Most appropriate today

Now I've always known that elderly people can be scary, and even dangerous if they're carrying umbrellas or canes. Nice to have that confirmed.

Roadtrip!

It's been a while since I'd been outside city limits, so as flights to all sunny destinations were more expensive than the price I put on seeing the sun, we decided to instead rent a car and drive around a bit. We decided to head towards Norfolk after extensive and very unscientific interpretation of the weather forecast, and a list of towns potentially worth seeing.
We decided to take the smaller roads through Melton Mowbray and Oakham to Stamford, which we'd previously seen from afar and had heard was absolutely gorgeous. We were most certainly not disappointed, and after hours of sitting in traffic (on a weekday in the middle of the day, it felt like a national holiday when everybody abandons towns and cities; the endless queues of cars can only be credited to the rarest of natural occurrences, the appearance of the sun) we reached Stamford. After a stroll around the centre we decided it was time for lunch and a pint, proceeded to acquire such and then headed back on the road towards Peterborough and more things to see. Now I had been told by many people that Peterborough was definitely not worth seeing. MrPicky wanted to see the cathedral (being the medievalist he is), so we ignored all warnings and headed straight for Peterborough. The cathedral was definitely impressive; undergoing renovations on the outside though, so no pictures there. The area near the cathedral was very quaint, but I must say my lasting impression of Peterborough will be the biggest Asda I have seen to date. We then headed off to Ely. Ely I had heard good things about, and it did indeed not disappoint. A lovely little town so picturesque that you definitely don't need to pick where you look. We walked around, soaked in the sunrays, had a look at Oliver Cromwell's former abode, and enjoyed the sleepy little town.
At that point it was getting late. We'd discussed getting a little B&B somewhere on the way to Norwich, but then decided to head off to the coast, to Great Yarmouth. Now neither one of us was quite sure of what we'd find in Great Yarmouth; we'd heard the name, but couldn't quite conjure up an image. We figured we'd take our chances, and if it was very ugly and/or didn't have a B&B for us to stay at, we'd just drive along the coast to one of the villages and find a place to stay there. Very adventurous of us.Little did we expect what we found as we drove into town. From afar it did not look very inviting. As we drew nearer, the towering factories and chimneys looked a little ominous, and the centre itself made us think we might have made a bad call with this one. But we pressed on, and followed the signs to the sea.
We were very much surprised and excited about what we stumbled upon, a veritable English seaside town, a small version (I presume) of the great destinations such as Blackpool and Skegness, down to the amusement park cum pier, loads of little stalls, booths and bars. Now when we originally planned the weekend, we considered flying somewhere south to find the sun. At this point we realised it was a good thing we didn't: firstly, it was actually sunny and warm (and I would've kicked myself to a pulp if we'd spent what seems to be the only sunny weekend of the summer abroad), and secondly because I don't think we ever would've ended up in Great Yarmouth otherwise.
We stayed in a lovely little hotel near the beach, and we did in fact have a view of the sea from our window. Never mind the fact you had to ignore the fire escape, position yourself very carefully and direct your gaze to a particular point, but there it was. Our view of the sea.
Me being the sea person that I am, after dumping our bags in the hotel, we headed straight to the beach. I have to mention that the beaches in Great Yarmouth beggar belief. I have yet to see beaches as deep as those even in the Mediterranean. Shame the weather mostly prevents beach life as such, because those beaches are amazing. Or maybe they were so impressive because I've been living away from the sea for a year now. In any case, most beautiful. The moon was up, it was pitch black and the water was cold. I stood there up to my ankles in veritable sea water as the waves came in, and just looked at the sea.

After sea-gazing, dinner, a walk on the pier, a good night's sleap and breakfast at an "American" diner we headed off to Norwich. Norwich cathedral was most impressive, as were the quaint streets and houses. Except that you really have to select where you look in Norwich, it is a mesmerizing mixture of old and, to be frank, worn out. We did visit Julian of Norwich's cell (stood inside it in fact), walk in the wrong direction and see the less attractive part of Norwich, and eventually decide we'd seen enough and headed out.
Now King's Lynn happened to be the next logical stopover on the way back. We weren't sure what we'd find there, and were quite pleased to see signs for Historic Centre. Which we then dutifully missed, turned around, were about to leave (thinking there probably wasn't much to see), and then happened upon. We had a look around, to be honest stayed for about twenty minutes, and then headed back out.Now I will freely admit that there indeed wasn't much to see in King's Lynn, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't have a few nice things to look at, mainly a church and the view of the Great Ouse. At this point, after two days of extensive driving and sightseeing we decided to call it a day and head home. I must say it was nice to get a bit of a break from routine life, get out of town and discover new places. As I'm writing this, the weather gods are still agreeing with me, the sun is shining and it actually feels very much like summer. For my imaginary readers, some of whom might not be in the UK, I'll just clarify that the sun has been in hiding pretty much since April--and even then I missed it, frolicking around the US and Ireland..But yes, a wonderful little trip. It's amazing how much there is to see in this country, just randomly picking towns and driving around pretty aimlessly. It's also so very convenient that the distances are short; you could virtually drive from one end of the country to the other in a day, and arrive in time for an early dinner.

Tales from the Hood

Or more specifically, from our building. See, we live in an old factory conversion, where the walls are paper thin, and the courtyard which our windows let out to acts pretty much as an amplifier for all noise.

As summer is approaching, we're starting to look at new places. Our lease ends at the end of August, and we have no intention of renewing. We wouldn't be moving on, if there weren't a few things we just can't overlook. One would be that we have nowhere to store our bikes, except for a basement storage which is difficult to get to; another would be the fact our bathroom is growing all sorts of interesting fungi. The fact that due to recent building rents have plummeted in this area also helps. But as much as I'm looking forward to a new flat, I will miss our lively neighbours.

Neighbour #1: Angry Guy.
Angry Guy's flat is adjacent to our bedroom. He is fond of sex, and his girlfriend(s?) are very vocal about it. Now this in itself wouldn't be interesting, if it weren't for the fact that almost invariably the next day he screams his head off at a female. I presume it's a female, because most guys would punch him in the face as his shrieking gets louder. He seems to have a lot of issues, and has an invertly proportioned fuse. I have never heard anybody scream so much or so loudly. I would think he'd pop a vein or two in his forehead. Come to think of it, I haven't heard a peep out of him since we came back from our travels. Maybe he actually did. Or then he just moved, but where's the fun in that.

Neighbour #2: Phone Girl.
Our flats share an entrance on our floor. Phone girl is always on her mobile, coming and going, night and day. She lives alone, and apparently has a very generous mobile phone plan. Recently she acquired a boyfriend of sorts. She brought him and another couple home one weekend, and yes, you guessed it, they proceeded to have a foursome. Of some sort. Sex was had, by many people, at the very least. The couple eventually left, giggling as they scuttled down the stairs. The boyfriend apparently wasn't too pleased, and a screaming match ensued. Boyfriend hasn't been back since. Seems like a very efficient breakup method, although perhaps a tad excessive.

Neighbour #3: Mr & Mrs Stomper.
They live right above us, unfortunately. This couple cannot walk normally. They stomp, bounce and run around their flat whenever they have to move from one spot to the next. A screaming kid visits on the weekends occasionally, and I can tell this kid is one of their's biological offspring. I swear we can hear the kid coming down the street. I've started peering fearfully at the ceiling, inspecting for telltale signs of the ceiling collapsing on us. Paint chips fall from the window frames occasionally, and I do honestly believe this is caused by the lovely couple. Oh, did I mention the Mrs is a screamer? Not just the sort of oh-I'm-enjoying-myself-porn-movie-style type, oh no. She sounds more like, dare I say, a rape victim? Yet clearly this is not the case. They occasionally partake in the whose-music-is-loudest contest with R&B (I counter with proper Scandi metal), and they have been known to play Barry White to get In The Mood.

Neighbour #4 Dude with the Worst Taste on the Entire Fucking Planet.
Aka the reason for the abovementioned whose-music-is-loudest contests. This guy is also semi-deaf, or so it would seem. The entire building gets to enjoy his terrible music, along the lines of easy-listening ethnic compilations (think of the discount CDs you can get at, say, a pharmacy, which are actually from the better end of his musical repertoire--he also enjoys bad musicals, but my imaginary therapist has advised me the mental blockage is good in this case). He watches really bad tv shows with really obnoxious laugh tracks (and then guffaws even louder himself) in the evenings and yes, you guessed it, begins his mornings criminally early with the BBC breakfast show (I wouldn't know what it is, no sane person should be awake enough to watch any morning show that early). Did I mention we get to enjoy his cultural offerings even with our windows closed?

Neighbour #5 Mr & Mrs User Manual.
Now these people aren't really next-door neighbours, but they do live in the same building complex.
One day I was looking out my window, and Mr & Mrs were getting into a car in the courtyard. They got in the car, and the Mr whipped out a manual. They then spent about 30 min (and I am not even exaggerating) going through the manual and fiddling with the airvents, trying out the blinkers and the windshield wipers... They did even start the car, shifted a few gears without releasing the clutch, again consulting the manual meticulously, but they didn't actually drive anywhere. Maybe that was enough learning for one day.
The next day the car was gone, and I haven't seen it since. Now, one of my biggest peeves at work is the fact that most people don't bother looking at their manuals for even the simplest of things, but this is the first time I've seen anybody consult a manual when getting into a car.

I could not possibly end this post without mention of the music wars; I think the most amount and variety of music in the whose-music-is-the-loudest contest was last winter when Dude with the Worst Taste on the Entire Fucking Planet was enjoying his folksy Abba-ripoffs, Mr Stomper countered with R&B, somebody else decided to go with techno and I generously put together a nice playlist of the worst metal I could think of. It was actually quite funny, and the fact our sound system is pretty good definitely helped (every once in a while I'd turn the music down a bit to see whether they'd given in or not--this went on for a couple of hours).

I think this is the first time in history I will actually miss annoying neighbours when I move.

Continuing on the Random Trail

We finally got the key to the storage where I was told our bikes were taken back in March. Wasn't expecting to find them (when our bikes disappeared I put up a sign with my number asking people to contact me if they saw anything, and I got an anonymous call from somebody, who said they'd seen the bikes put in the storage), but wasn't really willing to buy a new bike until all other options had been exhausted. Well, it was quite a surprise to find the bikes there, safe and sound! I took my bike to work on Thursday, and will definitely take it to work, weather permitting. Although I just need to get it fixed first... something I meant to do the afternoon it disappeared. It seems I'm taking a bit of a gamble riding it at all, considering the chainwheel and the pedals feel like they might fall off at any given moment.

But it's great to have it back. I have to say that's been the best money I ever spent--I got the bike around 1993 in Greece, paid the equivalent of £100 for it and have used and abused it mercilessly ever since. This will be the first proper maintenance ever apart from changing the inner tires. I've never even had to get the gears or brakes tightened. When the bikes went missing I said this would be the only way I'd ever be able to bring myself to getting a new bike, and sure enough, I'm happier to have it back and pay to get it fixed rather than buy a brand spanking new one. Call me sentimental.

The food at the cafeteria at work sucks snowballs. It's kind of forced me on a fat-free yoghurt-fruit diet (as I'm too lazy to contemplate taking my own lunch) at work, and lo and behold, I've gone down almost two dress sizes. The fact I've walked home from work at least once or twice a week seems to be helping as well. These compounded with the fact that since there's more daylight, I seem to have lost all interest in sweets--even chocolate, bode quite well for my 'getting in shape' project that's been on a backburner since we came back from our travels. I do need to get my ass to the gym though, but keep putting it off. For the time being I seem to be doing well enough without it, but I realise I do have to get back in gear at some point.

I had my first official work progress meeting, and got nothing but really good feedback. It felt very good to hear I'm doing something right, as I've been quite unsure as to whether I'm doing what I'm supposed to or not (lots of procedures were completely ignored in our training, and we were left to figure stuff out on our own... which seems to be quite typical around work). Here's hoping the trend continues. Had a horrible day at work though, with insanely long calls and the bizarrest problems (not to mention the fact that getting people to do the simplest things was like pulling teeth). But this means I'm due a nice, easy day on Monday. I'll drink to that.

7 Random Things

As tagged by Chimera and Dutchcookie

1. I'm not a morning person in the least. Contrary to my disposition, I cannot hit the snooze button on my alarm; unless I tear myself out of bed the second my alarm goes off, I won't at all.

2. I passionately dislike the colour yellow. The lighter it is, the worse it looks.

3. I drink way too much coffee.

4. I am cursed with hangover Russian roulette: I might get hung over from one drink, or I'll be able to drink way too much and be fine the next day. I can never tell which it's going to be until I wake up the next morning.

5. I'm scared of bears. I do like them, but only in nature documentaries. I once ran 2 km faster than I would've thought possible because I came across bear tracks in the snow and couldn't get away

6. I like playing poker, but I'm not very consistent at it: I either strike gold or suck badly. But at least that throws other players off.

7. I don't know enough bloggers to play this tagging properly--or at all, for that matter.

Leiden, Amsterdam, Queensday and WT Pissup

After a week of trying to get over a bout of viral tonsillitis and an ear infection, not to mention my first week of work, we were on our way to Leiden and Amsterdam to spend a leisurely Bank Holiday weekend with Dutchcookie and the Mr, as well as other assorted WTers.


We were truly blessed by awesome weather, not to mention awesome hosts; we literally walked off the plane, took a train to Leiden, and sat down at a barbeque. A good start to a good weekend, and it did definitely set the tone for our entire trip.

On Saturday we headed off to Amsterdam with Dutchcookie, to meet up with Clichy & Splodge, Cheshirekat and Machiruda. After a leisurely day of canalboat touring as well as a very impressive sightseeing walk (courtesy of our hostess), we had dinner at 11, a funky restaurant overlooking Amsterdam on the top floor of the old Post building.


We had a fun day, but as all our previous traveling was starting to catch up, we spent the next day lounging around in Leiden (not to mention sampling fresh stroopwafels and pannekoekjes. Ahh. The Dutch certainly know their food.
As the temperature obediently hovered around +26C, we sat out in the sun, reading newspapers, sipping wine and meticulously recharging our batteries for Queensday, the day when all Dutchies celebrate the birthday of their queen, turn orange, gather on the streets of Amsterdam to both sell things (fleamarket style) and buy, and walk around. Not to mention general merrymaking and fun.

After bravely maneuvering through the mass of orange people, we met up with Clichy and Splodge (bless mobile phones) and headed to a park, along with thousands of other people.
We sat on the grass, ate yummy food from the stalls (ok, I did), had a couple of drinks and listened to various Dutch bands perform on stage. I have been informed that a Queensday tradition almost as inevitable as the orange people is rain, but there was not a single cloud in the sky, and it really felt like summer.

Eventually we had to tear ourselves away from the relaxing masses, and headed for the airport. I had a pink drink (in honour of our hostess) and MrPicky got his last kroketten before we headed home, our suitcase filled to the brim with Dutch breakfast bread (the name of which escapes me), dropjes and other Dutch delicacies.

Despite the fact we’d spent the previous month traveling for various reasons, we had an absolutely fantastic time. It was great to catch up with familiar faces and meet new ones; and again many thanks to Dutchcookie and MrDutchie for putting us up (as well as putting up with us).

I do think we should do something similar again. But perhaps not for, say, another six months, because I refuse to leave Nottingham any time soon.

The Emerald Isle from Top to Bottom

I’ve been meaning to write up a travel post for… well, over a month now, but somehow I just haven’t found the perfect balance of time and energy to get around to it. In other words, I’ve been procrastinating. Again. Bad girl.

Anyhow, after four days of jetlagged existence post-America, we were off to Belfast, somewhat reluctantly to be honest. Not because we didn’t want to go to Northern Ireland, but because we would rather have gone there later. Like in a few months. But the conference wouldn’t wait, so off we went.

We stayed in a cheap but... well… cheap hostel between the university and the centre of Belfast, which didn’t really improve the situation. We didn’t really do much in Belfast as such, apart from visiting a few pubs and walking around, but we did take a bus tour to Giant’s Causeway up the eastern coast, which was absolutely breathtaking.
I don’t know if this is something I should be concerned about, but I’ve always found rugged, raped-by-winds-and-rain type of scenery the most beautiful, magnificent even; razor-sharp cliffs plunging into the waves, dark mountains reaching for the ominous clouds and trees fighting a losing battle for their mere existence against the wind, all exuding somberness. Not to mention the restless sea, washing onto menacing rocks and deserted beaches. In a word: lovely.

In addition to the Giant’s Causeway, another breathtakingly impressive place, our tour took us past castle ruins, a rope bridge (which I wouldn’t have gone on had somebody paid me a million pounds) and to the Bushmill’s distillery in Bushmill. Although I am not much of a whiskey connoisseur, it was definitely fascinating (not to mention fun for MrPicky, who at that point was suffering from a very nasty cold. Call it self-medication.).



After four days of Northern Ireland, we were ready to head down to Ireland and on to Cork, our second and last leg of the trip. We collected our rental car and headed south.
Now, here’s the thing: I’d been told the road infrastructure in Ireland was not quite at par with the roads in England, even, but nothing truly prepared me for the major arteries which would suddenly bring you to the high street of a sleepy village, the narrow almost paths, winding their way through the Irish countryside. Again, beautiful, but you will want to reserve quite a bit of time.

On the way to Cork we decided to do a bit of a detour, and instead of driving straight to Cork we stopped in Kilkenny. It turned out to be quite the fluke, considering neither one of us had really done much research on things to see on this trip (call it jetlag induced denial), but we stumbled onto what I daresay must be one of the quaintest places in the world. Well, in our humble opinion anyway. Not to mention the fact that MrPicky could finally get himself a pint of Kilkenny IN Kilkenny.

We drove past Waterford and other assorted places, and eventually ended up in Cork. Again, another beautiful town. Nothing had prepared us for the steep roads in the centre, though, and in many ways Cork reminded me of San Francisco. Well, if you replace the quirky people with… um… Irish people, I suppose.



We did try to take a trip to Killarney (70 km from Cork), but when we had been on the road for two and a half hours (I kid you not) and were approximately 25 kilometres from Cork, we decided to admit defeat and turned back.

On our final day, we had to start heading back to Belfast at 5 am, to catch a flight back home at 1pm. Needless to say we were somewhat eager to get back, and therefore didn’t want to take any chances with potential delays on the roads.

We made it to the airport nicely on time, and after an announcement of having our flight delayed by two hours, they decided to board on a moment’s notice and off we were, heading home.

I do have to say that although I was not in the most optimal state for traveling, and despite the fact we would rather have been at home, it turned out to be a very good trip. The Emerald Isle definitely left a lasting impression on me, and I’m sure we didn’t see the half of it.

Vegas Vacation

This was definitely a trip of firsts: we attended a Presbyterian wedding (MrPicky’s mother’s neighbours’), MrPicky actually won money on Let It Ride, and we spent two nights on the Strip—a holiday on holiday.

As we usually rarely visit the Strip, we figured it was about time we did.

We stayed at the Monte Carlo, and spent an enormous amount of time (and fortunately significantly less money) gambling at the Strip casinos—notorious for very low winning prospects. Oh, I also emptied out the MAC store at Caesar’s Palace. A slight exaggeration, but I swear I heard the Amex let out a cry when the cashier swiped it.

Another first was taking public transportation, something you should otherwise avoid at all costs: we took the Monorail from one end of the Strip to the other. Fine, the Monorail isn’t really proper public transportation (as the staggering ticket prices keep locals off), but close enough. I have to say it wasn’t the most comfortable ride as the cars would sway slightly and I kept thinking it was going to keel over, and the infomercials were so excruciatingly bad I doubt I could’ve handled any more without actually screaming (I’ll spare you the examples I’m trying to erase from my memory as we speak), but it did indeed get us from point A to B (and eventually C) very efficiently.

On the way back to our hotel after three hours of gambling (and we came out $4 ahead, quite the hourly wage I say!) we walked through the MGM Grand (to get off the Monorail), and spotted high-roller slots & video poker. The slots ranged from $500 to, yes, $10,000. And “two coins”. So $1,000 to $20,000 per draw. Oddly enough, we didn’t see anybody playing. But I’m sure people do, why else would they be there.

It was a lot of fun staying on the Strip, and sipping a strawberry daiquiri by the pool taking in the sun was definitely nothing to complain about.

We had a good trip, actually ended up ahead gambling-wise (nice change from last year)--I definitely had better luck than probably ever before--and we did indeed fly direct on the way home, despite visions of spending 30+ hrs on the road. We decided to rent a car for the drive home from Gatwick, as that turned out to cost £0.50 more than taking the bus, and it was well worth it.