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.
Showing posts with label sturff. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sturff. Show all posts
Friday, 30 September 2011
Sunday, 7 August 2011
Enter Bonelle/House of the Couples
And so, at last, Tom Bonelle is officially living here. God knows it's been a long time coming, given that he was supposed to be one of the original five housemates back in September, but he's finally gotten his shit together and moved in.
Not that, even yesterday, he didn't take is time about it. Sarah, who was nursing a Big Weekend hangover, had to go to Sturff yesterday, so I stayed behind to get our old room ready for Tom's arrival. My dad came 'round at 9.30 to assist me* in assembling the new bed (which was retarded; it came in two halves and the clamps that were meant to hold them together didn't do shit) and, some hooverin' and hammerin' later, the bedroom was ready for its new owner.
But the owner, it seemed, was not yet ready for the bedroom. I waited in my ivory tower, watching the road and playing tetris, but no-one came. I called his mobile, but no-one answered. We had plans to go to Varsity with Sian and Pete, and Tom was causing serious scheduling issues.
I went to the station to meet Sarah after work, and when Tom had still not materialsed upon our return, we decided to take action. Sian had Jen's phone number, and we figured that she might know where our housemate-to-be was hiding.
Sian rang Jen and, well, it worked better than expected because apparently, even though Tom doesn't answer his own phone, he does answer Jen's.
So eventually the three couples managed to congregate at Varsity but, unfortunately, the kitchen had just closed. This posed a problem; what should our triumvirate do for tea? We were all starving, and many suggestions were put forth - takeaways, restaurants, cafés, even some pansy vegetarian place that Jen recommended - but no decision was made so eventually we decided just to cruise down Crwys and eat whatever took our fancy.
When we made it all the way to Death Junction without any hint of a decision, I took control (sort of). I corralled everyone towards Zio Peppino's, the Italian restuarant on Albany Road that my family always goes to, and as luck would have it, they had a table for six all ready to go.
Now I had already suggested this place, and that suggestion had been met with middling enthusiasm, but when everyone saw the free bread and breadsticks, well, I think my choice was validated.
Also the meals themselves were awesome and everyone was very full afterwards.
And that's more or less the end. We were planning to stay up all night playing games and eating snacks (couples slumber party!) and the night was shaping up to be a fun one. Tom and Jen had just popped back to his house to grab his TV and we were looking forward to a friendly bit of Mario Party.
Of course I was asleep long before they returned, but I'm told they took over two hours. We'll have to have our slumber party another time, I guess. Maybe for my birthday (which is on the 14th, that's a week today, buy me a present).
Joel.
*Okay, he basically did it all himself. He was appalled by the state of the garage, and very disappointed in whomever acquired that Fanny Street sign, THOM CLIFFE AND JOSHUA ROBSON I AM LOOKING AT YOU.
Monday, 27 June 2011
Glastonbury Weekend
FRIDAY
As I ran from the stock room at 11am, taking the stairs three at a time, my thoughts turned to the long weekend that stretched ahead of me. Some people would be enjoying U2 tonight, but I was more exciting at the prospect of spending the night in Gem's room.
Except it was now my room. Gem had hastily and unexpectedly moved out on Thursday morning, and Sarah and I were quick to capitalise on this and increase our living space by about 150%. We had planned just to gradually start moving our stuff in, but of course we couldn't resist and ended up going all-out. I spent Thursday night in the master bedroom, surrounded by my wonderful possessions (mandolin, iPod dock, cuddly toys, etc.)
So anyway, after finishing work at Next on Friday I headed to Sturff, and after Sturff we went to TGI Friday's. I had recently finished stomping Tom in our one-on-one Fantasy Football league (I have Carlos Tevez to thank for that, mostly - perhaps I should send him an email) and, as we had agreed, he now had to buy me a meal. I had a lovely, expensive steak, and everyone had a great time. Except perhaps for Cliffey, who discovered that some girl he had a past with and now could barely bring himself to speak to was on the payroll at TGI's and happened to have a shift that evening.
Oh well. Later on, we kicked back with a head-shaving session*, a midnight visit to Tesco, and a great big washing-up session. Operation Polaris produced great results, but such things do not last in a student house, even if there are only three people officially living there now.
SATURDAY
Colorama are a local-ish band who sound a bit like the Super Furry Animals and whose new album I picked up from Spillers on Valentine's Day, more or less on a whim after listening to bits of it on their CD listening post. Today, they were scheduled to play a free set at The Old Library as part of Spillers 'Saturday Sessions' thing.
I was mildly excited, and while Sarah had to be in Next that afternoon, I had convinced Cliffey to check it out with me...that is, until it transpired that Colorama had traded the bustle of Saturday afternoon in Central Cardiff for the rather more bustling bustle of Saturday afternoon at the Glastonbury festival. Typical.
Their slot at The Old Library was to be filled by a band called Houdini Dax, to whom I feel I owe a little publicity because I know two of them personally - David and Jack are both on the pop music course - and yet decided, not for the first time, that I couldn't be bothered to go and watch. So click on this link, watch the videos, buy their album, send them naked photos, and generally do whatever it takes to bail me out, karmically speaking.
Still, I would not let the whole day slide by without taking in a little live music. So while thousands of people were enjoying Coldplay and wondering who that psychy Welsh band from earlier were, Sarah and I were listening to Mr. John Grant, for Czars frontman and the brain behind Mojo's album of 2010.
And, in spite of a few technical problems**, his set was fantastic. Most of his songs were backed by nothing more than a baby grand piano and a synthesiser, and The Gate made a pretty cool venue for it all, being more of a theatre than a club or concert hall.
The support act, Daughter, were good too. I got their EP and had it signed, although sadly the cardboard sleeve did get slightly bent in Sarah's rucksack. Oh well.
SUNDAY
Tom stayed over on Saturday night, and in the morning I was told that while I was falling asleep halfway through Megamind***, he and Cliffey had popped to the Kismet for a late-night curry. And guess who was there, chomping on poppadoms after another hard shift at TGI's?
Anywho, once we had all woken up and gotten dressed, the four of us (Sarah, Tom, Cliffey and myself) went into town to find costumes for our upcoming Pokémon party. It was a scorchingly hot day, and after stickly circumnavigating the city centre for an hour or so, we retired to Varsity for some food and a few cold drinks.
Which was lovely apart from the bit where I ordered some sort of complicated mocktail and the lady on the counter had to go and see if they had the necessary ingredients. Whilst awaiting her return, I thought it would be a great idea to perch myself on the bar - literally sit on the bar - and in doing so I knocked the Chip & PIN machine onto the floor, with surprising velocity. Imagine the launcher in a pinball machine, and replace the ball with maybe £25 per month of hi-tech gadgetry, and the launcher bit with my fat fuckin' ass.
I was roundly ridiculed, but hey, the virgin colada was nice.
And so, as several thousand people were realising that Kelly and Michelle would not, in fact, be making an appearance, Sarah and I rounded off the weekend by watching Catch Me If You Can, which we both agreed was awesome.
And now it's Monday, and Sarah's in work, and I'm sweating a lot and typing this blog and tomorrow morning I have work too.
Oh well. At least we know who our new housemate will be. More on that tomorrow.
Joel.
* Not my head. Meic's and Cliffey's.
** At the start of one song, he started singing into a second, thus far unused, microphone, which added a very distant-sounding effect to his voice. Which I thought was cool until he stopped and made an annoyed face, at which point I realised that the mic wasn't turned on.
*** Sarah had to fill me in the following morning. I won't spoil for you, but it all sounds very exciting. And for once I managed to guess an important plot point.
As I ran from the stock room at 11am, taking the stairs three at a time, my thoughts turned to the long weekend that stretched ahead of me. Some people would be enjoying U2 tonight, but I was more exciting at the prospect of spending the night in Gem's room.
Except it was now my room. Gem had hastily and unexpectedly moved out on Thursday morning, and Sarah and I were quick to capitalise on this and increase our living space by about 150%. We had planned just to gradually start moving our stuff in, but of course we couldn't resist and ended up going all-out. I spent Thursday night in the master bedroom, surrounded by my wonderful possessions (mandolin, iPod dock, cuddly toys, etc.)
So anyway, after finishing work at Next on Friday I headed to Sturff, and after Sturff we went to TGI Friday's. I had recently finished stomping Tom in our one-on-one Fantasy Football league (I have Carlos Tevez to thank for that, mostly - perhaps I should send him an email) and, as we had agreed, he now had to buy me a meal. I had a lovely, expensive steak, and everyone had a great time. Except perhaps for Cliffey, who discovered that some girl he had a past with and now could barely bring himself to speak to was on the payroll at TGI's and happened to have a shift that evening.
Oh well. Later on, we kicked back with a head-shaving session*, a midnight visit to Tesco, and a great big washing-up session. Operation Polaris produced great results, but such things do not last in a student house, even if there are only three people officially living there now.
SATURDAY
Colorama are a local-ish band who sound a bit like the Super Furry Animals and whose new album I picked up from Spillers on Valentine's Day, more or less on a whim after listening to bits of it on their CD listening post. Today, they were scheduled to play a free set at The Old Library as part of Spillers 'Saturday Sessions' thing.
I was mildly excited, and while Sarah had to be in Next that afternoon, I had convinced Cliffey to check it out with me...that is, until it transpired that Colorama had traded the bustle of Saturday afternoon in Central Cardiff for the rather more bustling bustle of Saturday afternoon at the Glastonbury festival. Typical.
Their slot at The Old Library was to be filled by a band called Houdini Dax, to whom I feel I owe a little publicity because I know two of them personally - David and Jack are both on the pop music course - and yet decided, not for the first time, that I couldn't be bothered to go and watch. So click on this link, watch the videos, buy their album, send them naked photos, and generally do whatever it takes to bail me out, karmically speaking.
Still, I would not let the whole day slide by without taking in a little live music. So while thousands of people were enjoying Coldplay and wondering who that psychy Welsh band from earlier were, Sarah and I were listening to Mr. John Grant, for Czars frontman and the brain behind Mojo's album of 2010.
And, in spite of a few technical problems**, his set was fantastic. Most of his songs were backed by nothing more than a baby grand piano and a synthesiser, and The Gate made a pretty cool venue for it all, being more of a theatre than a club or concert hall.
The support act, Daughter, were good too. I got their EP and had it signed, although sadly the cardboard sleeve did get slightly bent in Sarah's rucksack. Oh well.
SUNDAY
Tom stayed over on Saturday night, and in the morning I was told that while I was falling asleep halfway through Megamind***, he and Cliffey had popped to the Kismet for a late-night curry. And guess who was there, chomping on poppadoms after another hard shift at TGI's?
Anywho, once we had all woken up and gotten dressed, the four of us (Sarah, Tom, Cliffey and myself) went into town to find costumes for our upcoming Pokémon party. It was a scorchingly hot day, and after stickly circumnavigating the city centre for an hour or so, we retired to Varsity for some food and a few cold drinks.
Which was lovely apart from the bit where I ordered some sort of complicated mocktail and the lady on the counter had to go and see if they had the necessary ingredients. Whilst awaiting her return, I thought it would be a great idea to perch myself on the bar - literally sit on the bar - and in doing so I knocked the Chip & PIN machine onto the floor, with surprising velocity. Imagine the launcher in a pinball machine, and replace the ball with maybe £25 per month of hi-tech gadgetry, and the launcher bit with my fat fuckin' ass.
I was roundly ridiculed, but hey, the virgin colada was nice.
And so, as several thousand people were realising that Kelly and Michelle would not, in fact, be making an appearance, Sarah and I rounded off the weekend by watching Catch Me If You Can, which we both agreed was awesome.
And now it's Monday, and Sarah's in work, and I'm sweating a lot and typing this blog and tomorrow morning I have work too.
Oh well. At least we know who our new housemate will be. More on that tomorrow.
Joel.
* Not my head. Meic's and Cliffey's.
** At the start of one song, he started singing into a second, thus far unused, microphone, which added a very distant-sounding effect to his voice. Which I thought was cool until he stopped and made an annoyed face, at which point I realised that the mic wasn't turned on.
*** Sarah had to fill me in the following morning. I won't spoil for you, but it all sounds very exciting. And for once I managed to guess an important plot point.
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, 12 March 2011
After
After waking up on a sofa this morning, I went to Sturff with Sarah, as I often do. A woman came in at one point and wondered rather loudly:
"DO YOU HAVE ANY HOTPANTS?"
Apparently she needed them because her daughter is doing a "show" in Cardiff soon. As I said to Sarah, I tried really hard to think of something innocent that that could have been, but alas, to no avail.
After having lunch in Sturff (reduced BLT, yum), I caught the bus back to Cardiff to meet up with my parents and - this is something I didn't expect to happen today - go to see Guys & Dolls at the New Theatre. It was very good. Not, as my dad pointed out, quite as good as the St. Teilo's production, but still.
After leaving the theatre, I informed my parents that I would be coming home for dinner, but that I would first be popping back to Tewkesbury Place to pick up some CDs. My plan was to get the bus; I went to Churchill Way, but the service had been shuffled around because of the bloody rugby (which Wales didn't even have the courtesy to lose so that I could mock everybody). The notice in the bus shelter told me to go to Dumfries Place; a young African woman with three kids in tow asked me where this was, and I told her that I was terrible at giving directions, and to just follow me.
So I proceeded, with this wary mother and her confused children close behind, to what I hoped was Dumfries Place. It was, and sure enough a number 38 bus soon materialised. I tried to hail it but, well, the driver didn't seem to keen to stop. He made some kind of hand gesture that seemed to suggest I should 'go around', but I wasn't sure what that meant.
So I decided to skip picking up the CDs and head straight to my parents' house. Heading on towards Albany Road so as to avoid facing the family I had dragged to this busless wasteland, I soon realised that Albany Road wasn't where I thought it was in relation to Dumfries Place and ended up going to Tewkesbury Place after all.
Sometimes I genuinely worry that everyone I've ever given directions to has long since perished.
Joel.
P.S. I've decided I will update tomorrow (Sunday), but don't hold your breath because if I'm not feeling particularly lucid then it may just be a crap poem about a tree.
"DO YOU HAVE ANY HOTPANTS?"
Apparently she needed them because her daughter is doing a "show" in Cardiff soon. As I said to Sarah, I tried really hard to think of something innocent that that could have been, but alas, to no avail.
After having lunch in Sturff (reduced BLT, yum), I caught the bus back to Cardiff to meet up with my parents and - this is something I didn't expect to happen today - go to see Guys & Dolls at the New Theatre. It was very good. Not, as my dad pointed out, quite as good as the St. Teilo's production, but still.
After leaving the theatre, I informed my parents that I would be coming home for dinner, but that I would first be popping back to Tewkesbury Place to pick up some CDs. My plan was to get the bus; I went to Churchill Way, but the service had been shuffled around because of the bloody rugby (which Wales didn't even have the courtesy to lose so that I could mock everybody). The notice in the bus shelter told me to go to Dumfries Place; a young African woman with three kids in tow asked me where this was, and I told her that I was terrible at giving directions, and to just follow me.
So I proceeded, with this wary mother and her confused children close behind, to what I hoped was Dumfries Place. It was, and sure enough a number 38 bus soon materialised. I tried to hail it but, well, the driver didn't seem to keen to stop. He made some kind of hand gesture that seemed to suggest I should 'go around', but I wasn't sure what that meant.
So I decided to skip picking up the CDs and head straight to my parents' house. Heading on towards Albany Road so as to avoid facing the family I had dragged to this busless wasteland, I soon realised that Albany Road wasn't where I thought it was in relation to Dumfries Place and ended up going to Tewkesbury Place after all.
Sometimes I genuinely worry that everyone I've ever given directions to has long since perished.
Joel.
P.S. I've decided I will update tomorrow (Sunday), but don't hold your breath because if I'm not feeling particularly lucid then it may just be a crap poem about a tree.
Friday, 10 September 2010
The NME is my Enemy
Spent the whole day in Sturff yesterday. It was like I actually had a job, except I neither did any work nor got paid for it. One of the customers said that it would be Christmas soon, which got me all excited until I realised that that's plainly not true (it's 106 days away).
After work Sarah and I walked over the barrage to Cardiff Bay. It was a very nice walk but by the time we got to the bay we felt we'd done enough walking and got a bus to town, and then another back to the house.
Which brings me to my next point, which is FUCK CARDIFF BUS. What the hell happens to the buses when they drop off the electronic board? Are they stuck in some kind of bus limbo? Is that why we then have to wait 15 minutes for the next one?
Last night we watched Ripping Yarns, which was funny, and ate a rather gooey chocolate cake, which was probably rather unhealthy.
Okay, this one's been a bit short so I'm going to fill it out by copying out the NME's review of the new Underwold record (because, surprise surprise, I'm in the library, where they have such intellectual tomes as the NME handy) and replacing selected words with the word 'penis'.
UNDERWORLD
BARKING COOKING PENIS
In the 90's, everyone loved penis and feared the millennium penis. Hence, it makes odd sense that the penis has been misfiring consistently since 1999's 'Beaucoup Penis'. With 'Barking', they manage to spark into life just twice. 'Bird Penis' and 'Penis In Water' are, in the vein of clasic Underworld, simultaneously danceable and menacingly strange. Elsewhere, though, this penis-heavy eighth penis tends to fail when it experiments: 'Louisiana' is a tediously mournful penis song, and 'Diamond Penis' a baffling Doves-style penis-indie anthem. Elsewhere, there are penis-warping forays into bland house, formulaic drum'n'bass and (shudder) penis-out music. Remember that? No? Penis. Niall O'Penis
5
Joel.
P.S. I'm probably not supposed to reproduce content from the NME on my little blog here but who gives a penis.
After work Sarah and I walked over the barrage to Cardiff Bay. It was a very nice walk but by the time we got to the bay we felt we'd done enough walking and got a bus to town, and then another back to the house.
Which brings me to my next point, which is FUCK CARDIFF BUS. What the hell happens to the buses when they drop off the electronic board? Are they stuck in some kind of bus limbo? Is that why we then have to wait 15 minutes for the next one?
Last night we watched Ripping Yarns, which was funny, and ate a rather gooey chocolate cake, which was probably rather unhealthy.
Okay, this one's been a bit short so I'm going to fill it out by copying out the NME's review of the new Underwold record (because, surprise surprise, I'm in the library, where they have such intellectual tomes as the NME handy) and replacing selected words with the word 'penis'.
UNDERWORLD
BARKING COOKING PENIS
In the 90's, everyone loved penis and feared the millennium penis. Hence, it makes odd sense that the penis has been misfiring consistently since 1999's 'Beaucoup Penis'. With 'Barking', they manage to spark into life just twice. 'Bird Penis' and 'Penis In Water' are, in the vein of clasic Underworld, simultaneously danceable and menacingly strange. Elsewhere, though, this penis-heavy eighth penis tends to fail when it experiments: 'Louisiana' is a tediously mournful penis song, and 'Diamond Penis' a baffling Doves-style penis-indie anthem. Elsewhere, there are penis-warping forays into bland house, formulaic drum'n'bass and (shudder) penis-out music. Remember that? No? Penis. Niall O'Penis
5
Joel.
P.S. I'm probably not supposed to reproduce content from the NME on my little blog here but who gives a penis.
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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