His cow

I never used to get on with LARPers[1]. When I was at University, I just wanted to grab most of them by the neck and shake them. 'You're the reason kids into fantasy and science fiction get beat up at school. You're the reason people look at me like I'm mentally deficient when I tell them what genre I write in.' When I heard about the group of them getting attacked and beaten up by the University's Rock Soc, I must admit I found it hard to supress a smile.

I still don't get it[2], but I'm more tolerant in my old age, and I can understand that there are nice and good people who partake in these pursuits. They're just regular people who occassionally look a little funny.

The reason I mention this is that I met my first LARPer in a few years this weekend when the UKOWW got together again in Oxford. Dorian's a name I know well from my time at the workshop, but this was the first time I'd actually met her. Aside from a tendancy to foam at the mouth when someone incorrectly describes the best way to fight with a broadsword, she seems as normal and interesting and funny as the other UKOWWers I've met. I guess it's handy to be reminded of that every now and again.

Also present this weekend were David & Vicky (who were both present at the last meet [entry]) and two other new people, Pam (our American visitor) and Lucy[3]. This time there was even less writing talk than before, due mainly to the fact that none of us 'writers' seemed to have written recently. Dave and Vicky and myself were all excuses, and while Lucy had a bit of writing ready, because it hadn't been submitted before the meet it didn't get critted. Still, an afternoon was spent swapping stories and so on, and everyone seemed to have a good time.

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[1] Live Action Role Players.
[2] I've never got the whole dressing-up thing, be it LARPers, or furries, or those people who go to conventions dressed as Wesley Crusher, or those people who dressed as Yoda each of the seventeen times they saw Attack of the Clones on opening weekend. To me fancy dress is for New Year's Eve, not going to the cinema.
[3] And I'm no longer the sole baby of the group, as Lucy's even younger than I am :)

His random Friday nights

Feel old when walking past Studio and knowing that I've got ten years on the girls standing outside.

Feel old when out on the piss with housemate's girlfriend's[1] 19-year-old brother.

Don't feel so old when out with housemate. Once again he left early, but at least he lasted later than 10 o'clock this time. I think he had a better reason for leaving this week as well ;)

We tried going to the Walkabout last night -- I've not Fridayed there in ages -- but there was a stupidly large queue, and a one-in-one-out policy, so we ended up in Edwards. Not bad, but it was really quiet.

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[1] Of course, I'm assuming this. I've not actually heard the word said yet.

His nunchucks

Yeah, I don't quite believe it, either. Only been doing the tae kwon do for three weeks and I've already two lessons with the nunchucks.

Whilst this is undeniably cool, I am also undeniably uncoordinated with my left hand.

I'm now hoping that if I hit myself in the back of the head with them enough times I will eventually get good.

His motor, part 3

So I've got the silver machine back from the garage [entry]. Turns out that the starter motor was fucked, so I've just spent almost half what I paid for the car getting it sorted.

Not good. March might be a poor month now.

As my brother helpfully pointed out:

You and cars, ya cursed.

Yeah, I'm not going to mention that he manages to kill a mobile phone and a CD player about once every three months. When he walks into Dixons all of the electrical goods cross themselves and fork the sign of the evil eye at him.

I can see that happening when I walk past car showrooms the way things are going.

Later . . .

His cold ears

Hundreds of people marched out into the bitter cold of a February morning to watch the demolition of the Tandem Generator Building. Jokes are made about the vibrations knocking neighbouring buildings down, about doing anything to get a break from the office, about the our hopes that the guy from our office standing on the roof of a nearby building is getting nice and cold. I've never seen this many people on site gathered in one place; I didn't realise there were this many people on site.

At about eleven o'clock the sound of the detonation is heard, and everyone looks to the building. There is a cloud of dust, and then . . . nothing. The building is still standing.

There is silence for a couple of seconds, and then the crowd start heckling the building and the demolition team. The guy next to me shouts, 'What a balls-up'. Someone else makes a loud comment about them having 'missed'. The building refuses to fall down.

We're freezing our asses off, but we wait a five minutes, just in case a strong gust should do what the people in yellow jackets couldn't. It doesn't, and the building stands for another three hours.

His parents

Meet the Fockers

Now, I haven't seen Meet the Parents, but everyone who I have spoken to said it was great. I'm guessing that Fockers doesn't quite live up to it's forerunner.

It's not a bad film, it just isn't amazing. De Niro looks, for the most part, bored, and I've yet to see anything that has convinced me of his skill as a comic actor. Stiller runs on autopilot. Hoffman and Streisand are the best characters in this film, but even then they don't feel like they're quite living up to their full potential. Pam and her mother. Well I'm sure they were in the film somewhere, but I can't remember them actually doing anything. The 'Fockers' gag gets a bit tiresome before the end -- although 'I'm going to be Pamela Martha Focker . . . yes I'm aware how it sounds' provokes a genuine laugh.

I'm tired of dogs that hump everything in sight being used as a comedic device. It's just been done too many times before to be funny.

Owen Wilson. Why?

That's not to say there aren't good moments though: the sherrif who makes an appearance towards the end had me laughing harder than anyone else; Greg admitting that he fancied his mother-in-law, and the inappropriate dinner table conversations were also well done.

His motor, part 2

Just had the mechanic round to look at the silver machine. Starter-motor appears to have gone, which is a big annoyance because I've only owned the car for two weeks.

I'm seriously beginning to think that I just wasn't meant to drive, or own, a car. Somebody up there just isn't happy with the idea.

His book

So I'm reading Steven Erikson's Memories of Ice on the coach. I'm about a third of the way through the book when this happens.

Kevin is not amused.

His capital

Things I learned in London this weekend:

1). It's inadvisable to try travelling anywhere near China Town on Chinese New Year -- Looked like quite a cool party from the top deck of the people-locked Routemaster we were trapped on.

2). Primrose Hill is about two yards high, but it offers quite a good view of the London sky-line.

3). Tequila is really expensive in Covent Garden.

4). You can't get into bars wearing tracksuit bottoms[1].

5). Camden is full of people too bohemian to be into sports.

6). You can buy a fluffy pink toilet seat cover with Mr T's face on it in Camden's lock market -- I have no idea why. I made the joke about 'I pity the fool who uses these facilities' that I imagine the stall holders have heard a hundred times before.

7). Bouncers are trained to respond to personal insults by saying 'No, you are' -- rumours abound that older bouncers also have training in sticking their tongues out, and running to tell teacher.

8). The Home Office is one of the god-ugliest buildings in the capital.

9). I have no rythym.

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[1] Actually, I already knew that one. Shame that Coops brother didn't, we might have been able to hit more than two bars on the Friday night.

His favourite day of the year, part 2

Actually, Valentine's day wasn't all that bad [entry]. I spent the night at the academy, did two classes, so at least I actually did something this year. Okay, so it wasn't with a woman[1], but I usually end up sitting at home alone and getting drunk.

It's an improvement, of sorts.

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[1] Well, there was a woman there, but it's hard to think about making romantic gestures when she's got you in an arm-lock.

His questions

Are we entering an era of playing like Scotland used to? Are we destined to become the tournament's new whipping boys? Should we just take the wooden spoon now and avoid the embarrassment of losing to Italy and Scotland? Wales was upsetting, but this was so much worse, because in the first half we were the better team. France weren't in it at all.

Is there anywhere to watch Rugby in Camden? Seriously, because we walked for miles before finding somewhere that was actually showing the match. Wish we hadn't bothered now, as it was a vast disappointment. We should have won that game comfortably, instead we just bent over and let the French kick their way back into the match.

Bad end to a really good weekend.

His favourite day of the year

Valentine's day 26. No card. No girl.

Bah. Roll on the 15th.

His failure

It has already been established that I cannot bowl [entry]. Last night I discovered that I am so bad at bowling that my aura of crapness actually disrupts the games of anyone who tries to bowl near me.

Following December's debacle I vowed never to go again, but last night was my housemate's birthday, so I went along to help him celebrate. He managed to annihilate me[1] (as did everyone else in the group). I'm comfortable with my ineptitude, but why did I have to humiliate myself so in front of two of the prettiest girls I know?

It'll be a while before I live that one down :(

Other than that it was a good night. I got reasonably drunk, and enjoyed everything not bowling related. I think next time I'll stick to what I do best; skip the bowling and meet them for drinks after.

His sisters

Iron Council by China Miéville

I've read Miéville's previous three novels with awe. Perdido Street Station was amazing, The Scar even better. King Rat, when I finally found somewhere that sold it, wasn't quite as good, but for a debut novel was pretty impressive. When I got hold of my signed edition of IC, I was fairly excited. When I started hearing negative reviews of the book -- stories of buck-tossing from people at the 'shop -- I ignored or dismissed them. His work's been getting better and better, and even if it isn't better than The Scar, it'll still be great.

Firstly, I realise that last statement displays an incredible amount of naivety, for which I should probably be beaten about the head with my copy of IC. I should stop thinking like this as soon as possible. Great authors can produce doorstops. Hell, look at Stephen King, who remains one of my favourite authors yet wrote the book about the shit-weasels and From a Buick 8.

Secondly, in this instance, that last statement about Miéville is almost true. Sure, IC has its flaws, but it is a good book. The story is unbalanced, Ori's story ends disappointingly, and whilst the middle section is brilliantly written, Miéville's decision to include such a long flash back may disappoint some people. I've heard some complaints about the number of battles in this piece, as the peoples of the Iron Council and the Collective go up against the militia time and time again, but when they're written so well, I find it hard to see as a bad thing. Some of the new creatures and magics we're introduced to in this book -- the stiltspear, the golems, the alien attacks of the Teshi -- I found intriguing and marvelled at the author's imagination and the way he's tied it all together.

All in all, a really good book, just not as good as PSS or The Scar.

His nuts

Welsh fan, and future Darwin award contender, celebrates victory of his rugby team in style.

His grandaughter

The Missing

Sat and watched this western the other night with my parents. The mark of a good film is that my dad will stay awake for its duration. Usually he falls asleep halfway through any film he and my stepmother rent. It has to be really good to keep his attention and stop him from dropping off. Certainly this is the first film I've seen him actually complete since The Fellowship of the Ring.

(Heh, I just realise that this all makes him sound rather old and busted -- can't let a good film stand in the way of nap-time -- when he's still a few years off all that yet. Sorry Dad :)

As far as the film goes, I rather enjoyed it. It's a western in the true sense of the word, rather than a romance or a emotional drama that happens to be set in that time and place. But, it's a good old actioner (plot in a nutshell: woman seeks help from estranged father to rescue her daughter from an evil Apache witch), coupled with just the right amount of human emotion and character development to keep it away from being a brainless 'rescue of the innocents' flick[1]. It starts a little slowly -- feeling very much like it might become one of those emotional dramas -- but once the daughter is kidnapped the story speeds up and doesn't really let up until the end.

Definitely worth a look, whether you're a fan of the westerns or not.

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[1] The development of the innocent in question -- Lily -- is handled quite nicely, and come the end its nice to see that she's not just some simpering little white girl waiting for mummy to come and save her from the bad injuns.

His motor

Got a new car :)

Rover 111i, 10 years old, silver (seeing as that's the most important fact as far as anyone I've told is concerned).

Will try not to kill this one.

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Went back west to pick it up, as it was my parents who had spotted it. Nice quiet weekend, didn't really do anything more than visit grandparents and sit around the manor. Took my parents out for lunch today by way of thanks for all the work they've done in getting this sorted for me (Dad actually washed and waxed it for me on Friday, that's the last time the rover will be getting that sort of treatment, reckon).

Later . . .

His Corona

I'm not so old, I'm telling myself, that I can't stay out drinking until 2am and then get up for work at 6.

I figure if I keep telling myself this, it'll keep being true. The moment I admit to myself that I can't do it, is the moment when I can't do it[1].

So far, though, so good.

Feeling fine this morning -- although I could sleep for England right now -- which is a surprise. Went out for a work colleague's[2] leaving do with New Girl, White Van John, and a few others, and what started as a couple of drinks and an early night turned into a lot of drinks and a trip to the Walkabout. The Walkabout wasn't bad; they had a god-awful band on when we got there, but as soon as they cleared off we were able to get up and dance to the usual cheese.

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[1] My resolution to go easy on the beer this year [entry] isn't going so well. I'm managing to drink less when I'm in a bad mood, so I haven't become the Fury since last year, but if I'm in a good mood then it's business as usual.
[2] This will be the work colleague that was in my tutor group at Uni, whom I didn't recognise when she came to work for Halcrow. I'm still feeling guilty about that.

His confession

It's alarming when your boss, at 8.15am says, 'It's never too early for vodka'.

Why he chose to tell me, out of all the office, is anyone's guess.