Yearly archives: 2001

The sun was shining, I got up early (for a Saturday) and I went and bought myself a bike. A nice Marin Hybrid, for the daily commute. Strangely enough, this one is locked to the shelves in the garage, which should be enough to discourage the sort of scrote who took the other three and more than secure enough if I have to make an insurance claim.

On the subject of insurance, getting anything for my lost bikes is a non starter. We were under the impression that the agency which pays our wages had arranged it as part of the relocation package. They didn’t, of course. I mean, they were supposed to arrange the TV licence and they couldn’t even do that! And then on Friday I was told that they had lost all my expenses paper work, but were adamant they had paid everything. Ten minutes with my credit card statements proved that they hadn’t paid me at least �570. Take it from me folks. Never, ever, ever rely on P******s to do anything right.

Well, the mourning period for the bikes is over, though I still feel angry. I’m starting to get fat, and the lethargy at work could be down to lack of exercise. So this weekend, I’m buying a new bike.

There’s something wierd about not having two wheels around the place. I’ve cycled regularly now, for fun and commuting, for nearly twelve years, with only a brief break earlier this year when I travelled around the country for work. ‘Two wheels good, four wheels bad.’

Slightly belated singles day-
Party Hard by Andrew WK. This really is everything they promised you. Loud, anthemic, fun. That’s the important thing, fun. The people who tell you not to like this song are probably Radiohead fans. Only one thing, and I’m not sure it’s all that bad. This just screams out ‘soundtrack’, expect to hear it in American Roadtrip 3 soon.
Because I Got High by Afroman. Novelty song! A funny little piece about the perils of over indulging the weed, it’ll be at the top of your pile when you’re choosing stuff to give to the local charity shop next summer.
Bohemian Like You by The Dandy Warhols. Sarcastic, bitchy, prime Warhols going on about the crapness of all those wannabe struggling artists. I guess it’s easy to snipe when you’ve made it. And I wish I could stop thinking about mobile phones.
Follow Me by Uncle Kracker. From the major tattoo on his forearm you’d expect something in the Slim Shady line, but this is…… Well, it’s nice. I just haven’t decided yet whether it’s MOR nice or Jazz Club Nice.
And an album-
White Blood Cells by The White Stripes. I haven’t listened to this one yet, so I’ll have to reserve judgement, but I do Like the single, Hotel Yorba.

Dilemma time. Whilst surfing through FriendsReunited the other day I finally came across a name from my old school that I recognised. The girl I had the biggest, most embarassing crush on when I was seventeen. She’s working in London, so I could give her a call. But what to say? Just from the few lines of biography it’s obvious she’s still the genius she was at sixth form, only now she’s well travelled into the bargain. I’d probably meet her and turn into the same incoherent fool I was all those years ago.

Plus, it won’t give me her e-mail until I pay the five pound joining fee, and I don’t know if I can be bothered.

I must have spent nearly five hours yesterday playing Gran Turismo. My right thumb has blisters from holding down the accelerate button. All I need now is GTA3 and I may never leave the house.
After the loss of my bikes I’ve been thinking about this whole Southern experience. I think I’m going to downshift, move North again, get out of corporate and do more of what I want. The South has until March, a year from when I moved down, to convince me to stay. It’s going to be a hard job, I can tell you.

What a fucked up day.
I got up this morning, dawdled a while, then went into the garage to discover my bikes had been stolen. All three of them, gone. We still haven�t figured out how anyone got into the garage- the doors were locked and there�s no evidence of them coming over the roof or garden walls. Bollocks. Anyway, if anyone in the Staines/ Egham area of Surrey should come across a Trek Bruiser 1, Specialized Hard Rock or Marin Palisades Trail going cheap, they�re probably mine. Contact me or the Police.

Then, after the Police woman had gone (which brought another bad omen- I�ve reached the age where Police officers do look younger!) my books arrived. Ten copies of my novel. It�s a very strange feeling, looking at my name on a cover- even though it is in Comic Sans, a font which looks awful outside an e-mail. I�m a published author! (Buy my book.)

I think it�s a sign. Life�s been a bit crap ever since I moved South, and now this. I need to get back to my roots. But I�m going to give it until February, because that�s how long I�ve got in the house.

A bit pissed off for the first of my new posts, but that�s how it goes.

Oh yes- Buy My Book!