Sunday, September 25, 2005

Nothing to report

Something cracked inside me the other day and I ended up purchasing an imported packet of McVities Ginger Nuts for $2.99. Meanwhile good progress has been made on “The Marmalade Shore” as I’ve decided to title my great unfinished novel. Also have been very busy at work with a forthcoming site redesign, hence have been effectively incommunicado over recent weeks. I would apologise, but frankly you haven’t done any better, what with your superstar lifestyles; save a dreadful mugshot from Mr Simon Bailey, that is: painful evidence of the folly of sporting endeavour if ever there was.

The footie season ended with a whimper rather than a bang and an unlikely, short-lived promotion to centre-forward. No goals but some nice open play and plenty of super strong Portland IPA for afters.

With a mild chill returning to the air of a morning, thought it about time to refill the hot-tub. Just in case the previous sentence wasn’t clear, here’s a salutatory lesson in how increased wealth only diverts a constant amount of internal irritation to a different locus. So, anyway, I open up the lid to find five slugs and several large colonies of mold had taken up summer residence in the aforementioned contraption. Two hours of bleaching and scrubbing later and the thing’s finally returned to near-pristine glory. Then I fill it with lots of lovely tap water, which happens to be green this season. Perhaps I missed something in the style section of The Oregonian over the last few weeks, but as far as I’m concerned, the only in-colour for water is “none whatsoever”. Still, it’s drinking water, so how bad can it be? So I dump in the usual smorgasbord of sanitary chemicals into the mix and switch the thing on… No dice, as they say. Dead as a doornail. Up shot: expect huge bill from hot tub engineer following forthcoming visit at time as yet unspecified.

This is but one of an assortment of big-ticket pointless expenditures which we’ve been forced to make recently, most of which have been expunged from my consciousness by the twin processes of repression and denial. And we still haven’t done anything about the squirrels, who, having returned from vacation in British Columbia, are making good use of the facilities once again.

Finally, I have decided that I was wrong about Timothy Dalton. It really wasn’t his fault that those films were so bad, it was rather the era he lived in. Whereas the 60s and 70s have a cool retro feel about them, most everything 1985-1990 appears as if it hailed from another planet, one with incredibly poor taste at that. After the cockiness of Connery and the loucheness of Moore, Dalton adds a welcome frailty and humanity to the role; like a more capable Alan Partridge, he reminds us of our own insecurities and yet compels us to believe that we too can save the world, even if our license has been revoked.

Sunday, September 11, 2005

Vacation Part 4

Not before time, the last of our holiday snaps from June... After a rainy stopover in Brookings, just inside the Oregon border (day spent watching videos, playing cards etc, torrtential rain outside), we made our way north along the coast towards the sand dunes.

Rachel contemplates the South face.

It's like a scene from Blakes 7, I thought. Personally, I'm rather fond of a sand dune.

Jane discovered an unconvetional technique for descending the slopes.

This time the sea lions bothered to show up at the sea lion caves - which was nice.

Rachel pets the carp at Yamhill winery. There's probably a fish fingers joke in here somewhere. Maybe I should have a caption competition? In any case, Jason was not a big fan of the wine itself, a fact he was quite happy to share with the the proprietor. Sadly I have no footage of this, so you'll just have to imagine it.

Proof that it is occasionaly sunny at the beach.

And further proof that it often isn't. Thought I'd round things off with a picture of me under a typically ominous sky...

Actual news to follow at some point. Thanks to everyone who wrote about my dad; he's absolutley fine, as if it never happened. Experts believe it's a one off which is not uncommon. He's currently in France with my mum.

Meanwhile, I do hope all of you in the Brighton area now purchase your sandwiches exclusively from Snax in the City on Western Road near Norfolk Square. It is undoubtedly the best sandwich shop on the entire continent and is coincidentally owned and run by Ms Lucy Tammar. Go on, treat yourself!