No, not a japanese production of the rock opera musical – but the Christian (nee Pagan) time of year when one gives up on the vast clearing out of the wine/beer and chocolate supplies from Christmas through February, culminating in Fat Tuesday or Pancake Day (yummee).
I had thought of giving up on being nice to people for Lent – but it had been pointed out that rare traits should be preserved at all cost. So it looks like the Wine Society is going to lose out for a while.
So looking back over February and skipping quickly over the projectile vomiting (especially with my new red Henry Cooper skipping rope), and vast indulgences we come to the highlights of what is overall frankly a dull month.
We were snowed in for our anniversary this year so only managed to make the Fisehrmans Arms in Birgham for lunch, where the barman was in mourning for John Martyn and played his albums on repeat. Which was sort of anniversary for us as it was the music we lived with in the early days. So plans for sky diving and swinging through the trees at Go Ape were put on hold to ferry water and hay in an endless relay to Flora and the sheep.
I signed up for a remote learning Day Skipper course, since I also signed up to sailing up and down the Thames (being filmed in HD by someone who does ‘How to Look Good Naked’ and ‘Megastructures’ so I am a bit worried at which category I am supposed to be in), sailing down the Sunny Croatia coast and racing across the channel to France and around the channel islands in a classic yacht. Watch this space.
So far the Day Skipper course has consisted of stabbing myself with the dividers so many times that the blood donor unit had a problem in working out where to put the needle in my arm; working through modules on charts and navigation (all of which I had forgotten from the ground school microlight days) and one module on tides which I figured might come in useful considering the number of aircraft ditching (thankfully successfully) these days. It soaks up the time after work and before dinner, so I miss the Simpsons and being depressed about the Middle East, but can now find my way around the chart (although probably not the open sea). Thoroughly enjoying it though and it brings the dull books to life with the instructors comments on my Word answers such as ‘you cannot sail through an island!’ or ‘WHAT??? I just cannot work out how on earth you get this figure???’
Thrashing away at gutbusting on an early Saturday morning, Big Stevie beside me doing his ‘ballerinas’ underwater mentioned he had to leave early as he was showing his daughter’s car to a prospective buyer. I idly asked, in between thrashing legs and arms, what it was and it transpired that it was a Corsa selling for 300 quid.
It occurred to me that this might be a good way of getting our wayward son through his driving test before university or prison, so went up to kick the tyres and drove it down to the gentlemans tailor, where he works, to ’surprise’ him. It was that classic moment when you park the car outside, pop in and ask to see your son for a minute and then, voila, point at aforementioned vehicle gleamed at the kerb and say – this is yours son to get through your test.
I expected a mild ‘gee thanks’ or had even fantasised about a ‘Woopee Fantastic’ – what we did get was – ‘What a heap of shite!’. Somewhat taken aback I did point out that his dreams of an Italian Job Mini Cooper, Audi A4 or being insured on any of our cars, thanks to the inordinate rise in premiums, were a trifle unrealistic in these credit crunch times which meant that it was either driving the Red Corsa (nee heap of shite) or rollerblading from now on.
He did concur or at least stepped out of swing radius and after a day of tracking down the elusive Stevie we owned a red heap of shite and had it insured after a day of online insurance comparison (christ, trying to use insurance and comparison websites is akin to virtual torture). Do M&S really think that 4,500 quid to insure a 300 pound car is value for money? It cost 650 squid in the end from Quinn who I hope are still there when we come to claim
He started off driving well and we encountered an electronics warning light – which thanks to Google and a few Corsa sites we hacked the system to tell us that it was ‘Fuel Injector 5 had low voltage’. Otherwise it was out every night on some excuse with Kim for lessons but then on the Friday evening he decided to overtake some poor sod doing 45mph against the wind on a long straight road to Berwick. Straining to pass he felt on top of the world as he mentally notched up a kill and then shouted ‘It’s dead’ and steered it up someones drive and came to a complete stop missing the For Sale sign.
He had managed to over-rev causing the timing belt to shear (nicely knackering a couple of valves in its desperation for rest). The car was rescued by the RAC, Kima nd ALi by me who was left loitering in the Besom bar in Coldstream until they turned up to take me to dine in the Coldstream chippy.
The chippy had a huge fish on display and Ali asked if they had a smaller one – it turned out that was the smaller one and I got the ‘normal’ whale sized one. All freshly cooked whilst Kim and the counter server went through everyone they knew that had put on weight since leaving weightwatchers. I was still digesting the whale the next morning so instead of gutbusting stayed in bed expanding my knowledge of Solomon’s Temple and the Freemasons (what a great band name) and expanding my stomach….
hence Lent and I think fasting might figure as I don’t fancy turning upside down in a kayak and find that I don’t come out….
