LAST WEEKEND
Unusually splendid weather for October. Aside from my fully foreseen FIFA failure (fuck), we spent a lovely weekend at Sian's house, in Penarth.
The sun had been out all week, and we'd decided beforehand that we ought to make the most of it on the weekend with some activity or other. Said activity turned out to be a barbecue* in Sian's rather spacious garden, so we hit up Tesco, bought some burgers and sausages and alcohol, and-
Oh but I'm getting ahead of myself. Earlier that Saturday, a few of us had been at Varsity, enjoying the Merseyside derby (or not, in some cases) and eating food and drinking drink. Sarah and I shared a pitcher of strawberry daiquiri, which got us surprisingly tipsy. I'm sure this is the wrong way 'round, but I seem to be getting lightweighter every time I drink.
But yes, once we had sobered up (and, in some cases, cheered up; Everton is a silly team to support), we headed to Tesco and then on to Sian's. The barbecue** was a great success, and I was even cajoled into watching The X Factor. And missing Strictly Come Dancing, which I still haven't had time to catch up on, but there we are.
Sunday was beautiful too, so we hit the pier and got some ice cream. We also saw a fisherman catch a conger eel, which was exciting.
So that was the last big weekend of the summer.
THIS WEEKEND
As I'm typing this on Friday afternoon, the weather is actually quite nice, but we're doing Autumnal things this time around. Tomorrow it's football; Tom, Cliffey and I are going to Swindon to watch Hereford lose again, because a) Tom seems to enjoy watching his team be rubbish, and b) Paolo Di Canio will be there. On Sunday, Sarah and I will be eating Sunday dinner with my parents...and also her parents. It'll be the first time our folks have met each other, so hopefully all will go smoothly and we'll be enjoying the crackle of fireworks and the crunch of leaves underfoot before we know it.
By the way, my review is here. Hopefully there'll be another one soon.
Joel.
*I still can't believe that the word 'barbecue' contains no letter Q.
**Seriously!
Showing posts with label penarth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label penarth. Show all posts
Friday, 7 October 2011
Friday, 30 September 2011
The Phantom Video Sniffer
So yeah, Cliffey and I went to that gig and it was good, although being as it was a 14+ show we did feel rather old. I won't go on about it too much here because hopefully my review should be up on the Miniature Music Press website before too long and I can just lazily link you all to that.
Lovely weather we're having recently, isn't it? There are rumours that a group of us might be going to Barry Island on Sunday, to frolic and laugh and play with a ball and generally make the most of this unusual warmth.
Sarah's been missing most of the sunshine due to, y'know, jobs and stuff, so it was a pleasant surprise yesterday when her dad came into Sturff and told us that he would look after the shop for a bit if we wanted to have a meander around Penarth.
We acceded, naturally, and so off we went to work on our tans. I of course live a pretty leisurely life, so had already seen my share of the sun (hell, I'd been doing timed laps earlier in the day to pass the time), but for Sarah, who had barely been outside all week, this was a revelation. Summer, it seemed, had finally arrived.
...Mind you, it was really hot outdoors, so we periodically took shelter in Penarth's many charity shops. We didn't buy anything, but we did see a boy getting slightly intimate with some old VHS cassettes in the Oxfam shop. I thought he was just sniffing them; Sarah suspects that he was in fact licking them. Either way.
Cliffey and Tom were playing FIFA '12 last night, mere hours after its midnight release. I suspect we might join them this evening. Apparently it's really difficult to tackle now. To be honest I was never that good at it to begin with.
Hello Facebook apologies. How I didn't miss you.
Joel.
Lovely weather we're having recently, isn't it? There are rumours that a group of us might be going to Barry Island on Sunday, to frolic and laugh and play with a ball and generally make the most of this unusual warmth.
Sarah's been missing most of the sunshine due to, y'know, jobs and stuff, so it was a pleasant surprise yesterday when her dad came into Sturff and told us that he would look after the shop for a bit if we wanted to have a meander around Penarth.
We acceded, naturally, and so off we went to work on our tans. I of course live a pretty leisurely life, so had already seen my share of the sun (hell, I'd been doing timed laps earlier in the day to pass the time), but for Sarah, who had barely been outside all week, this was a revelation. Summer, it seemed, had finally arrived.
...Mind you, it was really hot outdoors, so we periodically took shelter in Penarth's many charity shops. We didn't buy anything, but we did see a boy getting slightly intimate with some old VHS cassettes in the Oxfam shop. I thought he was just sniffing them; Sarah suspects that he was in fact licking them. Either way.
Cliffey and Tom were playing FIFA '12 last night, mere hours after its midnight release. I suspect we might join them this evening. Apparently it's really difficult to tackle now. To be honest I was never that good at it to begin with.
Hello Facebook apologies. How I didn't miss you.
Joel.
Tuesday, 14 June 2011
Utonium, Utonium - Jen's Party
Yesterday was not Jen Brooksby's 19th birthday, but it was (somewhat inexplicably) the day she chose to celebrate it.
Everyone was supposed to come in fancy dress, the theme being musicians. There were two Adam Ants, two Rihannas, an Axl Rose, a Britney Spears, and numerous others. A lot of people had put a fair amount of effort into their costumes.
None of them were us. In retrospect I should have been Jarvis Cocker; I already have the hair and a tweed jacket (courtesy of Tim Penn...the jacket, not the hair) and some thick-rimmed glasses would not have been hard to come by.
But this did not occur to me in time. Nor did the thought of bringing Tom along and just going as Tom & Joel.
Ten minutes before leaving the house, Cliffey was running around his room, trying to think of a musician he could dress up as using items he already owned (Sarah and I were sorted by this point, albeit in a fairly lazy way - she had on a Beastie Boys tee, I was wearing my British Sea Power top, so we were going as the Beastie Boys and British Sea Power). Eventually, he decided to wear his tiger onesie to Jen's house, because that way he could be...
...Cat Stevens.
I was taken aback with the excellence of this pun and immediately got a better idea than British Sea Power. I grabbed the gangster hat from the coat pegs in the hallway and, as I donned I dramatically announced that I would be attending under the guise of...
...Hat Stevens.
Now we had to think of a Cat Stevens pun for Sarah to be. We could write 'Welcome' on her forehead (Mat Stevens) or do her hair up (Plait Stevens) or put a cushion up her shirt (Fat Stevens) or have her spend the evening conversing in rhythmic gibberish (Scat Stevens) or have her wear a toga and drink a lot (Frat Stevens)...
This went on all the way to Penarth. None of these ideas were carried out.
Anyway, I spent most of the party using Jen's Virgin Media XL package to watch The Powerpuff Girls on demand with the sound off (someone, presumably an asshat, thought it would be a good idea to have music at a party), trying to guess what was going on.
I had fun.
Joel.
P.S. Some of the partygoers took the proceedings to Oceana, where festivities no doubt continued long into the night. I didn't go, because I knew I had to be up at 5ish this morning to go to work and wanted to get a decent night's sleep. Sadly this plan was scuppered when Sarah, Tom, Meic, Pete and a guitar all congregated in the room at 3am for a chat. Oh well.
Everyone was supposed to come in fancy dress, the theme being musicians. There were two Adam Ants, two Rihannas, an Axl Rose, a Britney Spears, and numerous others. A lot of people had put a fair amount of effort into their costumes.
None of them were us. In retrospect I should have been Jarvis Cocker; I already have the hair and a tweed jacket (courtesy of Tim Penn...the jacket, not the hair) and some thick-rimmed glasses would not have been hard to come by.
But this did not occur to me in time. Nor did the thought of bringing Tom along and just going as Tom & Joel.
Ten minutes before leaving the house, Cliffey was running around his room, trying to think of a musician he could dress up as using items he already owned (Sarah and I were sorted by this point, albeit in a fairly lazy way - she had on a Beastie Boys tee, I was wearing my British Sea Power top, so we were going as the Beastie Boys and British Sea Power). Eventually, he decided to wear his tiger onesie to Jen's house, because that way he could be...
...Cat Stevens.
I was taken aback with the excellence of this pun and immediately got a better idea than British Sea Power. I grabbed the gangster hat from the coat pegs in the hallway and, as I donned I dramatically announced that I would be attending under the guise of...
...Hat Stevens.
Now we had to think of a Cat Stevens pun for Sarah to be. We could write 'Welcome' on her forehead (Mat Stevens) or do her hair up (Plait Stevens) or put a cushion up her shirt (Fat Stevens) or have her spend the evening conversing in rhythmic gibberish (Scat Stevens) or have her wear a toga and drink a lot (Frat Stevens)...
This went on all the way to Penarth. None of these ideas were carried out.
Anyway, I spent most of the party using Jen's Virgin Media XL package to watch The Powerpuff Girls on demand with the sound off (someone, presumably an asshat, thought it would be a good idea to have music at a party), trying to guess what was going on.
I had fun.
Joel.
P.S. Some of the partygoers took the proceedings to Oceana, where festivities no doubt continued long into the night. I didn't go, because I knew I had to be up at 5ish this morning to go to work and wanted to get a decent night's sleep. Sadly this plan was scuppered when Sarah, Tom, Meic, Pete and a guitar all congregated in the room at 3am for a chat. Oh well.
Wednesday, 4 May 2011
Taking P-Town, Pt. 1
The idea came about, inevitably, when we were supposed to be working.
The three of us had gathered in my room for the afternoon to put a serious dent in our various assignments, but after about four hours it was going badly. I had barely started an essay on how to manage a record label. Cliffey was desperately trying to find some useful information about shamanism. Sarah, to be fair, had done a pretty good job of revising for her various exams, but Cliffey and I insisted that we would have done far better if it all we had to do was revise.
We wouldn't, at all, but that's besides the point. I think I suggested that we start our own record label (not that the book I had been referring to for all of, ooh, 300 words had made it sound easy or anything) and sign all our friends, and somehow this mutated into the idea of organising some sort of festival, and seeing all our friends play live.
It started out as playful banter, but Cliffey quickly decided that it would actually be something worth doing. Sarah suggested using one of Penarth's many bandstands to host it, and both of them seemed to think it could - nay, should happen.
I was skeptical. How would we get electricity for the amps and things if we were doing it outdoors? We could do it acoustic, but then how would we be able to hear the vocals? What if it rained? You know it's not really gonna happen, right?
But they were persistent, and eventually I suggested hiring the church hall in Penarth instead (why we didn't even consider having it in Cardiff I'm not sure; maybe we decided that there's enough live music here already). That way it would be far easier to power everything, and the show could go on regardless of weather. Plus, I added confidently, it would be free, because I played at someone's birthday party there once, and I'm pretty sure they got it for free, probably.
This seemed to go down well, and it didn't take long before we'd completely forgotten our work day and started to think of people who could play The P-Town Festival (a name of which I do not approve; Cliffey has assured me it's just the working title until we think of something better). We all have our connections to various bands of various standings - I once emailed a member of The Crimea and got a reply, my friend's mum is the landlady for two of the less popular Campesinos, that sort of thing - but we were each fairly certain that we could put together a decent lineup, even if it wasn't exactly going to be T in the Park.
There were also myriad suggestions for other activities that could be going on. Provisionally speaking, it sounds like there will be a lot of cakes, with Sarah's sister, my dad, and...someone that Cliffey knows all potentially chipping in. And possibly some sort of rummage sale. And fancy dress.
(Cliffey wanted a bouncy castle, but I grumpily pointed out that we were organising a music festival, not a church fête.)
So the next step, as it stands, is to survey the venue. I suggested that we head down to Penarth on Sunday, and that's the plan as long as Cliffey finishes his shaman essay by then.
Right now it could go either way.
Joel.
The three of us had gathered in my room for the afternoon to put a serious dent in our various assignments, but after about four hours it was going badly. I had barely started an essay on how to manage a record label. Cliffey was desperately trying to find some useful information about shamanism. Sarah, to be fair, had done a pretty good job of revising for her various exams, but Cliffey and I insisted that we would have done far better if it all we had to do was revise.
We wouldn't, at all, but that's besides the point. I think I suggested that we start our own record label (not that the book I had been referring to for all of, ooh, 300 words had made it sound easy or anything) and sign all our friends, and somehow this mutated into the idea of organising some sort of festival, and seeing all our friends play live.
It started out as playful banter, but Cliffey quickly decided that it would actually be something worth doing. Sarah suggested using one of Penarth's many bandstands to host it, and both of them seemed to think it could - nay, should happen.
I was skeptical. How would we get electricity for the amps and things if we were doing it outdoors? We could do it acoustic, but then how would we be able to hear the vocals? What if it rained? You know it's not really gonna happen, right?
But they were persistent, and eventually I suggested hiring the church hall in Penarth instead (why we didn't even consider having it in Cardiff I'm not sure; maybe we decided that there's enough live music here already). That way it would be far easier to power everything, and the show could go on regardless of weather. Plus, I added confidently, it would be free, because I played at someone's birthday party there once, and I'm pretty sure they got it for free, probably.
This seemed to go down well, and it didn't take long before we'd completely forgotten our work day and started to think of people who could play The P-Town Festival (a name of which I do not approve; Cliffey has assured me it's just the working title until we think of something better). We all have our connections to various bands of various standings - I once emailed a member of The Crimea and got a reply, my friend's mum is the landlady for two of the less popular Campesinos, that sort of thing - but we were each fairly certain that we could put together a decent lineup, even if it wasn't exactly going to be T in the Park.
There were also myriad suggestions for other activities that could be going on. Provisionally speaking, it sounds like there will be a lot of cakes, with Sarah's sister, my dad, and...someone that Cliffey knows all potentially chipping in. And possibly some sort of rummage sale. And fancy dress.
(Cliffey wanted a bouncy castle, but I grumpily pointed out that we were organising a music festival, not a church fête.)
So the next step, as it stands, is to survey the venue. I suggested that we head down to Penarth on Sunday, and that's the plan as long as Cliffey finishes his shaman essay by then.
Right now it could go either way.
Joel.
Thursday, 28 April 2011
The Art of Catching Rabbits
Last night, at around 2.30am, I finished an essay. Yes, I've completely betrayed my own people by suggesting that indie music is "chauvinistic" (Dear 2011:8), and yes, I do still have several more pieces of work to cross off my Kill Bill-style essay deathlist, but one must celebrate small victories.
I'd started the Cultures essay on Monday, which Cliffey and I had designated a "work day" - that is, one more or less entirely spent in my room, doing essays and stuff.
It got off to a shaky start - for some reason we decided that the best way to kick our motivation into gear was to play a couple rounds of Pokémon Snap - but once we had actually started (at around 11:30am, two hours later than we had promised ourselves we would) it proved quite useful.
For me, I mean. Cliffey used up a lot of time trying to decide what question to do, and subsequently reading an academic journal that had practically nothing to do with the one he had chosen. Bless 'im.
But yes, I managed to get about half of the essay done that day (the Destiny's Child probably motivated me - for the first time ever we listened to the entire album), and I decided that I would polish off the other half by the end of last night.
What was I doing in between? I was in Penarth, of course, and now it's time to explain that title.
I was at Sarah's house after spending the day in Sturff. We'd just had a barbecue* courtesy of Mr. Macleod, and we were enjoying a film called Ondine (in which Colin Farrell catches a woman while out fishing) when we were summoned to the front of the house to help catch a baby rabbit that had darted under one of the (parked) cars.
It was a tiny little black thing, and much debate ensued as to whether or not it was wild - the general consensus being, I think, that pet shops would never be allowed to sell such a young rabbit to clumsy humans like us.
After a bit of a chase, one which led us to the back garden, we managed to corner it. It was hiding behind some sort of outdoor boiler, so rather than scare the poor thing half to death trying to grab it, we opted to barricade its exit and leave some lettuce in a cardboard box so that he would have food and shelter for the night. Sarah even put down a trail of lettuce to lead him in.
We checked the next morning, but it seemed that he had scarpered. The lettuce was untouched, and there was no sign of Mr. Bunny.
So here's hoping he's okay. I'm wearing my rabbit onesie at the moment as a sign of solidarity or something.
Joel.
* I was recently astounded to find that the word 'barbecue' doesn't even have a 'q' in it! Mind-blowing stuff.
I'd started the Cultures essay on Monday, which Cliffey and I had designated a "work day" - that is, one more or less entirely spent in my room, doing essays and stuff.
It got off to a shaky start - for some reason we decided that the best way to kick our motivation into gear was to play a couple rounds of Pokémon Snap - but once we had actually started (at around 11:30am, two hours later than we had promised ourselves we would) it proved quite useful.
For me, I mean. Cliffey used up a lot of time trying to decide what question to do, and subsequently reading an academic journal that had practically nothing to do with the one he had chosen. Bless 'im.
But yes, I managed to get about half of the essay done that day (the Destiny's Child probably motivated me - for the first time ever we listened to the entire album), and I decided that I would polish off the other half by the end of last night.
What was I doing in between? I was in Penarth, of course, and now it's time to explain that title.
I was at Sarah's house after spending the day in Sturff. We'd just had a barbecue* courtesy of Mr. Macleod, and we were enjoying a film called Ondine (in which Colin Farrell catches a woman while out fishing) when we were summoned to the front of the house to help catch a baby rabbit that had darted under one of the (parked) cars.
It was a tiny little black thing, and much debate ensued as to whether or not it was wild - the general consensus being, I think, that pet shops would never be allowed to sell such a young rabbit to clumsy humans like us.
After a bit of a chase, one which led us to the back garden, we managed to corner it. It was hiding behind some sort of outdoor boiler, so rather than scare the poor thing half to death trying to grab it, we opted to barricade its exit and leave some lettuce in a cardboard box so that he would have food and shelter for the night. Sarah even put down a trail of lettuce to lead him in.
We checked the next morning, but it seemed that he had scarpered. The lettuce was untouched, and there was no sign of Mr. Bunny.
So here's hoping he's okay. I'm wearing my rabbit onesie at the moment as a sign of solidarity or something.
Joel.
* I was recently astounded to find that the word 'barbecue' doesn't even have a 'q' in it! Mind-blowing stuff.
Saturday, 2 April 2011
Combined Harvesters
1.
Nathan's 15th birthday. Went to the one in the bay with my family + Sarah having been picked up from the Atrium after a 6-hour recording session. Had one large salad bowl, followed by the 12oz rump steak with jacket potato and parsley sauce because parents were paying and I felt the need to go for something expensive. Was very impressed with my dad's salad-arranging skills. Meal was followed by birthday cake (lemon drizzle, two layers) at my parents' house.
2.
Went to the one in Penarth with Sarah, Cliffey, Tom and Fone, to celebrate either Cliffey's birthday (yet again) or Fone's return to Cardiff, whichever you prefer. Had a rather diminished salad bowl - got there quite late and they didn't refill it after we arrived - with a rather heavy slant towards pasta and green beans. Went for the 7oz gammon steak with pineapple, chips and peas - my usual and fairly cheap due to its place on the earlybird menu. For dessert, Rocky Horror. Cliffey had a Mini Egg sundae thing, presumably some sort of Easter special. We were the last people there. It was eerie.
Joel.
Nathan's 15th birthday. Went to the one in the bay with my family + Sarah having been picked up from the Atrium after a 6-hour recording session. Had one large salad bowl, followed by the 12oz rump steak with jacket potato and parsley sauce because parents were paying and I felt the need to go for something expensive. Was very impressed with my dad's salad-arranging skills. Meal was followed by birthday cake (lemon drizzle, two layers) at my parents' house.
2.
Went to the one in Penarth with Sarah, Cliffey, Tom and Fone, to celebrate either Cliffey's birthday (yet again) or Fone's return to Cardiff, whichever you prefer. Had a rather diminished salad bowl - got there quite late and they didn't refill it after we arrived - with a rather heavy slant towards pasta and green beans. Went for the 7oz gammon steak with pineapple, chips and peas - my usual and fairly cheap due to its place on the earlybird menu. For dessert, Rocky Horror. Cliffey had a Mini Egg sundae thing, presumably some sort of Easter special. We were the last people there. It was eerie.
Joel.
Thursday, 31 March 2011
Penarth Doubling
Went to see Submarine (Moss from The IT Crowd's movie) with Sarah yesterday, and thought I'd use this update to flag up a rather unusual example of California Doubling.
California Doubling is the phenomena whereby Hollywood films and TV shows will very often be filmed in California regardless of where they're set. This is mostly due to the cost of transporting the cast and crew - usually a fair number of people on large productions - to wherever the story is supposedly taking place. A good example is Friends: set in New York, filmed in Burbank, CA.
Well Submarine is set in Swansea, and for the most part I was perfectly happy to believe that that's where it was filmed. But then, at the start of Act 2, there's a scene where the main character takes his lady friend to see Joan of Arc at some artsy-looking cinema. At this point, Sarah leaned over and pointed out that they were in The Paget Rooms, which is in fact a cinema in - guess where?
P-Town. It had had a slight makeover for the movie, but from the outside it was unmistakable. Sarah could even see the place where she gets her hair done.
There may have also been a scene on Sully Island, but we weren't entirely sure of that one.
Joel.
California Doubling is the phenomena whereby Hollywood films and TV shows will very often be filmed in California regardless of where they're set. This is mostly due to the cost of transporting the cast and crew - usually a fair number of people on large productions - to wherever the story is supposedly taking place. A good example is Friends: set in New York, filmed in Burbank, CA.
Well Submarine is set in Swansea, and for the most part I was perfectly happy to believe that that's where it was filmed. But then, at the start of Act 2, there's a scene where the main character takes his lady friend to see Joan of Arc at some artsy-looking cinema. At this point, Sarah leaned over and pointed out that they were in The Paget Rooms, which is in fact a cinema in - guess where?
P-Town. It had had a slight makeover for the movie, but from the outside it was unmistakable. Sarah could even see the place where she gets her hair done.
There may have also been a scene on Sully Island, but we weren't entirely sure of that one.
Joel.
Monday, 8 November 2010
Blackberry, Slowberry
I started yesterday morning on a sofabed in Swanbridge. My headphone cable was wrapped around me - I had fallen asleep listening to the latest Interpol album - so I pulled it off, wound it up, and got up to greet the new day.
It was a wonderfully brisk autumn morning, so Sarah and I went out to pick blackberries. 'Cause that's what you do on Autumn days in the countryside (Swanbridge isn't exactly the countryside but it's a helluva lot closer than Cardiff), you pick blackberries.
Assuming there are some left. It seemed that someone had beaten us to it, 'cause most of the blackberries were either dead or not there. Sarah sadly suggesested that our search would have been a lot more fruitful had we done it last week.
Fortunately, the people who had been at the blackberry bushes before us weren't gigantic freaks like I am. My tall stature and massive arms meant that we could access the high up and far away blackberries, and boy did I feel heroic when I jumped up to pull those berry-laden branches down to a harvestable height.
When we returned to Sarah's house, our hands were purple with blackberry juice and our tupperware box was about one-third full of blackberries. We'd also thrown a couple of blueberries into the mix; we weren't expecting to find them in Penarth in November but, heyho, it's all delicious.
Our intention was to bake an apple and blackberry crumble (Sarah already had some apples, we didn't pick those), and it was only when the assorted fruits were stewing in a saucepan that Sarah's dad pointed out that our blueberries...might not be blueberries. I had squished one of them earlier (just for fun) and was surprised to find a pip inside, but I decided that this must be a wild blueberry thing, and that I had been corrupted by my over-exposure to store-bought blueberries. How harsh and cruel nature truly is, I pondered.
But Sarah's dad said that they were foul-tasting slowberries, and although I hadn't heard of them then and can't find any evidence of their existence on Wikipedia now, they certainly didn't taste like blueberries so I'm inclined to believe him. Sarah's sister, who as the house's culinary whiz was helping Sarah and me overcome our kitchen clubfeet, removed as many as she could from the pot, but there were still quite a few pips to be found in the finished product.
Which was delicious anyway. Even Sarah liked it, and Sarah doesn't really like crumble. We just treated the pips like the silver sixpence in the Christmas pudding. Except there were loads of them.
When we came back to Cardiff in the evening, I found yet another empty Pot Noodle pot in the living room. Frustrated at Pete's repeated inability to use a bin, I decided to take action. I washed the pot out just enough that the remaining juices wouldn't go everywhere, placed a sticky note on the bottom reading "FUCK YOUR SHIT!", and hung it off the latch on Pete's door.
I felt pretty righteous until Pete got home from the pub quiz and pointed out that this particular Pot Noodle had been Soph's, not his. How embarrassing.
It's now on Soph's door instead.
Joel.
It was a wonderfully brisk autumn morning, so Sarah and I went out to pick blackberries. 'Cause that's what you do on Autumn days in the countryside (Swanbridge isn't exactly the countryside but it's a helluva lot closer than Cardiff), you pick blackberries.
Assuming there are some left. It seemed that someone had beaten us to it, 'cause most of the blackberries were either dead or not there. Sarah sadly suggesested that our search would have been a lot more fruitful had we done it last week.
Fortunately, the people who had been at the blackberry bushes before us weren't gigantic freaks like I am. My tall stature and massive arms meant that we could access the high up and far away blackberries, and boy did I feel heroic when I jumped up to pull those berry-laden branches down to a harvestable height.
When we returned to Sarah's house, our hands were purple with blackberry juice and our tupperware box was about one-third full of blackberries. We'd also thrown a couple of blueberries into the mix; we weren't expecting to find them in Penarth in November but, heyho, it's all delicious.
Our intention was to bake an apple and blackberry crumble (Sarah already had some apples, we didn't pick those), and it was only when the assorted fruits were stewing in a saucepan that Sarah's dad pointed out that our blueberries...might not be blueberries. I had squished one of them earlier (just for fun) and was surprised to find a pip inside, but I decided that this must be a wild blueberry thing, and that I had been corrupted by my over-exposure to store-bought blueberries. How harsh and cruel nature truly is, I pondered.
But Sarah's dad said that they were foul-tasting slowberries, and although I hadn't heard of them then and can't find any evidence of their existence on Wikipedia now, they certainly didn't taste like blueberries so I'm inclined to believe him. Sarah's sister, who as the house's culinary whiz was helping Sarah and me overcome our kitchen clubfeet, removed as many as she could from the pot, but there were still quite a few pips to be found in the finished product.
Which was delicious anyway. Even Sarah liked it, and Sarah doesn't really like crumble. We just treated the pips like the silver sixpence in the Christmas pudding. Except there were loads of them.
When we came back to Cardiff in the evening, I found yet another empty Pot Noodle pot in the living room. Frustrated at Pete's repeated inability to use a bin, I decided to take action. I washed the pot out just enough that the remaining juices wouldn't go everywhere, placed a sticky note on the bottom reading "FUCK YOUR SHIT!", and hung it off the latch on Pete's door.
I felt pretty righteous until Pete got home from the pub quiz and pointed out that this particular Pot Noodle had been Soph's, not his. How embarrassing.
It's now on Soph's door instead.
Joel.
Tuesday, 5 October 2010
Digimon = Digital Monsters
When I woke up this morning I immediately started panicking, because it was 8.20 and I had a lecture* at 9. I was about to get up and get going as fast as I could, but then I remembered that Pete had given my bike a tune-up, and that there was no need to hurry because the journey to the Atrium only took fifteen minutes by bike.
So I lay back down for a few minutes, which turned out to be a mistake, because by the time I woke up for the second time that morning it was 8.50 and my lecture started in 10 minutes. And I still wasn't dressed.
It was about 9.15 when I finally arrived at the Atrium, but at least I know now that I can't use cycling as an excuse for a lie-in.
Yesterday evening I went to Swanbridge, which I think is technically part of Penarth. It's where Sarah lives,
and there are a pair of swings a mere stone's throw away. It's not very often I get to go on swings nowadays - the only set around here are in Roath Rec, and they're usually occupied by children, who seem to think they have some kind of priority - so I was eager to have a go on these ones, slightly off the beaten track as they are. So we swang on the swings, and discussed what we would eventually do with our lives, and where to begin. The swings are a good place for deep conversations like that.
Back at Sarah's house her 12-year-old stepbrother Will challenged me to a game of Fifa '10, a game at which I am notoriously bad. I have lost many times to Tom, Cliffey, and even JR. The last time I played, Tom's Cardiff City beat my Liverpool 9-1. It was embarrassing. Admittedly I have been playing Fifa '11 a lot lately and I'm not nearly as bad at that, but that, contrary to what you might believe, is a TOTALLY DIFFERENT GAME.
Anyway, I played as Liverpool and Will, oh goody, was Cardiff. I braced myself for another defeat, this time at the hands of someone so young he probably doesn't even know what Digimon is.
But as it happened, I won! Only 1-0, but still. Some might say that my victory isn't that impressive, because it came against a) an inferior team, and b) an opponent 7 years my junior. To be fair, they probably have a point, but as it was my first ever victory on this game, I'll take it.
Back at the house, Cliffey and I shared another Tesco's apple crumble. Sarah and I also went on Sporcle and tried to name all 69 Love Songs, and nobody could understand why When A Man Loves A Woman wasn't one of them.
Oh well. Those of us in the know retired to our bedroom, stuck the album on, and felt smug because we knew about all this great music and no-one else did.
Seriously, everybody has to buy 69 Love Songs. I felt asleep after about 11 of them last night, but I was just tired.
Joel.
*In the lecture we listened to a track by PJ Harvey and John Parish called Taut. The majority of the class hated it but I for one thought it rocked. Make up your minds.
So I lay back down for a few minutes, which turned out to be a mistake, because by the time I woke up for the second time that morning it was 8.50 and my lecture started in 10 minutes. And I still wasn't dressed.
It was about 9.15 when I finally arrived at the Atrium, but at least I know now that I can't use cycling as an excuse for a lie-in.
Yesterday evening I went to Swanbridge, which I think is technically part of Penarth. It's where Sarah lives,
and there are a pair of swings a mere stone's throw away. It's not very often I get to go on swings nowadays - the only set around here are in Roath Rec, and they're usually occupied by children, who seem to think they have some kind of priority - so I was eager to have a go on these ones, slightly off the beaten track as they are. So we swang on the swings, and discussed what we would eventually do with our lives, and where to begin. The swings are a good place for deep conversations like that.
Back at Sarah's house her 12-year-old stepbrother Will challenged me to a game of Fifa '10, a game at which I am notoriously bad. I have lost many times to Tom, Cliffey, and even JR. The last time I played, Tom's Cardiff City beat my Liverpool 9-1. It was embarrassing. Admittedly I have been playing Fifa '11 a lot lately and I'm not nearly as bad at that, but that, contrary to what you might believe, is a TOTALLY DIFFERENT GAME.
Anyway, I played as Liverpool and Will, oh goody, was Cardiff. I braced myself for another defeat, this time at the hands of someone so young he probably doesn't even know what Digimon is.
But as it happened, I won! Only 1-0, but still. Some might say that my victory isn't that impressive, because it came against a) an inferior team, and b) an opponent 7 years my junior. To be fair, they probably have a point, but as it was my first ever victory on this game, I'll take it.
Back at the house, Cliffey and I shared another Tesco's apple crumble. Sarah and I also went on Sporcle and tried to name all 69 Love Songs, and nobody could understand why When A Man Loves A Woman wasn't one of them.
Oh well. Those of us in the know retired to our bedroom, stuck the album on, and felt smug because we knew about all this great music and no-one else did.
Seriously, everybody has to buy 69 Love Songs. I felt asleep after about 11 of them last night, but I was just tired.
Joel.
*In the lecture we listened to a track by PJ Harvey and John Parish called Taut. The majority of the class hated it but I for one thought it rocked. Make up your minds.
Saturday, 25 September 2010
Goodbye to Sian
I am writing a blog in the style of Doc Seuss,
Because Joshua Price, may his neck find a noose,
Had a clever idea (and it's not the first time)
To get me to make all my ponderings rhyme.
So I'm dirty and smelly and needing a shower,
And at a PC at some ungodly hour,
And writing in what's called, according to Wiki,
"Anapestic Tetrameter". It's a tad tricky.
So last night I made the long trip to Penarth
With Sarah Macleod, my superior half,
To bid a farewell to her dear friend Sian Lewis.
We got on the bus that would take us from Crwys
To sweet central Cardiff, from whence we could trip
On another bus, bound for that glorious township
Where cliffs and the sea and the rocks and the like,
Were put in a song sung by Tom, Joel and Meic.
We stopped off at Tesco to buy a baguette,
And then headed to Sian's where I got my lips wet
In a glass of white wine, for the sake of occasion,
And my God, the taste! Like a Nazi invasion!
But other than that it was quite the rum do,
We listened to Will playing music from Who,
Sian made us all popcorn, we gobbled it up,
I made some bad jokes and was promptly told "shup".
But thanks to Sian's clock being ten minutes slow,
We missed the last bus back to Cardiff, and so
We got the last train (no-one asked for a fare)
Arrived at 'Diff Central, and taxi'd from there.
Thus endeth our tale, and what now to do?
Sian's going to uni, and others will too,
How many will stay when these students have gone?
My guess is somewhere between many and none.
(Tomorrow - in the style of the Bible!)
Joel.
Because Joshua Price, may his neck find a noose,
Had a clever idea (and it's not the first time)
To get me to make all my ponderings rhyme.
So I'm dirty and smelly and needing a shower,
And at a PC at some ungodly hour,
And writing in what's called, according to Wiki,
"Anapestic Tetrameter". It's a tad tricky.
So last night I made the long trip to Penarth
With Sarah Macleod, my superior half,
To bid a farewell to her dear friend Sian Lewis.
We got on the bus that would take us from Crwys
To sweet central Cardiff, from whence we could trip
On another bus, bound for that glorious township
Where cliffs and the sea and the rocks and the like,
Were put in a song sung by Tom, Joel and Meic.
We stopped off at Tesco to buy a baguette,
And then headed to Sian's where I got my lips wet
In a glass of white wine, for the sake of occasion,
And my God, the taste! Like a Nazi invasion!
But other than that it was quite the rum do,
We listened to Will playing music from Who,
Sian made us all popcorn, we gobbled it up,
I made some bad jokes and was promptly told "shup".
But thanks to Sian's clock being ten minutes slow,
We missed the last bus back to Cardiff, and so
We got the last train (no-one asked for a fare)
Arrived at 'Diff Central, and taxi'd from there.
Thus endeth our tale, and what now to do?
Sian's going to uni, and others will too,
How many will stay when these students have gone?
My guess is somewhere between many and none.
(Tomorrow - in the style of the Bible!)
Joel.
Sunday, 19 September 2010
The Penarth Odyssey, or, A Too Long Story
Friday night presented us with two options:
1) Go to Josh & Richard's student flat. They were having a (slightly belated) housewarming do and I was curious to see how their digs compared to ours.
2) Go to Penarth. All the ex-Stanwellians were having a university send-off at The Railway, and who doesn't love the P-Town people?
It was a tough call, to the point where I couldn't decide and ended up doing both. So, after a somewhat hurried dinner of peri-peri chicken and potato smilies, Sarah and I headed for the bus stop.
We got to Penarth at about 8.45, having missed the bus we were aiming for. Our first bus decided that the bus station was too clichéd a destination and ended up somewhere near the library, which meant that we had to wait at the bus stop for half an hour while a drunk man told nobody in particular that he'd seen things they could never fucking dream of.
The Railway is a nice pub; even the bouncer who ID'd us was friendly and congratulated me on being from Liverpool. A few of the people present were a little sad at the prospect of losing their friends until Christmas, but the mood in general was fairly buoyant. I had a conversation with Frazer and Ollie about how good Green Man was, and I was shocked - shocked! - to learn that they didn't watch The Flaming Lips, opting instead to laze around in their wet tent. Such behaviour should not be tolerated at festivals.
After a sojourn to Tesco's where Sarah bought me a chocolate muffin (delicious if slightly stale having been on the shelf all day), the two of us went back to the pub to say our goodbyes before heading back to Cardiff. I bumped into my former music technology mentor James Clarke, who regaled me with his tales of music production in LA, and when we eventually left we took Hannah and Fone with us. The plan was to get a bus from Penarth to Cardiff Central, then another from there to my parent's house, which was just around the corner from Josh & Rich's new place.
That was the plan. We managed to get the first bus easily enough, with Sarah spotting the other two a fiver so that they could get day to go tickets. We arrived in Cardiff without event, but I soon realised that I had no idea where the other bus we needed went from. We waited, shivering, on Westgate Street for a good while, until a bald-headed club bouncer took pity on us and informed us that no buses would be coming that way tonight. We headed to another bus stop, but the timetable informed us that we had missed the last bus.
So we walked. Sarah and I were cold, and we were wearing jumpers, so I can only speculate as to how Hannah and Fone felt, dressed as they were for a night out.
Eventually we saw the lights of the YMCA, which meant that we were nearly there. And then, when our long journey seemed at an end...
...I managed to take us the wrong way. I should point out that this was in Roath, the area where I've lived for the last seven years. The error was easily corrected, but I felt like The Biggest Dick. If the incident with Tom on the way to Penarth wasn't enough warning, this should really hammer it home: do NOT allow me to navigate. Anywhere.
At any rate, we somehow found our way to the flat, and it is very nice indeed. More space than ours, and a lot cleaner. Having said that, there are only two people there at the moment, and the mess here is more than made up for by the sense of family unity. N'aaawh.
So yeah, it wasn't a house party by any stretch of the imagination, more a gathering, but it was nice. We had a healthy discussion about our favourite Bond themes (I'm not sure of mine but On Her Majesty's Secret Service is very cool), and there was a whiteboard for guests to doodle on.
The highlight, however, was the Man and WoMan Points charts that Josh made. They're up in my room at the moment and they look like this:
1) Go to Josh & Richard's student flat. They were having a (slightly belated) housewarming do and I was curious to see how their digs compared to ours.
2) Go to Penarth. All the ex-Stanwellians were having a university send-off at The Railway, and who doesn't love the P-Town people?
It was a tough call, to the point where I couldn't decide and ended up doing both. So, after a somewhat hurried dinner of peri-peri chicken and potato smilies, Sarah and I headed for the bus stop.
We got to Penarth at about 8.45, having missed the bus we were aiming for. Our first bus decided that the bus station was too clichéd a destination and ended up somewhere near the library, which meant that we had to wait at the bus stop for half an hour while a drunk man told nobody in particular that he'd seen things they could never fucking dream of.
The Railway is a nice pub; even the bouncer who ID'd us was friendly and congratulated me on being from Liverpool. A few of the people present were a little sad at the prospect of losing their friends until Christmas, but the mood in general was fairly buoyant. I had a conversation with Frazer and Ollie about how good Green Man was, and I was shocked - shocked! - to learn that they didn't watch The Flaming Lips, opting instead to laze around in their wet tent. Such behaviour should not be tolerated at festivals.
After a sojourn to Tesco's where Sarah bought me a chocolate muffin (delicious if slightly stale having been on the shelf all day), the two of us went back to the pub to say our goodbyes before heading back to Cardiff. I bumped into my former music technology mentor James Clarke, who regaled me with his tales of music production in LA, and when we eventually left we took Hannah and Fone with us. The plan was to get a bus from Penarth to Cardiff Central, then another from there to my parent's house, which was just around the corner from Josh & Rich's new place.
That was the plan. We managed to get the first bus easily enough, with Sarah spotting the other two a fiver so that they could get day to go tickets. We arrived in Cardiff without event, but I soon realised that I had no idea where the other bus we needed went from. We waited, shivering, on Westgate Street for a good while, until a bald-headed club bouncer took pity on us and informed us that no buses would be coming that way tonight. We headed to another bus stop, but the timetable informed us that we had missed the last bus.
So we walked. Sarah and I were cold, and we were wearing jumpers, so I can only speculate as to how Hannah and Fone felt, dressed as they were for a night out.
Eventually we saw the lights of the YMCA, which meant that we were nearly there. And then, when our long journey seemed at an end...
...I managed to take us the wrong way. I should point out that this was in Roath, the area where I've lived for the last seven years. The error was easily corrected, but I felt like The Biggest Dick. If the incident with Tom on the way to Penarth wasn't enough warning, this should really hammer it home: do NOT allow me to navigate. Anywhere.
At any rate, we somehow found our way to the flat, and it is very nice indeed. More space than ours, and a lot cleaner. Having said that, there are only two people there at the moment, and the mess here is more than made up for by the sense of family unity. N'aaawh.
So yeah, it wasn't a house party by any stretch of the imagination, more a gathering, but it was nice. We had a healthy discussion about our favourite Bond themes (I'm not sure of mine but On Her Majesty's Secret Service is very cool), and there was a whiteboard for guests to doodle on.
The highlight, however, was the Man and WoMan Points charts that Josh made. They're up in my room at the moment and they look like this:
The competition is now on. Points will be awarded based on the whims of me and Pete and anyone else who feels the need to contribute.
Tim is already ahead for winning a game of Pretty Fuckin' Gayopoly last night, and Pete will be getting some points too for going all in on the Lottery space and, Rudyard Kipling-style, losing it all.
I'm already in the minuses for being appalling at Fifa '10.
Joel.
Wednesday, 8 September 2010
We Did Not Play
In the end, we didn't play Pretty Fuckin' Gayopoly*.
Sad times.
Yesterday I went to Penarth and chilled with Sarah in her shop, which I probably ought to promote, so here:
Sad times.
Yesterday I went to Penarth and chilled with Sarah in her shop, which I probably ought to promote, so here:
STURFF
For all your needs!
Washington Buildings
Penarth
I ended up there because Tom (Bonelle, not to be confused with Thom Cliffe) was also going to Penarth and needed a navigator. Which is pretty dumb, I mean who can't find their way to Penarth?
...Well, me, apparently, because my navigation skills took us past the turnoff and in very much the wrong direction. Tom was not best pleased but we managed to turn around before we got to St. Fagans, anyway.
When we did eventually roll up in P-Town - and by then we'd listened to just over half a Stereophonics album - I was let out of the car, Tom put on some Craig David, and off he went to conduct his own business. I went over to Sturff and stayed there 'til the early evening, sitting behind the counter and smiling at customers but never actually helping out with anything much.
All of which means I don't really know what was going on in the house yesterday afternoon. Cliffey and I watched The Damned United before I went out - and Damned good it was - but after that I've no clue.
In fact, I'm coming to a point in this blog where I have to decide whether it's a house blog or a Joel blog. It's intended to keep everyone up-to-date on the goings-on in the house, yes, but I can obviously only offer my viewpoint, which can sometimes be slightly limited.
So, in the interest of diversity, the rest of this entry will be written in the style of Peter Murphy.
Last night we had Tom, Meic and Scott 'round to visit our sweetass crib. Meic and I got a pizza from Domino's that I now owe hime £5.50 for, and later on Joel and I played Tekken. I'm improving quite a bit and managed to beat him in, like, 6 matches out of 8. Then we went on Practice Mode and started doing these awesome ten-hit combos. They're really difficult to do because there's a kind of rhythm to them but it keeps changing. Like you'll have to press four buttons as quickly as possible and then wait for the kick to finish before you press the next one and so on.
While I was outside with a cigarette I heard singing coming from the living room. It was Scott and Joel, and they were doing The Lion Sleeps Tonight. It sounded pretty cool, from outside.
Also I've laid down some slug pellets and salt to keep our slimy adversaries out of the house. That kind of backfired last night though, 'cause one came into the kitchen, went over the line of salt, and exploded everywhere.It was really gross and the salt was yellow with his innards.
After Scott left Cliffey, Joel and I wound up playing with Cliffey's remote control car. For some reason in goes faster in reverse - we timed how long it took to cross the hall and it was a second quicker when it was going backwards.
Today we're going to Coffee #1 for the first time since we moved in, although Joel's not coming because he's meeting Sarah. I think she's got to go to Coleg Glan Hafren today.
I really hate not having the internet in the house,
Pete.
*The result of Joel receiving a Make-Your-Own-Opoly set for his birthday.
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