(King of the Hill. Bill, Dale and Boomhauer are in a mental institution due to a typically bizarre and incompetent sequence of events.)
Dale: We gotta get out of here. Smokin’ breaks are too short, the food is good at best, and the anti-depressants are making my mouth dry. And happy!
Bill: Why don’t we just call Hank?
Dale: No! Hank must never know we were in here. Our society stigmatises the mentally ill. And rightly so! These people are nuts!
I had an intresting day looking round Staples, and then PC World looking at all the many and various USB attachments you can get, eg viz. torches, remote controls, helicopters, coffee warmers, and a dancing monkey called Gavin the USB Monkey. Although thinking about it some of those were just in the fairytale land we call the imagination.
I also went to IKEA and basically looked at kitchen things ekcetera which I always find cheerful. I bought some nice scented candles and a tall stool for the kitchen so I can sit at my counter and be all sophistercated and metropolitan. I will probably be drinking such as highballs, and wearing a smoking jacket.
Anyway that is the news from my disturbing fantasy land.
I went out bikling to explore the old steam train line from Alexandra Palace to Finsbury Park, which is now the Parkland Walk, which is a great place to go bikling as it is all away from traffic and it is also London’s longest thinnest nature reserve!
It was a stiff climb up to Ally Pally, but worth it, as there are super views, and someone has thoughtfully provided a pub at the top for exhausted biklists to relax and enjoy a refreshing lemonade before continuing their journey through the sylvan glades of historic North London, hem hem (good writing).
This is the TV transmitter and it is an importint place in TV history, which my friend Mike will tell you all about, but I do not know.
Me and Sophy had a picnic up here around my birthday and it was night time and there were various wizzo stars and planets available. Incidentally please stop telling me about how they have redefined what a planet is and now there are lots more planets, as (a) there was never an official definition in the first place so actually there have never been any official planets in the Solar System, and (b) the planets don’t care about what we call them, and probably haven’t received the memo anyway.
Alexandra Palace has a long and intresting history. It was built by Queen Victoria in 1873, although some builders had to help finish it as she could not reach the top bits. Other queens said she was daft to build a castle in the swamp, but she went ahead and built it anyway. It sank into the swamp. So she built a second one. That sank into the swamp. So she built a third one. That burned down, fell over, then sank into the swamp.
Anyway eventually they managed to build one that stayed up and did not go on fire, and it was immensely popular with the folk of London, as tens of thousands a day would get the old fashioned chuffing steam train up to the Palace and look round in wonder at all the fresh air and trees and such like that normally they would not have access to.
Then it burned down again.
Well I had a wizzo time on Saturday as I drove to Aldershot to help Liz move in to her new house, and take a consignment of books in the car, as she is like me and has a zillion books. I bet I have more though.
Then I went to Sarah’s and accidentally ate my own weight in her delicious lasagna, even though I am watching the calories due to Project Hott. I meant to just have a small respecktful helping and some salad, but then I turned into Garfield and chomped down several portions. I do not care as it was extra tasty!
On Sunday I went for a super riverside walk with Ana and a sophistercated glass of lemonade at the pub, then back to God’s own borough of Finchley for a refreshing pint of Leffe and a gigantic tandoori chicken with Matt at The Balti. I ate so much I awoke this morning, like some lager-fuelled Gregor Samsa, to find myself transmorgulated into a huge red spicy chicken leg.
It does not seem to have caused too much comment at work though although a couple of hungry people tried to take a bite out of me. I just fended them off with sharpened fragments of poppadom.
Liz lent me her copy of Wuthering Heights to read, it is a cracking tale of romance, high adventure, and curry. Actually now that I think of it the bits about curry were just added in biro. In my writing.
This is a nice thing to do with chicken thighs. Breast of chicken can be a little bland and dry so I really like the luscious tender dark meat of the thighs, full of sinful fat and flavour. Do not laugh because it is obvious what I meant. It is not a sex thing; mixing chicken and sex is almost never a good idea, unless you’re a cock.
- Chicken thighs
- Such as broccoli, ekcetera if you like it
- A lemon
- Rosemary & thyme
It is super easy to make as well. It is impossible to get wrong.
How to make
- Marinade the chicken for a while in some olive oil and the juice of the lemon, with smashed up pepper and salt.
- Put oven on to medium.
- Cut up the vegertables indiscriminately and put in a baking tray.
- Put each chicken thigh in a bit of foil and make a little parcel of it with the lemony olive oil, rosemary and thyme.
- Bake for about 45 minutes until the vegertables have gone all shrunk, and the the chicken parcels are steaming merrily.
- That is it really.
When you serve it you can pour the delicious lemony chicken stock all over the vegertables. With luck they should have gone all caramelised, with crispy dark bits on the outside and tender juiciness inside!
You could have sex afterwards if you liked. Not right afterwards though. Government safety advice says you should not have vigorous excersise on a full stomach, whether yours or someone else’s.
This is a few grainy cameraphone pictures which is surveillance footage of my wizzo day out in Richmond, investergating various shops restaurants and a special coffee shop for old folks, with a squirrel!
This is a bridge which I do not know what it is, the main bridge in Richmond or such. But I got quite excited because of there being a swan.
LOOK A SWAN
Finally some restful flowers. This is near Archibald’s lair which is a secret cafe accessible only by a normal pathway. They have coffee and samosas and books, which seems to me to be the three things you ought to have.
I saw that show House with Hugh Laurie as a tough-talking maverick doctor who doesn’t play by the rules, but by golly he gets things done. It is really good. I have added it to my list of favourite TV shows as I only like shows with one-word names ie. viz. House, Lost, Thief, Hustle, Spooks, Rome, Strange, Spaced, Coast, 4400 (I know it is The 4400 really, but it does not matter), Asylum, Clerks, Frasier, Extras, Bottom, Coupling, Blackadder, Hippies, Spy, Lexx, Friends, and Alias.
Ooh! And Seinfeld.
If there are any more that you like with one word names, please write in to the address on your screens now.
Do not submit the names of really good TV shows that have two words, eg. such as Jonathan Creek, Doctor Who, I, Claudius, Yes, Minister ekcetera, as they are inadmissible. The number of words in the title should be more than zero, but less than 2.
King of the Hill is right out.
It’s Finsbury Park! This is where the Parkland Walk comes to an end sadly but it is a beautiful park and ideal for zooming round on your bike.
It is illegal to visit Finsbury Park without popping in to see London’s only purpose-built computerised 24-hour cycle parking facility. It is just at the back of the railway station and you get a little swipe-card which enables you to park and retrieve your bike there any time of day or night for the magnificent sum of 50p. It is great really as if you have ever paid to park your car in London you will know it’s blooming expensive.
I was shown all around and how to work it by Niroj, London’s most helpful parking attendant. He said a lot of people have figured out that it pays them to cycle into Finsbury Park, lock the bike up here and then get the tube the last bit into work as 50p for parking is a lot less than the extra zones would cost on a Travelcard. I quite like that idea except I have dispensed with the Tube stage altogether as luckily I live really near work!
So having registered at the cycle park and got my swipe-card (I do not really need to park my bike there at the moment, but it is handy to know I could, and also I think any sort of cycling facilities should be encouraged!) this is me relaxing with a refreshing pint at the Landseer pub with Matt. Cheers!
So in conclusion then, a wizzo day out bikesploring and roaming the byways of green and leafy secret London. Here is a picture of my leg to celebrate! :D
Some pictures of Cornish wildlife! These are deer which live in the park near my house. They are shy creatures, unlike the brash and confident deer of Richmond Park who are used to people; even with the 200mm zoom it was difficult to get close enough to get a good picture.
Typical profile from a dating site:
‘i am complex and intresting and like foppish indie bands that you have never heard of. i am a delicate balance of conflicting emotions, demanding, loving, at times wistful, sensitive, poetic, philosophical, sensual. i’m a lover, artist, friend, warrior, poet, mystic. i am 14 years old and avoiding my gcse coursework.’
It is reading men’s profiles that I find the most intresting and at the same time repellent. Perhaps I am jellus but I find myself raising an eyebrow in mocking approbation when I read about how they are doing a PhD at the Institute of Extreme Cleverness, play the drums in a trendy rock band, write award-winning TV shows, sell their watercolours through a small privately owned gallery, and are basically immeasurably sophistercated, rich and successful. I cannot help but add sarcastically in parentheses, ‘yet mysteriously I do not have a girlfriend’.
I think if it was a woman I would be far more attracted to someone who said ‘I am a bit confused and mixed up and perpetually feel as though life is an exam that I’ve forgotten to revise for, I lead a semblance of a normal existence but underneath the cool exterior I am hiding under the duvet chain-smoking, glugging cold saké out of a beaker and putting on make-up as a hysterical displacement activity’.
A little vulnerability is appealing. It is no good saying that you are a cross between Einstein and Paul Gauguin as we will assume you are either a fantasist or a narcissist.