirely. Basically, it's the same problem that has affected every "Harry Potter" film since "Goblet of Fire" - there's just not enough time for everything that is essential.
In the next few days, I'll post again about my holiday in France, and also about the lasagne I cooked this evening. For now, though, I'm enjoying my last evening of freedom before going back to work.
#36: "Pathfinder: The Impossible Eye", by Greg A. Vaughan
#37: "The Pirate King", by R.A. Salvatore
#38: "Emperor: The Gods of War", by Conn Iggulden
#39: "The Book Thief", by Markus Zusak (best novel of the year to date, by the way)
It's quite a good film, but I'm not going to recommend anyone goes to see it. Read the book instead - it is much better.
The fundamental problem is that the book is very long, very dense, and quite complex. Boiling all that down to a sub-2-hour movie is a nigh impossible task, and has resulting in some very heavy cuts to the material, to the extent that two significant secondary characters from the book are reduced to being almost entirely peripheral in the film, while a third (very important) one is removed almost entirely. Basically, it's the same problem that has affected every "Harry Potter" film since "Goblet of Fire" - there's just not enough time for everything that is essential.
In the next few days, I'll post again about my holiday in France, and also about the lasagne I cooked this evening. For now, though, I'm enjoying my last evening of freedom before going back to work.
#36: "Pathfinder: The Impossible Eye", by Greg A. Vaughan
#37: "The Pirate King", by R.A. Salvatore
#38: "Emperor: The Gods of War", by Conn Iggulden
#39: "The Book Thief", by Markus Zusak (best novel of the year to date, by the way)
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Experimental Cookery Tuesday #48: Pot Roast Meatloaf
I must confess to a certain doubt as to whether I would bother with an Experimental Cookery Tuesday this week. Being on holiday next week, I have quite a lot to do before I get to go. Furthermore, this week the recipe in the book was for meatloaf, which means you immediately know it's going to take a long time. Heck, there's probably a good five minutes of instrumental before you even really get started!
However, rules are rules, and I had promised that I'd come back to this one this week, and so when I got home I duly got out the ingredients and got to work.
The meatloaf was pretty straightforward to prepare, although it was indeed quite time consuming. That said, I've shifted to using my food processor to smash up the crackers (rather than a rolling pin), which speeds things considerably. But that didn't really help on the half-hour baking stage.
While the meatloaf was baking, I also had to put together the sauce for it, which proved to be a slightly frustrating experience of not having any pans of just the right size. That's not really Jamie's fault, though - the one I do have was in the dishwasher. Anyway, I prepped the sauce, added it to the dish, and returned it to the oven.
But, what to have with meatloaf? What would be the perfect complement? And what would provide a perfect but subtle reference?
And the answer is: cous cous, of course!
So, how was it? It turned out that the meatloaf was a massive success. It wasn't quite what I had expected, but that's fine. In fact, it was surprisingly better than the beef wellington, which I hadn't expected.
So, that's a flawless 5-0 for mince, with a couple of dishes still to go. The next one is lasagne, which should be fun. I'm planning on tackling that just after I get back from France.
#35: "Krondor: the Assassins", by Raymond Feist
However, rules are rules, and I had promised that I'd come back to this one this week, and so when I got home I duly got out the ingredients and got to work.
The meatloaf was pretty straightforward to prepare, although it was indeed quite time consuming. That said, I've shifted to using my food processor to smash up the crackers (rather than a rolling pin), which speeds things considerably. But that didn't really help on the half-hour baking stage.
While the meatloaf was baking, I also had to put together the sauce for it, which proved to be a slightly frustrating experience of not having any pans of just the right size. That's not really Jamie's fault, though - the one I do have was in the dishwasher. Anyway, I prepped the sauce, added it to the dish, and returned it to the oven.
But, what to have with meatloaf? What would be the perfect complement? And what would provide a perfect but subtle reference?
And the answer is: cous cous, of course!
So, how was it? It turned out that the meatloaf was a massive success. It wasn't quite what I had expected, but that's fine. In fact, it was surprisingly better than the beef wellington, which I hadn't expected.
So, that's a flawless 5-0 for mince, with a couple of dishes still to go. The next one is lasagne, which should be fun. I'm planning on tackling that just after I get back from France.
#35: "Krondor: the Assassins", by Raymond Feist
Monday, August 03, 2009
Bridge of Allan Highland Games
The antepenultimate competition of the season saw the band competing at Bridge of Allan. There were eleven bands in our grade.
Our performance was very good, but was marred by a couple of fairly basic errors. However, this was also a competition where we had introduced a new piper to the mix, playing his first competition.
In the end, we came fifth, narrowly missing out on one of the prizes. However, there is a further mitigating factor at play: this marks the start of the month of August, and so some of the overseas bands have started arriving for the World Championships and the Cowal Games. These bands are generally exceptionally good, but because they don't compete at all the competitions they are stuck in Grade 4B. This has the unfortunate effect of skewing the results somewhat.
So, all in all, I'm reasonably happy with that.
#33: "Pathfinder: The End of Eternity", by Jason Nelson
#34: "Pathfinder: Bonus Bestiary", by Paizo Publishing
(July was a very productive month for books, and August looks like it will be as well. By the end of this week, I hope to have finished books #35 and #36, both of which are already in progress, and I fully expect to read at least four books the week after. Suddenly, the target of 52 for the year is looking almost easy.)
Our performance was very good, but was marred by a couple of fairly basic errors. However, this was also a competition where we had introduced a new piper to the mix, playing his first competition.
In the end, we came fifth, narrowly missing out on one of the prizes. However, there is a further mitigating factor at play: this marks the start of the month of August, and so some of the overseas bands have started arriving for the World Championships and the Cowal Games. These bands are generally exceptionally good, but because they don't compete at all the competitions they are stuck in Grade 4B. This has the unfortunate effect of skewing the results somewhat.
So, all in all, I'm reasonably happy with that.
#33: "Pathfinder: The End of Eternity", by Jason Nelson
#34: "Pathfinder: Bonus Bestiary", by Paizo Publishing
(July was a very productive month for books, and August looks like it will be as well. By the end of this week, I hope to have finished books #35 and #36, both of which are already in progress, and I fully expect to read at least four books the week after. Suddenly, the target of 52 for the year is looking almost easy.)
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Experimental Cookery Tuesday #47: Bolognese Sauce
Tuesday was a busy day, so in order to reduce the workload, I actually spent Monday evening putting together the bolognese sauce. It was a simple enough task, but rather time consuming. In particular, the chopping of all the vegetables took rather longer than I expected.
Still, the end result was rather impressive. This was a distinct step up from the jarred sauces have used previously. That said, I think it could probably be improved - I shall have to look into that. This sauce was advertised as being simple and consistent, and certainly lived up to that, but it does mean that there is room for experimentation.
That'll be 4-0 on the mince chapter. Next week, I'll be tackling the "Pot Roast Meatloaf" that I skipped this week. After that, I'll be taking a couple of weeks off while I'm in France, before a triumphant return to tackle lasagne.
Monday, July 27, 2009
The European Championships and Callander Highland Games
It has been another busy weekend with the band. On Saturday, we had the third of the four Majors we are attending, the European Championships in Inverclyde. On Sunday, we returned to the site of our big triumph of last year at the Callander Highland Games, which remained our best shot at glory for this year.
My goals for the weekend were three-fold: qualification at Inverclyde, a place at either of the two competitions, and to read at least two novels. (This last had nothing to do with piping, of course. It ties into another of my goals.)
The weather forecast was for sunny spells between heavy showers on both Saturday and Sunday. On Saturday morning, I looked out the window, and decided it was a day for sunblock. This proved to be a wise choice - there wasn't a hint of rain, and instead was blazing sunshine all day. As a consequence of my decision, the only impact is a slight deepening of the tan on my knees.
We went, we prepared, we waited. One of our younger pipers had to be dropped from competition - a problem with his pipes. He would be able to play in the final, if we qualified. This increased our determination. We had to do it for him.
We played. I thought it went well, on my side of the circle at least. But when we came off, the Pipe Major was raging. He'd obviously heard something I hadn't. Oh dear.
An hour later, the results were posted. We had come fourth in our qualifying group (of 15). We had qualified!
One down.
We waited some more. The pages in the first book passed. I ate lunch slightly early (breakfast had been at 5). The Pipe Major said to wake him at 2:30. We waited some more.
2:30 arrived, so we woke the Pipe Major. The band headed down to tuning. We made ready. The piper who had to be dropped the first time was brought back into the fold. Sadly, another piper had to be dropped - more trouble with pipes.
We played. It went well. When we came off, we were all more than happy with our performance. Could it be - could we actually come away from a Major with a place?
We waited for the march past. I finished that first book just as the time came to get ready. And so we did, and went on, and got our results.
We didn't come away with a place. In fact, we came twelvth in the final. Out of twelve. Still, as the goal for the day was qualification, it was still a successful day.
Sunday morning greeted me with rain. So, no need for sunblock, then.
The day began with a bout of frayed tempers, upset drummers, and general tension. One of our key drummers had decided he wasn't going to come out because... well, I'm not actually sure why not. As far as I can make out, he just couldn't be bothered. The effect of that was that another drummer, who had been supposed to be enjoying a day off, had to be drafted in at short notice. The Lead Drummer was understandably annoyed, as was the Pipe Major. And, unfortunately, the absent drummer's brother eventually got sick of fielding questions...
So, it was an auspicious day. We made our way to the competition, only to find that the bus couldn't park. The ground in the car park was too soft, so we'd never get back out. Instead, we had to grab whatever we needed for the full day, and then the driver would take it away for the day.
We trudged through the rain to the field, whereupon we identified a likely shelter from the storm. The Pipe Major went off to find out when we were playing, while the rest of us shivered. It turned out we would be first on, so we set about tuning up under this tent.
It transpired that they elected to move the competition off of the field and into the tent where we were tuning up. As we were first on, we were allowed to continue tuning there. And, when the time came, we played, and it was good.
After we had played, with nothing else to do, and only this tent to huddle under, I listened to the other bands. It was quite illuminating - suddenly it is clear how we can have been playing really well and still not been getting anywhere. Lots to think on there.
As the Grade 4 competition wound down, the sun came out. The rest of the day was then considerably more pleasant. We played again in the Grade 3 competition, but that's not really important. And then came the March Past and the results. Frankly, I didn't expect much - we might get fourth if we were lucky.
We won.
Yes, for the second year in a row, we won the Grade 4 competition at the Callander Highland Games. What's more, where there were only three bands last year, this year we came top of a field of seven, including our two closest rivals (geographically, that is). Score one for the good guys!
Two down.
On the way home, I finished the second of my novels for the weekend, and made a very small start on the third. Three down.
It was a good weekend.
#31: "Shadows Linger", by Glen Cook
#32: "For Your Eyes Only", by Ian Fleming
My goals for the weekend were three-fold: qualification at Inverclyde, a place at either of the two competitions, and to read at least two novels. (This last had nothing to do with piping, of course. It ties into another of my goals.)
The weather forecast was for sunny spells between heavy showers on both Saturday and Sunday. On Saturday morning, I looked out the window, and decided it was a day for sunblock. This proved to be a wise choice - there wasn't a hint of rain, and instead was blazing sunshine all day. As a consequence of my decision, the only impact is a slight deepening of the tan on my knees.
We went, we prepared, we waited. One of our younger pipers had to be dropped from competition - a problem with his pipes. He would be able to play in the final, if we qualified. This increased our determination. We had to do it for him.
We played. I thought it went well, on my side of the circle at least. But when we came off, the Pipe Major was raging. He'd obviously heard something I hadn't. Oh dear.
An hour later, the results were posted. We had come fourth in our qualifying group (of 15). We had qualified!
One down.
We waited some more. The pages in the first book passed. I ate lunch slightly early (breakfast had been at 5). The Pipe Major said to wake him at 2:30. We waited some more.
2:30 arrived, so we woke the Pipe Major. The band headed down to tuning. We made ready. The piper who had to be dropped the first time was brought back into the fold. Sadly, another piper had to be dropped - more trouble with pipes.
We played. It went well. When we came off, we were all more than happy with our performance. Could it be - could we actually come away from a Major with a place?
We waited for the march past. I finished that first book just as the time came to get ready. And so we did, and went on, and got our results.
We didn't come away with a place. In fact, we came twelvth in the final. Out of twelve. Still, as the goal for the day was qualification, it was still a successful day.
Sunday morning greeted me with rain. So, no need for sunblock, then.
The day began with a bout of frayed tempers, upset drummers, and general tension. One of our key drummers had decided he wasn't going to come out because... well, I'm not actually sure why not. As far as I can make out, he just couldn't be bothered. The effect of that was that another drummer, who had been supposed to be enjoying a day off, had to be drafted in at short notice. The Lead Drummer was understandably annoyed, as was the Pipe Major. And, unfortunately, the absent drummer's brother eventually got sick of fielding questions...
So, it was an auspicious day. We made our way to the competition, only to find that the bus couldn't park. The ground in the car park was too soft, so we'd never get back out. Instead, we had to grab whatever we needed for the full day, and then the driver would take it away for the day.
We trudged through the rain to the field, whereupon we identified a likely shelter from the storm. The Pipe Major went off to find out when we were playing, while the rest of us shivered. It turned out we would be first on, so we set about tuning up under this tent.
It transpired that they elected to move the competition off of the field and into the tent where we were tuning up. As we were first on, we were allowed to continue tuning there. And, when the time came, we played, and it was good.
After we had played, with nothing else to do, and only this tent to huddle under, I listened to the other bands. It was quite illuminating - suddenly it is clear how we can have been playing really well and still not been getting anywhere. Lots to think on there.
As the Grade 4 competition wound down, the sun came out. The rest of the day was then considerably more pleasant. We played again in the Grade 3 competition, but that's not really important. And then came the March Past and the results. Frankly, I didn't expect much - we might get fourth if we were lucky.
We won.
Yes, for the second year in a row, we won the Grade 4 competition at the Callander Highland Games. What's more, where there were only three bands last year, this year we came top of a field of seven, including our two closest rivals (geographically, that is). Score one for the good guys!
Two down.
On the way home, I finished the second of my novels for the weekend, and made a very small start on the third. Three down.
It was a good weekend.
#31: "Shadows Linger", by Glen Cook
#32: "For Your Eyes Only", by Ian Fleming
Friday, July 24, 2009
Oh well
Falkirk lost the second leg of their Eurpoa League qualifying match 2-0, thus being eliminated from the tournament 2-1 on aggregate. This is somewhat disappointing, although not unexpected as it was their first-ever European adventure.
I guess that means we won't be playing in the next round, then.
#30: "Pathfinder: Dungeon Denizens Revisited", by Paizo Publishing
I guess that means we won't be playing in the next round, then.
#30: "Pathfinder: Dungeon Denizens Revisited", by Paizo Publishing
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Experimental Cookery Tuesday #46: Minced Beef Wellington
When I first got the book and looked through the recipes, it was this one that most caught my eye as something I wanted to try. When, last week, we reached the point where this was next on the list, I found myself somewhat apprehensive. I wasn't the complexity of the dish that was a factor, since it isn't hugely difficult, but rather the cooking time. It needed an hour in the oven, which meant not eating until 7:30 - rather a hardship when one gets home at 5:30 tired and hungry.
Still, I persevered. As I have said before (though not here, I think), it is the rules that we make for ourselves that are the most important, and that meant I had to do something towards the book this week. And, frankly, one evening is as good as another, especially since I am out all weekend, and so lacking in opportunity to put things right then.
Anyway, although it proved quite time consuming, the process of putting together the Wellington was fairly straight-forward. And once it went into the oven, that was the task essentially done. I spent the next hour productively making lunch and reading the latest Bond novel.
It turned out that the Minced Beef Wellington was essentially a giant Cornish Pasty. There's no great harm in that - I do quite like Cornish Pasties - but it wasn't really the revelation I had expected. (Truth be told, though, that seemed unlikely in a chapter on mince.)
Still, it was nice enough. One to have again, I think, although one to have with company, rather than to eat alone for four days. I'll give him the win; that's 4-0 on "Homely Mince". (That said, both the curry and stir-fry chapters still have the edge. There has been nothing here that has really sold this chapter, yet.)
The next one is supposed to be "Pot Roast Meatloaf", which comes highly recommended. However, for reasons to convoluted to go into here, I'm going to skip that one, and instead proceed to the "Bolognese Sauce". (I have a girl coming around, and spaghetti bolognese fits better than a pot roast. Oh, there you go - turned out they weren't too convoluted.)
Anyway, must dash. I'm supposed to be cleaning three rooms tonight, and I have done a grand total of none of them!
#29: "Goldfinger", by Ian Fleming
Still, I persevered. As I have said before (though not here, I think), it is the rules that we make for ourselves that are the most important, and that meant I had to do something towards the book this week. And, frankly, one evening is as good as another, especially since I am out all weekend, and so lacking in opportunity to put things right then.
Anyway, although it proved quite time consuming, the process of putting together the Wellington was fairly straight-forward. And once it went into the oven, that was the task essentially done. I spent the next hour productively making lunch and reading the latest Bond novel.
It turned out that the Minced Beef Wellington was essentially a giant Cornish Pasty. There's no great harm in that - I do quite like Cornish Pasties - but it wasn't really the revelation I had expected. (Truth be told, though, that seemed unlikely in a chapter on mince.)
Still, it was nice enough. One to have again, I think, although one to have with company, rather than to eat alone for four days. I'll give him the win; that's 4-0 on "Homely Mince". (That said, both the curry and stir-fry chapters still have the edge. There has been nothing here that has really sold this chapter, yet.)
The next one is supposed to be "Pot Roast Meatloaf", which comes highly recommended. However, for reasons to convoluted to go into here, I'm going to skip that one, and instead proceed to the "Bolognese Sauce". (I have a girl coming around, and spaghetti bolognese fits better than a pot roast. Oh, there you go - turned out they weren't too convoluted.)
Anyway, must dash. I'm supposed to be cleaning three rooms tonight, and I have done a grand total of none of them!
#29: "Goldfinger", by Ian Fleming
Monday, July 20, 2009
To Infinity and Beyond?
When the Moon rises tonight, I will inevitably find myself pondering the anniversary. Forty years ago today, Man landed on the Moon for the first time.
It was the culmination of our greatest adventure, it is arguably our greatest achievement to date, and it is absolutely worthy of celebration.
But I'm sure I will also consider one other thing: We don't go there any more.
It's not that we don't have the technology; we just use it for sending text messages (LOL). It's not that we don't have the money - our money is essentially virtual these days anyway (and besides, there are massive side benefits to all the R&D that would be involved). Basically, we don't have the will. The reason we choose not to do these things is precisely the reason JFK gave for doing them in the first place: "because they are hard."
Seriously, we should go.
The Thornton Highland Games
Once again, it has been a busy weekend with the band. On Thursday, we played at the Falkirk stadium, celebrating the team's first ever match in European competition. This was a good night, especially as Falkirk won the match 1-0, and might just have done enough to qualify for the next round. Maybe.
On Saturday, we were playing at the Falkirk Wheel once again for fundraising purposes. Unfortunately, with the weather not being terribly good, we didn't do particularly well. This was a shame, as the band actually played really well. Still, it was worth doing. We were also very lucky - we decided to finish early, and just as we did so the heavens opened, and so we narrowly avoided getting soaked.
Yesterday, we found ourselves at the Thornton Highland Games for yet another competition. It was a reasonable day, although there was a rather nasty wind during most of it, and a few light showers.
At the Thornton Games, we played three times, in the Grade Four competition, the Grade Three competition and an Open competition. This last was the organisers' attempt to attract a few higher-grade bands to their games, while not being able to attract enough to justify a full competition for those grades. Unfortunately for them, it didn't really work, so they got us instead. However, I'm not really interested in any competition other than the Grade Four.
The band played really well. In fact, we put in the best performance we have managed at any contest at any point this year. For the first time, we managed to all start correctly, we didn't let the tunes run away with us, and we got the phrasing of the tune right. After our success at Cupar, hopes were high that we would be in or around the prizes once again.
The judges felt differently. Despite the feedback forms not indicating anything particularly wrong with the performance, we nonetheless came seventh. (The results aren't online yet, so I don't know how big the field was. I believe there were eight or nine bands present.)
This was an especially disappointing result. Previously, we've had to look back and admit that we didn't play well, and that the results were therefore fair and accurate. The onus on us has been to improve, and then the results would follow.
But yesterday we know we played well. And, what's more, there isn't any clear indication of why we did poorly, or what we should be doing to improve. It's purely a matter of what seem to be reasonably encouraging comments on the sheet, followed by a surprisingly high number.
Oh well, no point in dwelling on it. Next week we have the third Major of the season, the European Championships at Inverclyde, followed by the Callendar Highland Games, the site of our one and only success last year.
#28: "A Sword From Red Ice", by J.V. Jones
On Saturday, we were playing at the Falkirk Wheel once again for fundraising purposes. Unfortunately, with the weather not being terribly good, we didn't do particularly well. This was a shame, as the band actually played really well. Still, it was worth doing. We were also very lucky - we decided to finish early, and just as we did so the heavens opened, and so we narrowly avoided getting soaked.
Yesterday, we found ourselves at the Thornton Highland Games for yet another competition. It was a reasonable day, although there was a rather nasty wind during most of it, and a few light showers.
At the Thornton Games, we played three times, in the Grade Four competition, the Grade Three competition and an Open competition. This last was the organisers' attempt to attract a few higher-grade bands to their games, while not being able to attract enough to justify a full competition for those grades. Unfortunately for them, it didn't really work, so they got us instead. However, I'm not really interested in any competition other than the Grade Four.
The band played really well. In fact, we put in the best performance we have managed at any contest at any point this year. For the first time, we managed to all start correctly, we didn't let the tunes run away with us, and we got the phrasing of the tune right. After our success at Cupar, hopes were high that we would be in or around the prizes once again.
The judges felt differently. Despite the feedback forms not indicating anything particularly wrong with the performance, we nonetheless came seventh. (The results aren't online yet, so I don't know how big the field was. I believe there were eight or nine bands present.)
This was an especially disappointing result. Previously, we've had to look back and admit that we didn't play well, and that the results were therefore fair and accurate. The onus on us has been to improve, and then the results would follow.
But yesterday we know we played well. And, what's more, there isn't any clear indication of why we did poorly, or what we should be doing to improve. It's purely a matter of what seem to be reasonably encouraging comments on the sheet, followed by a surprisingly high number.
Oh well, no point in dwelling on it. Next week we have the third Major of the season, the European Championships at Inverclyde, followed by the Callendar Highland Games, the site of our one and only success last year.
#28: "A Sword From Red Ice", by J.V. Jones
Day 201
It doesn't seem like any time at all since the update for day 150 of the year, but according to the calendar it has been seven weeks. (Actually, eight. The previous update was early.) Anyway, yesterday was day 200 of 2009, and so the time has come for another update on progress against my goals for the year.
And there it is. Three goals completed, one abandoned, and seven remaining. Of the seven, #8 and #11 will essentially be resolved by the time of the next update; these will be my main focus for the next seven weeks.
- Super Secret Goal #1. Complete. And there was much rejoicing.
- Super Secret Goal #2. Abandoned in April; included here for completeness
only. - Books. I finished "A Sword From Red Ice" on Friday, taking me to 28 for the year. I am also 100 pages from the end of "Goldfinger", and am hoping to finish it off tomorrow. Hopefully, I should make some decent progress on this one over the next few weeks; the advantage of all those bus trips to and from competitions.
- Weight loss. No progress to report. My plan to really try to focus on this during June failed.
- New skill. I have picked out the course I wish to attend, but it doesn't start until October.
- Car fund. This was completed. Of course, in the end I didn't need to buy a new car, rendering this somewhat redundant. Never mind - I now have the funds available for next year.
- General finances. No progress to report. That said, there's not too much more for me to be doing with this.
- Band. We won a prize at Cupar, but failed to qualify at Banbridge. As a result, we now need to qualify at both Inverclyde and Cowal to complete one part of this goal, but need only pick up one more prize anywhere to complete the other. This goal will be resolved one way or the other in the next six weeks or so.
- The house move. I have spent some time in the last couple of weeks putting up endless bookcases, and arranging books on them. It was a long and tedious task, but also a job well done. Still to do: clear out the rest of the junk in the Purple Room, invest in a dining table and chairs, and get a tumble drier. I also want to get some nice pictures for the walls, but this part of the task will be something to work on over time, rather than something to rush out and do.
- TV. Completed. My weekly viewing now consists of "House", "Dollhouse", "Chuck" and "Lie to Me". I have even started to work through the bank of movies I have had stored since December.
- RPGs.The second of four remaining sessions in the "Star Wars Saga Edition"
campaign was on Saturday, and it was good. It looks like we might not finish this one off in the allocated four sessions, but that's okay. Slightly less good, we missed one of the four weekends that we thought might have been usable due to illness (not mine). However, it looks like we might just get that back, if the band drop out of the competition on the 8th of July (as seems likely). I haven't done any meaningful prep for the next game, and will have to get on with that.
And there it is. Three goals completed, one abandoned, and seven remaining. Of the seven, #8 and #11 will essentially be resolved by the time of the next update; these will be my main focus for the next seven weeks.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
The Quest
Back when I moved home, I was told by my then GP practice that I had moved out of their catchment area, and would have to find a new practice. Apparently, the NHS have this system of catchment areas in order to ensure that doctors can (theoretically, of course) go out for a home call if necessary. And, having moved to an appartment that was a whole 2.1 miles from the practice, I am now too far away.
(Someone really should do something about this. I think we need some sort of device that is capable of moving itself along all those fancy roads we have. I even have a wonderful idea for the name: let's call it auto, which means 'self', and mobile, which means 'move'.)
Anyway, given that 2.1 miles is clearly too far for a person to travel, I set out on the task of finding a new GP. And so, my first port of call was the NHS (Scotland) website, which provided guidance on how to do this: look up the practices in your area, pick one, phone them and ask if they're willing to take you on as a patient, and you're done.
So, I looked up the practices in my area, of which there are about ten. Of these, six are closer than the one I was with (and I presume, therefore, that the others should simply be discounted from consideration).
Picking one was a slightly harder challenge. On what basis should I make the selection? After all, I've never used any of them, and so have no basis for comparison. Perhaps I should use the length of the name? Or perhaps the number of vowels in the surnames of the doctors (it is well established that a low usage of vowels improves patient health - except in Argentina, for some reason). Or perhaps I should just make some metric up out of thin air, for comedic purposes?
In the end, I phoned the nearest practice. I'm sure it's no basis on which to pick a doctor, but there was no Dr Zyrryk in the area, so what could I do? Anyway, I phoned them, explained that I'd just moved in, and asked...
Before I finished the question I was interrupted. "No, we're not taking on any patients. You have to go through allocations. Click"
I never did find a practice that was taking on patients. Even when I promised them that I would never, ever get sick they were unmoved. Allocations it was.
So, I dug out the letter I wrote to them three years ago, back when I tried and failed to find a GP in Falkirk last time. I edited the letter to explain the situation (and also comment that, actually, I didn't feel any great need to move, what with having a working prototype of my new automobile, and anyway I could walk the distance in 40 minutes, and daresay could go even faster if I used a horse-draw carriage (or 'car' for short)). But there was just one small problem: no address!
So, I went back to the NHS (Scotland) website (all the while bemoaning the fact that while I was told several times I had to go through Allocations, no-one bothered to think that I might need an address). Still, how hard could it be to find an address? Surely, in the "How to Find a GP" section, there must be a "and if all else fails, write to this address"?
Well, you might think that, but you would be mistaken. The address was nowhere to be found. But, fortunately, help was to be had. There was always the "Email Us" option. Hurrah!
I filled in their form with gusto, rather enjoying the fact that I'd be wasting the time of an over-stretched and over-stressed member of NHS staff on a trivial enquiry that could be resolved by a slight adjustment to their website. It was with great glee that I considered all those people suffering from Swine Flu who would have to go untreated while someone looked up an address that should be readily and easily available on the website. Truly, it was a good time.
When I clicked "Submit", the system showed up a page confirming my request had been sent. It also said a confirmation email would be sent to me. Good, good.
What I didn't notice was that the webpage also gave a unique "enquiry code" for my request, which I would need to access the answer when it arrived. What I didn't realise was that this code would not be included in the confirmation email. What I did not realise was the true depths of stupidity that went into designing this system.
Two days later, I received an email saying that a response to my query was available, and providing a link to said response. I was at something of a loss as to why, rather than just telling me the address, they instead sent me an email saying that they had told me the address somewhere else.
Still, I followed the link. And was presented with a page asking for my unique "enquiry code", and also the "response code" from the email telling me where my answer was to be found. So, I entered the response code, and then looked up the "enquiry code", which of course was in the confirmation email I had been sent two days ago. After all, no-one would be stupid enough to design a system where you had to copy down a number that is shown exactly once, and then lost forever more...
At this point, I considered using their system to email them again to ask the same question. I then considered emailing them again to instead tell them I'd lost my "enquiry code", and could they tell me how to retrieve it. I then considered writing a real letter, lambasting them for developing such an idiotic system, giving a detailed description of just why you shouldn't give people the "enquiry code" after they've sent the email, why it should not be shown only once and then lost forever, and why you want to encircle it with big red text reading "for the love of all that's holy, copy down this number!!!"
Unfortunately, I didn't have the address to which I should send such a letter. Shame.
In the end, I settled on doing nothing at all. After all, it's not as if there's much danger of me actually getting sick any time soon. I mean, it's not as if WHO were, at that very time, predicting some sort of pandemic (pan meaning 'all', demic from demos meaning 'people'). I mean, we've since been informed that we should expect as many as 7 billion new cases of Swine Flu per day by the end of July (in the UK alone!), but this was back in the more innocent days when they were predicting that only 95% of us would die of it.
So, yes, not getting ill it was.
Anyway, I forgot about the matter for a while, being rather too wrapped up in the development of my exciting new mode of transport. Development was going well, as I found I was able to borrow a few ideas from the engine design of my car.
Last week, the postman rode through town on his white horse. (Technically, the horse could have been of another colour. I wasn't there to see it. I merely say 'white' to add a little descriptive flourish to the text. Also, as the colour white denotes purity, I am ascribing to the heroic postman a certain noble quality. I mean, it must be a bit rough, riding through Falkirk with all the Nedmobiles around the place.)
While this paragon of, um, letter delivery was making his rounds, he delivered to me a letter from my GP, noting that I still hadn't found a new practice, and that I really should do so. And, wonder of wonders, they included a form to send to Allocations to enable me to do this, complete with an address to which I should send this form!
Weeping the tears of pure joy that this development inspired, I filled in the form, put it in an envolope, added the address and a stamp, and then walked to the nearest post box, ready for the return of the postman. And now, I eagerly await the news that I have been assigned to a new GP, while at the same time satisfied at the conclusion of my most epic quest to date.
The End.
(Someone really should do something about this. I think we need some sort of device that is capable of moving itself along all those fancy roads we have. I even have a wonderful idea for the name: let's call it auto, which means 'self', and mobile, which means 'move'.)
Anyway, given that 2.1 miles is clearly too far for a person to travel, I set out on the task of finding a new GP. And so, my first port of call was the NHS (Scotland) website, which provided guidance on how to do this: look up the practices in your area, pick one, phone them and ask if they're willing to take you on as a patient, and you're done.
So, I looked up the practices in my area, of which there are about ten. Of these, six are closer than the one I was with (and I presume, therefore, that the others should simply be discounted from consideration).
Picking one was a slightly harder challenge. On what basis should I make the selection? After all, I've never used any of them, and so have no basis for comparison. Perhaps I should use the length of the name? Or perhaps the number of vowels in the surnames of the doctors (it is well established that a low usage of vowels improves patient health - except in Argentina, for some reason). Or perhaps I should just make some metric up out of thin air, for comedic purposes?
In the end, I phoned the nearest practice. I'm sure it's no basis on which to pick a doctor, but there was no Dr Zyrryk in the area, so what could I do? Anyway, I phoned them, explained that I'd just moved in, and asked...
Before I finished the question I was interrupted. "No, we're not taking on any patients. You have to go through allocations. Click"
I never did find a practice that was taking on patients. Even when I promised them that I would never, ever get sick they were unmoved. Allocations it was.
So, I dug out the letter I wrote to them three years ago, back when I tried and failed to find a GP in Falkirk last time. I edited the letter to explain the situation (and also comment that, actually, I didn't feel any great need to move, what with having a working prototype of my new automobile, and anyway I could walk the distance in 40 minutes, and daresay could go even faster if I used a horse-draw carriage (or 'car' for short)). But there was just one small problem: no address!
So, I went back to the NHS (Scotland) website (all the while bemoaning the fact that while I was told several times I had to go through Allocations, no-one bothered to think that I might need an address). Still, how hard could it be to find an address? Surely, in the "How to Find a GP" section, there must be a "and if all else fails, write to this address"?
Well, you might think that, but you would be mistaken. The address was nowhere to be found. But, fortunately, help was to be had. There was always the "Email Us" option. Hurrah!
I filled in their form with gusto, rather enjoying the fact that I'd be wasting the time of an over-stretched and over-stressed member of NHS staff on a trivial enquiry that could be resolved by a slight adjustment to their website. It was with great glee that I considered all those people suffering from Swine Flu who would have to go untreated while someone looked up an address that should be readily and easily available on the website. Truly, it was a good time.
When I clicked "Submit", the system showed up a page confirming my request had been sent. It also said a confirmation email would be sent to me. Good, good.
What I didn't notice was that the webpage also gave a unique "enquiry code" for my request, which I would need to access the answer when it arrived. What I didn't realise was that this code would not be included in the confirmation email. What I did not realise was the true depths of stupidity that went into designing this system.
Two days later, I received an email saying that a response to my query was available, and providing a link to said response. I was at something of a loss as to why, rather than just telling me the address, they instead sent me an email saying that they had told me the address somewhere else.
Still, I followed the link. And was presented with a page asking for my unique "enquiry code", and also the "response code" from the email telling me where my answer was to be found. So, I entered the response code, and then looked up the "enquiry code", which of course was in the confirmation email I had been sent two days ago. After all, no-one would be stupid enough to design a system where you had to copy down a number that is shown exactly once, and then lost forever more...
At this point, I considered using their system to email them again to ask the same question. I then considered emailing them again to instead tell them I'd lost my "enquiry code", and could they tell me how to retrieve it. I then considered writing a real letter, lambasting them for developing such an idiotic system, giving a detailed description of just why you shouldn't give people the "enquiry code" after they've sent the email, why it should not be shown only once and then lost forever, and why you want to encircle it with big red text reading "for the love of all that's holy, copy down this number!!!"
Unfortunately, I didn't have the address to which I should send such a letter. Shame.
In the end, I settled on doing nothing at all. After all, it's not as if there's much danger of me actually getting sick any time soon. I mean, it's not as if WHO were, at that very time, predicting some sort of pandemic (pan meaning 'all', demic from demos meaning 'people'). I mean, we've since been informed that we should expect as many as 7 billion new cases of Swine Flu per day by the end of July (in the UK alone!), but this was back in the more innocent days when they were predicting that only 95% of us would die of it.
So, yes, not getting ill it was.
Anyway, I forgot about the matter for a while, being rather too wrapped up in the development of my exciting new mode of transport. Development was going well, as I found I was able to borrow a few ideas from the engine design of my car.
Last week, the postman rode through town on his white horse. (Technically, the horse could have been of another colour. I wasn't there to see it. I merely say 'white' to add a little descriptive flourish to the text. Also, as the colour white denotes purity, I am ascribing to the heroic postman a certain noble quality. I mean, it must be a bit rough, riding through Falkirk with all the Nedmobiles around the place.)
While this paragon of, um, letter delivery was making his rounds, he delivered to me a letter from my GP, noting that I still hadn't found a new practice, and that I really should do so. And, wonder of wonders, they included a form to send to Allocations to enable me to do this, complete with an address to which I should send this form!
Weeping the tears of pure joy that this development inspired, I filled in the form, put it in an envolope, added the address and a stamp, and then walked to the nearest post box, ready for the return of the postman. And now, I eagerly await the news that I have been assigned to a new GP, while at the same time satisfied at the conclusion of my most epic quest to date.
The End.
Monday, July 13, 2009
My Day Off
Life is insane at the moment. In addition to work, I am busy with the band every Saturday and every Sunday between now and the middle of August (and most Saturdays and Sundays after that and until mid-September). Not to mention my hectic schedule in the evenings: I'm out at one thing or another four out of the five evenings this week. (Though this week is particularly hectic.)
So, it was with some anticipation that I was looking forward to last weekend. The band had a fund-raiser in Grangemouth on the Saturday, which would take only a few hours, and nothing on the Sunday. I was getting a whole day off!
I staggered through the end of work on Friday, leaving with that annoying sense of failure that always comes when you don't quite solve the bug that you've been chasing. It happens.
Friday night was then spent engaging in one of those traditional but nerve-wracking landmark events, followed by watching Torchwood, and finally a return home for some well-earned sleep. My plan to buy some bookcases for my many RPG books remained incomplete.
Saturday arrived, and I immediately found myself running late, of course. Compounding the difficulties was a text from the Pipe Major, saying that he was going to be late himself, and that I should get things started without him.
Somehow, I managed to make it to Grangemouth on time, or as close as makes no difference, only to find only two other members of the band there. So, we had to wait a while for some others to arrive before we could start.
In the event, we had quite a small turnout, of six pipers (two of whom were learners), two snare drummers, a tenor and a bass. The Pipe Major never did get there. We played for three hours, on and off, and made £156, which is not a bad return on investment.
I then went and bought the ingredients for the burgers, and then went and bought the bookcases I mentioned previously. While battling these into the car, I suffered a mishap, and so went immediately back into the store, and bought a new watch to replace the one I had just destroyed.
Saturday evening I spent collapsed on my sofa, curled up with not one but two books. I still haven't actually assembled the bookcases. (I have no idea when I'm going to put these together, except that it has to be before Friday morning, and the only evening I'm not busy this week is in fact Friday. Perhaps I'll put them up in my sleep.)
So, Sunday. My big day off. No band engagements to play, no pressing tasks, nothing immediately in need of doing. Fantastic.
Except it didn't quite work out like that.
The reason I was due a day off from the band was that there was an event on, but it required only a mini-band, rather than everyone. Since I hadn't been told about it, I therefore assumed I didn't have to go. Said delusion lasted until about four on Saturday, just after I put both pairs of band socks into the wash, when the text arrived asking for volunteers. Sigh.
And so, it was off to the wedding, my first for some months. Fortunately, my socks had dried overnight, which proved to be a pleasant surprise. We played, and it was good. Then we played some more, and it was a bit less good. Then we played some more, which was a bit better. Then we waited for the receiving line to complete, and then I piped in the top table. Then I was done; the Pipe Major piped in the couple, thus laying claim to the dram that was assigned for the piper. (No matter; I had to drive anyway.)
From there I went to the parental home, where G had cooked my dinner, and then to church (I've missed several weeks recently, and will be missing several more before this is all done, so I really felt I had to go when the opportunity presented itself), and then I headed home to deposit my pipes. But no sooner had I got in than I headed out again immediately, to join a portion of the band in the pub for some bad karaoke. Then, finally, home to watch "House", and get myself to my bed.
It was a nice restful day. I'm looking forward with great anticipation to my next day off, on the 18th (and possibly 23rd) of August. It's also fair to say I'm a little tired today.
#27: "Pathfinder: The Great Beyond", by Todd Stewart
(Yes, I know I said "A Sword From Red Ice" was the next book. I'm nearly finished it, honestly!)
So, it was with some anticipation that I was looking forward to last weekend. The band had a fund-raiser in Grangemouth on the Saturday, which would take only a few hours, and nothing on the Sunday. I was getting a whole day off!
I staggered through the end of work on Friday, leaving with that annoying sense of failure that always comes when you don't quite solve the bug that you've been chasing. It happens.
Friday night was then spent engaging in one of those traditional but nerve-wracking landmark events, followed by watching Torchwood, and finally a return home for some well-earned sleep. My plan to buy some bookcases for my many RPG books remained incomplete.
Saturday arrived, and I immediately found myself running late, of course. Compounding the difficulties was a text from the Pipe Major, saying that he was going to be late himself, and that I should get things started without him.
Somehow, I managed to make it to Grangemouth on time, or as close as makes no difference, only to find only two other members of the band there. So, we had to wait a while for some others to arrive before we could start.
In the event, we had quite a small turnout, of six pipers (two of whom were learners), two snare drummers, a tenor and a bass. The Pipe Major never did get there. We played for three hours, on and off, and made £156, which is not a bad return on investment.
I then went and bought the ingredients for the burgers, and then went and bought the bookcases I mentioned previously. While battling these into the car, I suffered a mishap, and so went immediately back into the store, and bought a new watch to replace the one I had just destroyed.
Saturday evening I spent collapsed on my sofa, curled up with not one but two books. I still haven't actually assembled the bookcases. (I have no idea when I'm going to put these together, except that it has to be before Friday morning, and the only evening I'm not busy this week is in fact Friday. Perhaps I'll put them up in my sleep.)
So, Sunday. My big day off. No band engagements to play, no pressing tasks, nothing immediately in need of doing. Fantastic.
Except it didn't quite work out like that.
The reason I was due a day off from the band was that there was an event on, but it required only a mini-band, rather than everyone. Since I hadn't been told about it, I therefore assumed I didn't have to go. Said delusion lasted until about four on Saturday, just after I put both pairs of band socks into the wash, when the text arrived asking for volunteers. Sigh.
And so, it was off to the wedding, my first for some months. Fortunately, my socks had dried overnight, which proved to be a pleasant surprise. We played, and it was good. Then we played some more, and it was a bit less good. Then we played some more, which was a bit better. Then we waited for the receiving line to complete, and then I piped in the top table. Then I was done; the Pipe Major piped in the couple, thus laying claim to the dram that was assigned for the piper. (No matter; I had to drive anyway.)
From there I went to the parental home, where G had cooked my dinner, and then to church (I've missed several weeks recently, and will be missing several more before this is all done, so I really felt I had to go when the opportunity presented itself), and then I headed home to deposit my pipes. But no sooner had I got in than I headed out again immediately, to join a portion of the band in the pub for some bad karaoke. Then, finally, home to watch "House", and get myself to my bed.
It was a nice restful day. I'm looking forward with great anticipation to my next day off, on the 18th (and possibly 23rd) of August. It's also fair to say I'm a little tired today.
#27: "Pathfinder: The Great Beyond", by Todd Stewart
(Yes, I know I said "A Sword From Red Ice" was the next book. I'm nearly finished it, honestly!)
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Experimental Cookery 'Tuesday' #45: A Cracking Burger
I forgot to get anything out of the freezer for dinner today. So, a quick trip to Tesco was followed by a spell of making burgers. Oh no!
Steph/ven's all-time top foods:
- Lasagne
- Curry
- Burgers
- Pizza (pepperoni, of course. It is the Knig of pizza toppings.)
- Chilli
(Honourable mention for calamari, which despite being seafood, and therefore not suitable for human consumption, is nonetheless rather nice.)
Jamie has already managed to convert me from jarred versions of two of the above to the home-cooked alternatives, and is set to have a crack at Lasagne in a few weeks. He tackles pizza in an entirely different book, which I don't have but might invest in at some point (since I do like Italian food).
So, how does he do with the burgers?
Well, it was rather fun bashing up the cream crackers. Quite relieved the stress of a rather difficult day. And then there was some chopping, cracking an egg, mixing, mixing, mixing, then chopping salad, cooking the burgers quickly (I thought), and then an assembly innabun. From start to first bite took about fifty minutes, and I now have four homemade burgers in my freezer ready for later use.
But never mind that tosh. With a burger, only one thing matters. Was it good?
Oh yes. It was a gooood burger. It was so much better than the boxed Bird's Eye burgers I usually have as to be insulted by the mere comparison. It similarly blew the 'Big' Mac out of the water. (Though these days it should really be the "Average Mac", or perhaps just the "Mac". It's been shrinking, see, and now there's nothing Big about it. But that's another rant entirely.)
(Though, seriously, why did they have to shrink the Big Mac? Despite its failings, it used to be a real burger. Now it's a toy burger. It's like those "Fun Size" Mars bars. I tell you, there's nothing 'fun' about having to eat fifty of them just to feel like you've had a real Mars bar. I blame Morgan Spurlock.)
Anyway, the bottom line is that I'm almost converted. One test remains: I need to know how well the homemade burgers freeze and defrost. If they work well, I'm going to have to bid farewell to the store-bought variety, because they just don't compare.
Curse you Jamie Oliver, you win this round!
Also, 3-0 in the "Homely Mince" chapter. Next up is "Minced Beef Wellington". Although, as this is a 'real' meal, I'm not entirely sure when I'll get around to it.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Experimental Cookery Tuesday #44: Rice Salad
The best thing about the "Rice Salad" is that it marks the end of the salads chapter. Unfortunately, despite Jamie's claims to the contrary, this was a fairly bland effort that, although it really wasn't much hassle, was nonetheless not worth the hassle involved in putting it together. I really was not a fan. It was okay, but after 25 minutes of boiling the rice (per the packet instructions), 'okay' just isn't enough.
So, that brings the tally for the "Lovin' Salads" chapter to 7-4 in favour. The best salad in the chapter was definately the "Mediterranean Chopped Salad", the worst the "Evolution Tomato Salad", for the disappointment more than anything else.
The next chapter in the book is "Simple Soups". However, as soup is more a lunch meal, I have elected to skip this chapter for now. Once I am done with the breakfasts, I'll return to this chapter. Instead, I'm moving on to "Homely Mince", which already stands at 2-0 in favour (for the meatballs and pasta and the chilli con carne). The first recipe in that chapter is "A Cracking Burger", which I will be tackling on Tuesday.
So, that brings the tally for the "Lovin' Salads" chapter to 7-4 in favour. The best salad in the chapter was definately the "Mediterranean Chopped Salad", the worst the "Evolution Tomato Salad", for the disappointment more than anything else.
The next chapter in the book is "Simple Soups". However, as soup is more a lunch meal, I have elected to skip this chapter for now. Once I am done with the breakfasts, I'll return to this chapter. Instead, I'm moving on to "Homely Mince", which already stands at 2-0 in favour (for the meatballs and pasta and the chilli con carne). The first recipe in that chapter is "A Cracking Burger", which I will be tackling on Tuesday.
Monday, July 06, 2009
600th post: Thriller
Michael Jackson made exactly one concert appearance in Scotland, and I was lucky enough to see him live on that date. This was back in 1992, when he was still at, or very close to, his peak, and it was quite a concert.
(I realised today that at the time of that concert, MJ was the same age I am today. Scary thought, that. However, where MJ suffered a very deep and sad decline, I do firmly believe that my best days are still ahead - what I do doesn't depend on the fickle attentions of the public. But that's an aside.)
Somewhere along the way, Michael Jackson lost the ability to produce the music people wanted to hear. "Thriller" remains an exceptional album, better than virtually anything that has been produced since. But that is 25 years ago now. And in some ways, I'm glad the temptation to try to get tickets to see him again is now gone. I fear the planned concerts would have been a big disappointment: we would have wanted the Michael Jackson of yesteryear, but he was long-gone.
And, of course, if the concerts had been anything less than stellar, you can bet the media would have queued up to take their shots. This being the same media that have run nothing but tributes to a man they hounded, marginalised, or ridiculed for years. The same media that are busy turning his funeral into a circus, rather than letting him rest in peace as they should.
The concert in 1992 ended with "Michael Jackson" flying away into the sunset using a rocket pack.
A few days later, the newspapers were filled with a detailed analysis of just how and when he had switched with a stunt double to safely achieve this. As is so often the case, they felt compelled to rob Peter Pan of his magic.
I don't care. Better to remember him like that.
Much-belated edit: No it wasn't - this is post 599!
(I realised today that at the time of that concert, MJ was the same age I am today. Scary thought, that. However, where MJ suffered a very deep and sad decline, I do firmly believe that my best days are still ahead - what I do doesn't depend on the fickle attentions of the public. But that's an aside.)
Somewhere along the way, Michael Jackson lost the ability to produce the music people wanted to hear. "Thriller" remains an exceptional album, better than virtually anything that has been produced since. But that is 25 years ago now. And in some ways, I'm glad the temptation to try to get tickets to see him again is now gone. I fear the planned concerts would have been a big disappointment: we would have wanted the Michael Jackson of yesteryear, but he was long-gone.
And, of course, if the concerts had been anything less than stellar, you can bet the media would have queued up to take their shots. This being the same media that have run nothing but tributes to a man they hounded, marginalised, or ridiculed for years. The same media that are busy turning his funeral into a circus, rather than letting him rest in peace as they should.
The concert in 1992 ended with "Michael Jackson" flying away into the sunset using a rocket pack.
A few days later, the newspapers were filled with a detailed analysis of just how and when he had switched with a stunt double to safely achieve this. As is so often the case, they felt compelled to rob Peter Pan of his magic.
I don't care. Better to remember him like that.
Much-belated edit: No it wasn't - this is post 599!
Cupar Highland Games
Spurred on by Captain Ric's cruelty last week, the band were determined to play better this week. Or maybe that was just me.
The bus was scheduled to leave for Cupar at 10:45 in the morning, and so we gathered at the school at 10:30, ready to board and get going. Alas, there was no bus. So, we waited. Half an hour later, we were starting to get worried. Even more worrying, the pipe major had forgotten his phone, so might have been getting a call even then explaining the problem, but we would never know...
The bus arrived at 11:30 sharp. It seems there had been a slight mis-communication somewhere along the line. Still, no matter - the competition didn't start until 13:45, so we had plenty of time...
As we travelled, the rain started. Oh yes, we thought, today is going to be a good day.
Just as we arrived in Cupar, just as we were getting to the competition field, a random phone rang. It was a friend of the band, who had been calling around after failing to reach the pipe major. Apparently, we were due to go on any minute, as why weren't we there yet? We pointed out that it wasn't yet one o'clock, and so we should have had plenty of time. It seems there was another slight miscalculation.
We arrived, and rushed off the bus. There then followed a frantic tuning session, during which the rain stopped, and then we had to go on and play. (Truth is, that probably helped us - the wait to go on and play can be a real killer.)
We played better than last week, but still not as well as we can.
(Due to the size of the competition, we were also entered in the Grade Three competition. We played that one slightly better again, but it's not really relevant to the discussion.)
After we had played, we hunted down some food. (Cupar is a wild and dangerous place, where a man can eat only those things that he can bring down with his own wits. I personally trapped a steak pie by enticing it by laying a bed of chips in a cunningly-placed cardboard box.)
Also, there was tennis on, although we didn't have time to watch the whole thing.
We then returned to the bus to play the march past, marvelling at how glorious and sunny the day had become. And then came the result.
We came fourth, out of six bands in our grade. Which, amongst other things, represents our first prize of the season. So, all in all, not a bad day.
The bus was scheduled to leave for Cupar at 10:45 in the morning, and so we gathered at the school at 10:30, ready to board and get going. Alas, there was no bus. So, we waited. Half an hour later, we were starting to get worried. Even more worrying, the pipe major had forgotten his phone, so might have been getting a call even then explaining the problem, but we would never know...
The bus arrived at 11:30 sharp. It seems there had been a slight mis-communication somewhere along the line. Still, no matter - the competition didn't start until 13:45, so we had plenty of time...
As we travelled, the rain started. Oh yes, we thought, today is going to be a good day.
Just as we arrived in Cupar, just as we were getting to the competition field, a random phone rang. It was a friend of the band, who had been calling around after failing to reach the pipe major. Apparently, we were due to go on any minute, as why weren't we there yet? We pointed out that it wasn't yet one o'clock, and so we should have had plenty of time. It seems there was another slight miscalculation.
We arrived, and rushed off the bus. There then followed a frantic tuning session, during which the rain stopped, and then we had to go on and play. (Truth is, that probably helped us - the wait to go on and play can be a real killer.)
We played better than last week, but still not as well as we can.
(Due to the size of the competition, we were also entered in the Grade Three competition. We played that one slightly better again, but it's not really relevant to the discussion.)
After we had played, we hunted down some food. (Cupar is a wild and dangerous place, where a man can eat only those things that he can bring down with his own wits. I personally trapped a steak pie by enticing it by laying a bed of chips in a cunningly-placed cardboard box.)
Also, there was tennis on, although we didn't have time to watch the whole thing.
We then returned to the bus to play the march past, marvelling at how glorious and sunny the day had become. And then came the result.
We came fourth, out of six bands in our grade. Which, amongst other things, represents our first prize of the season. So, all in all, not a bad day.
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