So, the sun now goes down at 4:30. Yesterday it went down an hour later. 5:30 didn’t seem quite so bad but 4:30? Feels far too early. Somehow, though, it feels about right for Halloween.

Last year I noticed that houses along our street put little pumpkins leading to their doors to indicate they were happy to chocify little ghouls and goblins. While I purchased the necessary ‘just-in-case’ Celebrations, we were shunned by the roaming groups of children. While generally quite glad, I was a bit disappointed not to get the standard visitation as I heard the shrieks up and down the streets.

This afternoon I had to journey down to the Londis for an onion and noticed a big lack of pumpkins and a couple of printed signs saying ‘No Trick or Treaters!’ boldly in pumpkin orange. I figured I’d probably get a haunting tonight. Upon hearing Mirinda’s experience earlier in the day, and wanting to make sure I was ready, I once more purchased a big container of assorted chocolates and planted them strategically on the junior Jali and waited.

At 6:30 there was a knock at the door. Of course, the poodles sprung into attack mode, their tails wagging furiously, tongues ready to lick to death any intruder. I opened the door to a group of young witches. None of them green. Sadly. They loudly threatened “Trick or Treat!” and the dogs were out and at them as I handed out chocs to them all.

They ranged in sizes and ages. The first was about 13 and the fifth was about 6. As I was about to call the evil attack poodles back inside, one of the witches said “Go on Max!” and a little chap stepped forward out of the shadows. Max was a bit shy…or was it embarrassment at having to accompany the witches? He looked about 8 and was wearing a ripped school shirt with splatters of blood on it, his face angelic and shy. I gave him an extra chocolate and a wink, saying he was lucky to be with so many pretty witches. He gave me a smile of sufferance and they all left, almost taking Carmen with them.

A little later (fortunately after The Archers) another gang of witches knocked at the door and were rewarded. Rather than a Max, this lot had a mum with them. The littlest witch was a bit scared of the poodles, particularly when an excited Carmen put her paws on the witch’s shoulders (she was quite small). Of course this made everyone laugh…except for the littlest witch who basically sobbed as she was led away.

So I’ve done my bit and spread dental decay a little further through the neighbourhood teeth. As I sit typing this I can still hear the sounds of haunting abroad. I’m glad I have the hounds to protect me.

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The day was far too awful for any nice photos of the park or the garden so, having thrown myself into cleaning up my study, I present the evidence that there is, in fact, a desk. I think it’s pretty close to pristine. Which is what I promised Mirinda.

My (almost) empty desk

We had a lovely Nicktor night spent watching The Usual Suspects (Nicktor had never seen it and loved it) and The Business (a Brit gangster film we’d never heard of but was ok and had an excellent 80s soundtrack).

Next door (not the Crazies, but the other side) had the daughter’s usual birthday party which always ends with fireworks, so I knew the dogs would get spooked. Nicktor was amazed. Apparently Basil & Polly just bark at them. I had both Carmen and Day-z pressed hard up against me, making me pat and calm them. They kept this up all the time the fireworks were going on and for quite a while afterwards. Eventually Carmen moved but only as far as the back of the lounge and within patting range.

Of course, being a party, they played music (the Triumphal March from Aida for the fireworks – a bit posh!) which inspired us to spin a few metaphorical disks ourselves. We sang on into the night, long after the party fiends had left. We battered Bat Out of Hell, stunned Stairway to Heaven, wallowed in Wish You Were Here. It was gloriously tuneless and lots of fun. We even had a go at out-ruining Sid Vicious’s version of My Way using candlesticks for microphones.

When parting this morning, Nicktor suggested we go to the Aldershot game at the Rec. We would be properly chaperoned by the boys so there’d be no beer or terraces. Pity. It may have been helped with a few pints.

James brought his mate Harry along, who is one crazy kid! A real card. Poor Nicktor had no idea what he was saying half the time. I thought he was very funny. Cracked me up, anyway. However, as for the game…

The ref was a bit sloppy and inconsistent, if you ask me. He sent two of our players off and didn’t send off a Bury player for a worse foul on one of our players. He also sent our manager to the stands but this decision he managed to get right.

Still, although we lost 3-1, we were playing with only 9 men and fought to the bitter end. The last few games I’ve been to, Aldershot have not played very well but today they should be proud.

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I took the poodles up to the park between showers today. It was one of those odd cloudless raining days. The kind where everything is sun drenched with streaks of rain falling through it. Quite odd but, thankfully, not heavy. I took a few photos to show the real autumn colours we are getting now.

I’m quite pleased with this one:

Farnham Park in autumn

This is the cherry tree in our back garden. Every time the sun hits the leaves, they are like fire. Gorgeous.

Our cherry tree

Well I have to say, I’m very pleased THAT is over. Half term at the museums is horrendous. Apparently the museum had over 20,000 visitors on Monday and most of them were on the pavement outside. It wasn’t quite as bad for us today but the NHM next door had queues around all manner of corners. Here’s just a small section of the NHM queue.

Queue for the NHM, London

The queues on the footpath are bad enough but the constant stream through the underpass is extraordinary. No semblance of any kind of hurry, no sense of keeping to one side. And it’s not like I have a choice as the roads are all up!

I went for a wander at lunchtime and noticed that the poor V&A was not doing quite so well. Mind you, according to Nick (my boss) they are quite happy not to have thousands of screaming children racing around the exhibits. They have a point.

Speaking of the V&A…I noticed today that the building along Exhibition Road has some chunks missing. There’s also a sign which says the missing bits are a result of German bombs during the Blitz. I’m amazed they didn’t do more damage. Here’s just one little bit of it.

German bomb damage to the V&A

I overheard a child (about 7) asking his parents if he could be Frankenstein for Halloween. His mum wasn’t sure but his dad thought for a bit and then said:

“Yeah. I’ve got some bolts in the shed. I’ll just need to make sure my drill is charged.”

The child looked a bit shocked and then said he’d changed his mind.

There was only Barbara and me there today. That means it was very, very quiet. Until just after lunch. And then the crisps came out. Am I the ONLY person in the world that hates the sound of people eating crisps? I spent a good 10 minutes with my fingers in my ears. I was wishing I’d had the foresight to bring the iTouch with me today. Much rather listen to Wicked. Who am I kidding. I’d rather listen to some of Nicktor’s music! But these minor annoyances are nothing compared to my morning journey on the Tube.

There are two things I hate on the Tube. Smelly people and noisy headphones. This morning I was surrounded by both. Clearly I should have smeared some crushed garlic on my toast this morning as everyone else had. It reminded me of those mornings at Qantas, taking the lift to the 40th floor and holding my breath the whole way, while Carmella crunched away on his cloves.

And how come I never hear anyone listening to opera? It’s always some sort of thrash metal with its piercing, screeching, pipistrelle-like squeaks. Or pop? Or country and western? It’s always the same. Maybe it’s a thing. Like if you’re in a car it has to be gangsta rap.

The oddest thing is that my earplugs do not bleed sound like so many bats at sunset. They’re not special. They are just ordinary earplugs. Maybe it’s the music, trying to escape.

This gives me visions of the first bar of music hitting the ear and valiantly holding the bud up, out of the lug-hole so the next bars can fly through, looking for another, less blocked ear. The trouble is, the notes have to squeeze up so much, all the bass is washed out and they all become a shriek, screaming for release.

I’m always amazed that the people with these noisy earplugs are totally unaware of how annoying they are. Very odd. It’s not like it isn’t mentioned a lot. Stand up comics are always mentioning it.

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I’m having a rare Friday Nicktor Night tonight. He wanted a Nicktor Saturday (which is the same as a Nicktor Night except it lasts about 24 hours) but he had to swing a deal with Dawn, who had already claimed the Saturday slot. Not with me, I hastened to clarify. Ah, the joys and necessary dealings of the children encumbered marriage.

What a grey, dull day it was today. It even managed to drizzle later on. One of those days that talking about the weather is just made for. Everyone I said hello to on the way to the shops made a comment about how awful it was. Such an English thing.

During our walk in the park today we stopped and chatted with lots of dogs. The girls were (mostly) well behaved. Mainly because they didn’t see all of them. It was the squirrels, you see. As we strolled along the avenue of trees, the tiny furry things would rush from one side to the other. It was perfectly synchronised. One would take off from the left and another from the right but a few trees further along.

This isn’t that unusual. What was unusual was that any dogs coming towards us immediately veered away from the poodles and after the squirrel. Meanwhile, Carmen & Day-z would do the same in the opposite direction. This meant the dogs never met! Genius. You’d think the squirrels had been trained for it.

When we arrived at the blue door, having inspected the makings of the bonfire for next week, I noticed a disgusting aroma. It was Carmen. She can be amazingly clever at sneaking in a good FSI. So I made her jump up on a bench and took this picture. I then noticed the old couple in the distance.

The puppies smiling because they know they'll be getting a bath!

You probably can’t see them properly in this photo but they are seated on fold up chairs, painting the fallen log and autumn colours. If you want to see them properly, I blipped them. The photo is here. They looked very peaceful. Even from behind.

Back home, the poodles were unceremoniously bundled into the bath and scrubbed unmercifully. I then finished the door for the cupboard. I should say: I’m very happy that I finally finished the cupboard door today. It needed another coat of paint and a small piece of timber in the back because the handle screws were too long. But it’s finished now! Yay.

Here’s the poodles after a jolly good scrubbing.

Wet but clean

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After reading Mirinda’s comment yesterday regarding more photo albums of places as well as holidays etc, I had a look around and found some (you can see them here). While looking, I also discovered that all the old photo albums no longer work. The code is lacking something to operate in the later browsers.

Rather than recode them all, I decided I’d need to recreate them in the newer style. This takes a long time! Though possibly no longer than recoding. I have by no means finished but at least Tuscany, Flag Fen and Fishbourne are now working again.

Mirinda also mentioned that the park is looking rather autumnal. It being autumn, this is perhaps not surprising. Actually our street, as usual, is ablaze with colour. Sadly the light wasn’t very good today…this is the best I could do.

Autumn in our street

OK, so I’ve not had a rant for a bit so I’m going to today…however, before I do, here’s a photo of Lynden at Waterloo after our night of gassing and drinking. He never changes. Gotta love him.

Saying goodbye to Lynden at Waterloo

Don’t get me wrong, I actually quite like the bagpipes. I remember the year we were digging at the Minge when a lady would serenade us each lunchtime as she practised among the hills surrounding the dig. Apparently her neighbours weren’t too keen on her doing it at home.

The outdoor setting, though, was perfect. The tortured cat screechings became at once lovely calls across the glens; a melancholic recitation for some distance Scot, marooned in another country. Or so it seemed, as we all sat around in our archaeological detritus.

Also I started to learn to play them myself many years ago. My reasoning has vanished in the mists of time but I managed quite a few lessons and even had a chanter for a while – this is the instrument you first learn on, before being given the big bag to manipulate under your arm. It is also the bit of the bagpipes you blow into.

I learnt all about grace notes and reeds and all sorts of musical things. Naturally it was a complete waste of time because, typically, I didn’t finish, moving on to something else and keeping only the chanter, which travelled from house to house with me until, somewhere along the line, I lost it. Or deliberately forgot it like my John Bonham drumstick.

To be honest, I can’t actually think of a musical instrument that I actively dislike. Played well and in the right place, I think they all have their good points; a bit like music and singing and dance.

I like most types of music and pride myself on being incredibly eclectic – if such a thing is grammatically correct (I mean, being eclectic means you like a wide variety so adding the word ‘incredibly’ doesn’t seem to add an awful lot to the term apart from exaggeration). I even like some Gregorian chanting. I have no idea what they are saying, nor do I care but I like the cadences, the rhythm, the strict choral qualities.

If I think about this sort of thing (chanting as opposed to chanters) I wonder about the sense of it all. When someone like Kylie sings “I can’t get you out of head” she doesn’t mean that someone or something is actually living in her head but the memory of someone is haunting her and she wants to tell everyone who’ll listen. When the Gregorians chant something in Russian or Latin or whatever language they prefer, it means very little but just sounds good.

The fact that I can’t understand the chanting means I am merely enjoying the sound. If I didn’t understand Kylie, I could still dance to the music. The rhythm of the music and the tonal qualities of her voice are received by my body because, as humans, we have created music which we actually enjoy listening to. We can wrap the feeling into all sorts of silly things but, basically, we invented it to be pleasurable because it is pleasurable to listen to.

Like prayer. It does nothing but makes some people feel better when they do it. For instance, let’s say you are feeling a bit giddy with happiness but wish to come back to earth. What better way to do it than sitting in a dark church and mumbling some nonsense over and over again. It won’t take long and eventually you will convince yourself that it’s doing something. Of course it is. But only to the person doing it.

Which brings me to the title of this entry. Today I went up to town with Lynden after an enjoyable night chatting about old times, old friends and what we’re up to now. I saw Lynden about five years ago so we had a bit of catching up. Lynden was one of the actors from nomad who I was always very close to. We shared many a truck cabin and many a stage. In those trucks and on those stages, the poor fellow often had to hear me rant and rave a lot too. Oh, the glory of friends! He reminds me of the good times we shared in theatre.

Anyway, Lynden was off to see his 900th matinee of his present visit so I decided I’d travel up to Waterloo with him then continue on to the flat and clear the junk mail and make sure the flat was still there.

In London, in the Underground, the buskers are licensed. This tends to mean the quality is quite high. They are generally guitarists, their delicate fingering echoing throughout the subways, bouncing merrily off the tiled walls. It’s pleasant though sometimes a bit loud. Today was the exception.

As I stepped from the escalator my ears were assaulted with the screeching of hundreds of insane cats, all trying to outdo each other. As I approached the next set of escalators, the noise grew in volume, bouncing around the hall. I noticed people with earplugs and wondered how much of their own music they could hear. It was very loud!

At the bottom of the second escalator was a man in a kilt, a hat in front of him with a few odd coins in it. Under his arm was his bagpipe bag, his cheeks puffed out and ruddy inflating it, his fingers diddling the holes in the chanter, making an infernal noise that, like chewing gum, was inescapably stuck to my ears. The sound of the approaching tube train was preferable to this din!

It made me wonder why people feel the need to insist that other people be the same as them, listen to the same thing, talk about the same things, believe the same rubbish, yadda, yadda, yadda. It made me sad that in a world brought so much closer by the Internet and communication technology in general, some people just want to use it to proselytize some sort of Borg conformity without looking at the wider world and realising the appeal of everything is its difference and not its sameness.

Oh dear! I have gone a bit preachy haven’t I! Sorry about that. I promise to return to normal tomorrow. In the meanwhilst (one of my favourite non-words and a dig at people who insist on using ‘whilst’) here’s how the park looked this afternoon when we dashed up for a walk when I arrived home.

Autumn in the park with Gaz

I managed to zoom in to the photograph of the blue door so that Mirinda could glimpse through the keyhole…just like she always does. In true CSI fashion…this is the best I could manage…

Through the blue door

Ah, the beautiful garden. All green and inviting. Though I’m pretty sure it’s not like that today!

What a miserable day! Wet, windy…plain miserable. I managed to avoid the rain when visiting the shops but that was it. I guess our lovely blue days are over. Actually the BBC reckons tomorrow will be a return to the lovely weather so, fingers crossed.

Talking to mum & dad this morning, mum asked to see my new baby. So here it is:

Gary's birthday present from Mirinda

I held it so you can see the size. The controls are at the bottom but the screen is touch-enabled so to turn the page it’s just a sweep of the finger. I just love it. Totally.

Dear God. It was awful. Working in the museum district at half term is bad enough but you can multiply that a thousand fold when it’s a glorious day. Ailsa warned me on Friday. Don’t eat at the cafe in the museum, she said. I just had to look at the masses of tiny heads to realise she had been right. I decided to forego my usual lunch and wander round a bit.

But even this was plagued by little people. They were everywhere. And so noisy with it!

I decided to eat and drink at Starbucks and ended up stuck behind a man with a wife and two boys who didn’t know what they wanted or how things work in Starbucks. (Which reminds me of something that happened yesterday. I was standing at the cash register, waiting for the barista to serve me and this little old lady confidently walked up to the end of the counter where the drinks are delivered. She stood there a while. Eventually the barista asked her what she’d ordered. The little old lady was quite indignant, claiming she hadn’t been asked for her order yet and she’d been waiting for ages – it was about 2 minutes. The barista then told her she had to line up like everyone else to be served and that the drinks were delivered at that end of the counter. The little old lady suddenly went all huffy and stormed out!)

Anyway, back to today. The family in front of me couldn’t make their minds up. When I walked in, I was second in the queue; by the time I was served, there was a line of people stretching out the door behind me. Most of them looked like people on their lunch break with limited time. They must hate half term more than me. At least I only have to go through it twice this week.

Walking back to the museum I thought the Natural History Museum looked quite nice in the sun so I snapped a shot of it. I was going to blip it but thought I’d post it here instead.

Natural History Museum looking pretty in the sun

I realise I’ve posted a shot of the NHM before but I think this is a better shot.

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Months ago I had an email from Lynden saying he was coming over in October. I wrote back to say he might like to come over on a Tuesday night, stay over then go into town on Wednesday. I heard nothing further. And then, yesterday, I had an email to say he was here and wondering how to get to me in Fulham. I’d forgotten it was this week. So he’s coming over tomorrow (Nicktor is in Switzerland) and I thought I’d share the delights of the 6 Bells with him.

Obviously I told him that we don’t actually live in Fulham…

My niece, Kelly married Ash yesterday in the most fantastic pink wedding dress. I really like pink. It’s such a joyful, playful colour. You can’t be sad when you look at pink. Well, I don’t think so, anyway.

Sadly I couldn’t be at the wedding given it was half a world away but I did think of them. And mum sent lots of photos. I love digital cameras and the Internet.

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My morning started normally enough and, after the usual shop and chat to Mirinda, I took off with the poodles for a walk. Day-z wanted to do the big loop so off we went.

The poodles are not very aware of other things. Humans, cars, bicycles, anything. To such an extent that when a little girl rode her bike passed me and the dogs were in front of her, Day-z turned around to walk back to me and nearly ran into the front wheel! Stupid poodle! The girl was all apologetic but it was clearly Day-z’s own fault. She just looked very surprised.

The park looked lovely, bathed in sunshine and skirted by blue skies. I took lots of photos, mainly for my blip but also for Mirinda. Here’s one:

Farnham Park in autumn

We worked our way around the perimeter of the park, ending up at the Queen’s Bottom. Naturally Carmen wanted to go back this way so we set off across it. And that’s where we met Lily. A woman coming towards us had two dogs. One of them was on a lead but the other, Lily came bounding over as soon as she saw the poodles. I had my cameras out so managed to get this action shot.

The girls meet Lily

It’s one of the first times that Day-z hasn’t snapped at another dog. I think she was a bit exhausted after our long walk. The woman called her back (which is why I knew her name) and the girls looked at me as if to ask if they’d done good. I patted their heads and said yes they had. I ignored Day-z’s FSI earlier in the walk.

Back at home I bathed them both and finished painting the new door for the cupboard.

The Queen's Bottom looking lush

You could have knocked me down with a feather. I leave home before Waitrose opens, specifically to go to Starbucks first (which opens half an hour earlier). This works out very well. I tend to chuckle at the hordes waiting outside the automatic doors of the supermarket in all weathers as I sit inside with my latte. Today, however, there was a sign. And not of life. There were no signs of life.

The sign said ‘Due to essential maintenance, we will not be opening until 11:30 today…blah, blah’, I didn’t bother reading the rest. I stood, mouth agape. Waitrose was still closed. I needed my coffee. There was only one thing for it. I was forced to go to Costa’s. Now I don’t mind Costa’s coffee per se but I really hate the service. They never seem to get it right and generally the staff are more interested in talking to friends or just getting through the day. They have little time for smiling or making the customer feel welcome. That’s generally been my experience, anyway. They also take a very long time to actually make your coffee.

I am man enough to admit when I’m wrong. Today I was wrong. The service was excellent, the staff all smiling and cheerful, the coffee good (apart from the fact that they think it’s reasonable to put a latte in a tall glass that always totters on the stupid saucer). So I sat in Costa’s, happy and reading until it was time to hit the shops.

My lovely, loving wife has bought me a wonderful birthday present this year. I know it’s a few weeks early but I wasn’t sure whether I could just buy it or have to order it. If I had bought it online the wait is two weeks! Anyway, after buying veal and veg for my dinner tonight, I went into Waterstone’s to buy it. Given that not all my readers are from the UK I should explain that Waterstone’s is a book shop and not a gravel washing service.

I was the first through the door and was warmly welcomed by the young chap who was taking out the newspaper stand. I strode up to the desk and smiled at the three women behind the counter.

“I would like to buy an eReader, please,” I announced full of jollification.

The young lad was sent for because he had the all the techie knowledge. I was interested in the new PRS350 but was concerned it was too small (it’s smaller than a paperback) as I rather like Mirinda’s PRS505. The young chap bought out both the PRS350 and the gorgeous PRS650. I was in love. With the 650. The 350 was too small and I didn’t like it. The 650 though is a beautiful thing. All black and shiny and very, very readable. Just holding it was a joy. I knew we belonged together. I said I’d have one.

Then began the long wait. They thought they had one in stock which meant he had to go out the back and hunt through mountains of boxes (apparently there’s so many, you could build a fort and play Cowboys and Indians back there). While I waited (alone with the very old lady who was also waiting for something to come out of the back room) I chatted with the one remaining staff member.

She asked me if I was buying for a friend. I said it was my birthday present that I was buying for myself. She then asked if I was going to wrap it up as well. I laughed, a little uncertainly and said that I wasn’t going to bother. She smiled wryly and then told me the story of a Christmas Past.

Her ex-boyfriend (she stressed the ‘ex’) had taken her Christmas shopping and told her to pick whatever she wanted, which she did. After he’d paid he handed it to her and said if she wanted it wrapped, she’d have to do it herself. Nice! She said he was an ‘ex’ for lots of other reasons but this was pretty high on the list.

Long story short…they didn’t have a PRS650 in stock and so yet another staff member rang up a close by branch and had one rushed over (someone was coming over for another reason and would bring it with her) which I went and picked up after lunch.

And now I have it. I love it. Thank you, Matey xx

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Also, as promised, here’s Molly singing The Wizard and I from Wicked. The sound is a bit iffy to start with but it gets better. I love her big finish. For the uninitiated, Elphaba (the character singing this song) is in a school uniform and is green. She is the young Wicked Witch of the West. That’s why Molly is dressed and made up the way she is. Also, according to Adele, she had very little input on this one as Molly did it nearly all herself.

And for Mirinda, a view of the blue door, which leads to the Secret Garden.

The Blue Door

A great people record amending day at work again. I’m sure I’ll get them all ship shape and Bristol-ly some distance time in the future. Nick has threatened to nominate me for volunteer of the year. Whatever that means.

Last night we had a lovely Nicktor Night. We watched two films. The first, Eden Lake was quite thrilling but one to avoid if you don’t like unnecessary violence. It stars Kelly Reilly who we’ve seen in just about every detective show. She’s been on Frost, Inspector Wexford and Midsomer Murders, usually as a slattern! She was Caroline Bingley in the 2005 Pride & Prejudice. The one with the inappropriate Lizzie Bennet. In Eden Lake she’s a school teacher. It has the sort of revenge tragedy that appeals to my Jacobean tastes. I’m also pretty sure a lot of it was filmed around Frensham Little Pond. Though having looked on the imdb, it was filmed in Buckinghamshire and NOT Frensham. But it sure looks like Frensham!

Then we saw Clive Owen (that Pete Rankin look-a-like) in Shoot ‘Em Up. Hilarious it is. Particularly the scene at the beginning of the movie when he delivers the baby while shooting baddies. Very comic book with lots of bullets and fast cars and the usual boy stuff that has one in fits of laughter and incredulity. It was very funny. We both enjoyed it immensely.

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A little while ago, we went to see Wicked, which I positively gushed over. If you missed the gushing, it’s here. Anyway, we went with Adele and her daughter Molly. Molly loves Wicked. She’s seen it a lot of times and knows the show backwards (and forwards). For her eisteddfod, she performed a couple of the songs from the show. Here she is doing Glinda’s song, Popular. I don’t know about you, but I think she’s fantastic! She is 9.

The fireworks started tonight and the poodles have gone into manic mode. They hate the noise. They won’t leave my side. Poor things.