It’s time for another highly concentrated information pellet, predigested for you by Montmorency the Internet Owl. I’ve been doing lots of web site work - with my Mum on HuntTheArtist.com and Cornish Ceremonies, and I just set up a new Go blog where I can waffle about my favourite game in peace, without interference, or readers.
I gave up Twitter and Facebook for Lent, which was surprisingly easy, and leaves me with a lot more free time to spend on things like polishing the car, sitting on the sofa, compiling my list of the best thousand Simpsons episodes, crisp research, walks investergating local ducks and coots, picking locks, drinking intresting beers, and looking out of the window to see if the car’s been stolen yet.
It also gives me more time for reading. Right now I’m enjoying Ian Stewart and Jack Cohen’s Figments of Reality: The Evolution of the Curious Mind and George R. R. Martin’s A Game of Thrones (A Song of Ice and Fire, Book 1).
Man I am glad I do not live in a dystopic faux-feudal land of ice, war, incest, murder and betrayal. Finchley is exciting enough for me, especially if you try to get into Tescos on a Friday teatime, or the big kids who hang around outside the fried chicken shop mug you for your dinner money.
I went round to see my old friend Donald in Barnet, and he cooked a traditional Scotto-Chinese dinner of haggis, neeps, and stir-fried vegertables, which was delicious! Then we had a game of Go (I lost), and I played his 11-year-old son at Chess (I won - though I did feel a bit like the Competitive Dad from the Fast Show, punching the air and shouting ‘Yes!!’) We had some tasty Belgian beers and talked about Lisp and psychedelic music ekcetera.
So it was a great evening, the only weird thing was I cycled up there against a fierce headwind, by the time I came back the wind had backed 180 degrees (or pi radians if you are a computer) and was blowing the other way! All of which had the disconcerting and topographically unlikely effect of being uphill all the way there, and all the way back.
I am starting to develop some legs though, all cyclists know this feeling that you start to actually enjoy taking on a hill, and instead of going all hot and wobbly and having a little rest halfway up, you power all the way up and then instead of freewheeling down the other side, you just change up a couple of gears!
I pedalled home on Friday night after quite a few glasses of quite a few drinks at the Pineapple, with the cheerful invincibility that only comes from advanced intoxication. It is a long pull up Archway Road to Highgate station, but I do not think I paused for breath and it was only when I got off at Tescos in Finchley that I realised my lungs were burning and little lights were flashing in front of my eyes.
So my secret strategy if I ever go in for the Tour de France or something like that is to just get enormously drunk beforehand. King of the Mountains! I do not know why no one else has thought of that.