Sunday morning dawned and I awoke - thanks to the irritating people upstairs. Thankfully, they weren't having sex this time but they were jumping around and giggling - a lot. It's nice that they're so happy, but I do wish they'd try to keep it down a bit.
Anyway, 0730 and my legs feel a lot better than they did yesterday. I think the 5k on Saturday evening limbered them up a bit. A slice of toast with crunchy peanut butter and catching up with Strictly Come Dancing on IPlayer. I decide that Gary Rhodes looks like a raw prawn - all grey and hunched. Unpleasant.
At 9am I decide to set off on my 5.2 mile run. I look at the clock and think I'll have 5 miles done within the hour - no excuses. If I'm on pace for my desired 10K time, I should be back midway through 'That's Entertainment' by The Jam.
The first mile is always the toughest, but after that I always seem to settle into it. I run up to London Road via Rossie Place and then back along to the top of Easter Road. My route takes me down past Leith Links and along to Ocean Terminal and back. It's a beautiful morning for a run and I'm particularly enjoying it as I run alongside the water at the Scottish Executive building.
Running up Easter Road after having already clocked up 4.5 miles is a tough one, but I've got A Town Like Malice blasting in my ears and I feel pretty cool. I feel even cooler when I notice a wee old lady hanging out her front door looking for someone to take her rubbish bag and put it into the bin. I duly oblige without stopping, scooping it out of her hands, running over to the bin and depositing it inside. I turn around and give her a wave, my civic pride swelling in my chest - well, that and my pumped-up heart and lungs.
Unfortunately, That's Entertainment finishes as I turn into my street. I'm off the pace. Still, 5 miles in 53 minutes isn't too bad for my 6th week faking it as a runner. Go me!
I climb the stairs, kick off my trainers, run my face under the tap and drink half a litre of water. My top is soaking and I look a state, so I have a cold shower and put a fresh t-shirt on. Then I put 'Dark Side of the Moon' on and lie in the middle of the living room floor watching the clouds roll by.
I'm thinking about the first time I discovered this album, which isn't the same as the first time I heard it. I 'discovered' it in Orlando of all places. I was lying on a sun lounger by the pool in May of 2003. It was a scorcher with a perfectly clear blue sky. I just listened to the music and stared up at the sky. Sheer and utter bliss.
The time is gone, the song is over,
Thought I'd something more to say.
Showing posts with label Music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Music. Show all posts
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Friday, August 15, 2008
Run baby run
So I'm training for a half marathon. Partly because I got carried away with my bionic woman plans, and partly because someone laughed and said I couldn't do it. They were right. I couldn't.
I've never really run, always having thought I wasn't built for running. But then, chicken and egg, what if I'm not built for running because I don't run?
Having kitted myself out with some proper trainers (apparently I have a natural gait - still doesn't make me a natural runner though), some anti-blister socks, a running t-shirt and some cut-off joggers, I headed out to Arthur's Seat - for a run.
It didn't last long. I couldn't even manage to keep running for one song on the ipod. I swear, I had to stop and splutter my lungs into action again. A couple, whom I'd passed as I started out - and who knew how little I'd actually run, were approaching so I had to hide behind a bush so they wouldn't see me pathetically trying to compose myself. It didn't take long for the self-hatred to kick in, and once it did - it stuck around.
Why am I so crap? Why can't I do this? I'm the most pathetic person ever! Arrrgggh.
I went into work the next day and bemoaned my status to everyone who would listen. Fortunately for me, I sit next to Kirsty. Let me tell you a little something about Kirsty.
You may remember I mentioned I was personality type ENFP? Well, Kirsty is an ESTJ. It's about as opposite as you can get from mine. So where I hate plans, am always late and never want the detail, Kirsty actually says things like: "Well, if you read the Health & Safety policy on that." She's wonderfully gullible too, so I have a blast. Last week, I told her to remember a name for me (I always forget Brenda in the mailroom's surname). "Actually, do you think you could make me a Rolodex for my desk? That would be really handy." "Why don't you just get them all to give you business cards and it would almost make itself?" "But that would involve me having to do something. I'd like you to do it for me." "Well, can't you just use your contacts in Outlook?" "Oh, is that what that is? It's like an electronic Rolodex?" "Yes, Lisa. That's what that is." "Well, do you think you could populate it for me?" "No I bloody well will not. You think I'm your PA." "But you're so good at it Kirsty. You're a natural." "I can't wait until the office move. I hope I'm not sitting next to you."
Today we were on a photoshop training course and she chose to sit next to me (she can't resist it, you see. A moth to the flame). The course organiser asked if I had any experience of photoshop and I explained that I'd only used it to cut out people's faces and put them onto animals' bodies. Then I turned to Kirsty and said: "it was your face by the way." For the rest of the day, she kept asking me what animal I'd stuck her face on.
Anyway, back to the original post, Kirsty is a know-it-all so when I told her about my crap running experience, she told me about mapmyrun.com. You can construct a training plan and plot routes so you know exactly how far you're running. When I got home from work that night, I logged on and got started. I put together an entire training programme and mapped out routes in 0.5K increments all the way up to a half marathon. I started with a kilometre.
I realised I had gone at it all far too quickly that first day, and that, possibly, running to Don't Stop Me Now by Queen was not the best choice for a beginner. I put together a clever playlist on the 'pod that had some good slow and steady beats. It goes like this: Girlfriend in a Coma (The Smiths), Great DJ (Ting Tings), For the Girl (The Fratellis), All These Things That I've Done (The Killers), London Calling (The Clash), That's Entertainment (The Jam). Having now tested it in practice numerous times, I can tell you it's class.
I kept it slow and steady and completed the kilometre without stopping, or dying. I did it every night for a week. I was doing it in under 6 minutes by the end of the week, which isn't too bad considering. Then I moved onto my next route - 2.5K - every night for a week. Averaging 14 minutes. Last night was my first crack at 3K. I did it, but I fought a battle with my brain and my legs until the very end. Mind you, the most difficult part is still trying to put on or take off my sports bra.
I'm starting to really enjoy it (there's this one bit where I run over the bridge and my right foot strikes the road - I love that bit), and I do look forward to getting it done. Also, there's a lot of satisfaction at seeing yourself improve on something on a near daily basis. I feel kind of like I'm taking part in that Faking It programme. They've air-lifted some lard-ass off the sofa and are turning her into a half-marathoner. I'm still not sure I'll convince anyone, but the self-hatred is dissipating.
I've never really run, always having thought I wasn't built for running. But then, chicken and egg, what if I'm not built for running because I don't run?
Having kitted myself out with some proper trainers (apparently I have a natural gait - still doesn't make me a natural runner though), some anti-blister socks, a running t-shirt and some cut-off joggers, I headed out to Arthur's Seat - for a run.
It didn't last long. I couldn't even manage to keep running for one song on the ipod. I swear, I had to stop and splutter my lungs into action again. A couple, whom I'd passed as I started out - and who knew how little I'd actually run, were approaching so I had to hide behind a bush so they wouldn't see me pathetically trying to compose myself. It didn't take long for the self-hatred to kick in, and once it did - it stuck around.
Why am I so crap? Why can't I do this? I'm the most pathetic person ever! Arrrgggh.
I went into work the next day and bemoaned my status to everyone who would listen. Fortunately for me, I sit next to Kirsty. Let me tell you a little something about Kirsty.
You may remember I mentioned I was personality type ENFP? Well, Kirsty is an ESTJ. It's about as opposite as you can get from mine. So where I hate plans, am always late and never want the detail, Kirsty actually says things like: "Well, if you read the Health & Safety policy on that." She's wonderfully gullible too, so I have a blast. Last week, I told her to remember a name for me (I always forget Brenda in the mailroom's surname). "Actually, do you think you could make me a Rolodex for my desk? That would be really handy." "Why don't you just get them all to give you business cards and it would almost make itself?" "But that would involve me having to do something. I'd like you to do it for me." "Well, can't you just use your contacts in Outlook?" "Oh, is that what that is? It's like an electronic Rolodex?" "Yes, Lisa. That's what that is." "Well, do you think you could populate it for me?" "No I bloody well will not. You think I'm your PA." "But you're so good at it Kirsty. You're a natural." "I can't wait until the office move. I hope I'm not sitting next to you."
Today we were on a photoshop training course and she chose to sit next to me (she can't resist it, you see. A moth to the flame). The course organiser asked if I had any experience of photoshop and I explained that I'd only used it to cut out people's faces and put them onto animals' bodies. Then I turned to Kirsty and said: "it was your face by the way." For the rest of the day, she kept asking me what animal I'd stuck her face on.
Anyway, back to the original post, Kirsty is a know-it-all so when I told her about my crap running experience, she told me about mapmyrun.com. You can construct a training plan and plot routes so you know exactly how far you're running. When I got home from work that night, I logged on and got started. I put together an entire training programme and mapped out routes in 0.5K increments all the way up to a half marathon. I started with a kilometre.
I realised I had gone at it all far too quickly that first day, and that, possibly, running to Don't Stop Me Now by Queen was not the best choice for a beginner. I put together a clever playlist on the 'pod that had some good slow and steady beats. It goes like this: Girlfriend in a Coma (The Smiths), Great DJ (Ting Tings), For the Girl (The Fratellis), All These Things That I've Done (The Killers), London Calling (The Clash), That's Entertainment (The Jam). Having now tested it in practice numerous times, I can tell you it's class.
I kept it slow and steady and completed the kilometre without stopping, or dying. I did it every night for a week. I was doing it in under 6 minutes by the end of the week, which isn't too bad considering. Then I moved onto my next route - 2.5K - every night for a week. Averaging 14 minutes. Last night was my first crack at 3K. I did it, but I fought a battle with my brain and my legs until the very end. Mind you, the most difficult part is still trying to put on or take off my sports bra.
I'm starting to really enjoy it (there's this one bit where I run over the bridge and my right foot strikes the road - I love that bit), and I do look forward to getting it done. Also, there's a lot of satisfaction at seeing yourself improve on something on a near daily basis. I feel kind of like I'm taking part in that Faking It programme. They've air-lifted some lard-ass off the sofa and are turning her into a half-marathoner. I'm still not sure I'll convince anyone, but the self-hatred is dissipating.
Monday, November 20, 2006
I don't feel like dancing (yeah right!)
I was supposed to have Friday off work, but deadlines (and a grumpy boss) meant that I had to drag myself in. To make things worse, I've got myself involved in some sort of crazy crimping charity challenge. A few of my colleagues have pledged very sizeable amounts of cash to charity if I can convince 10 senior managers to sport crimps before Christmas. Badges saying "Nice bit of crimpette" are already in production. My usually robust confidence has deserted me, but I don't want to walk away from a challenge. What's a girl to do?
Saturday was Scissor Sisters day and we headed to Newcastle. I met Kerry and her colleagues Sam and Alysoun at 10am, and headed for the bus station. When the time came to board, we were met by two ex-bouncers who seemed to be pissed off that they were now driving the National Express up and down to Hull everyday. "Yougothotfidinair?" the fat one asked. To be honest, I wasn't sure if he was asking because I wasn't allowed hot food on the bus or because he wanted to eat it, but I was slightly offended. If the image I'm projecting is that of a girl carrying pies and pasties around in her bag then I've gone seriously wrong somewhere. "No", I managed, setting my job quite firmly. I then attempted to board the bus. "Yer bag goes in the hold hen." Clearly my (genuine) LV weekend bag was doing me no favours and I'd been identified as a chav. Kerry nudged me and started feigning shock "Don't you know who I am? This is an LV sweetie."
I decided to challenge them and said I'd really prefer to take my bag on board. "Naw hen. Bag goes in the hold. Ye ca be drinking alcohol on the coach." Fuck - now I look like a bucky swigging, pie guzzling schemie. Don't Louis Vuitton realise the hassle their luggage causes respectable passengers on the National Express? No, right enough, it is something of a contradiction in terms. The bus then started to fill up with genuine schemies and the drivers revelled in the opportunity to be bouncers once again. One guy was asked to get back off the bus, whereupon the drivers told him that he had to "get onto this bus like a human being and not an eejit". Kerry started laughing and remarked that it was like being on a school trip. "Do you know what would be great," I said. "What?" "If instead of a book and this week's Economist in my bag, I had a little stove and a wok. Why no Mr Bus Driver, I don't have any hot food - (aside) not yet anyway, mwahahaha!"
We got into Newcastle at 1pm and got settled into the Hotel - which meant that Kerry and I had a snooze and ignored Sam knocking at our room door.My new Decleor eye mask went down a treat. Whereas Sinead had previously told me to refrain from wearing eye masks when rooming with her ("I can't sleep when I know you're wearing that weirdo eye mask, it's freaking me out."), Kerry laughed and said: "Check you, Joan Collins!"
After consuming a bottle of wine with dinner and ordering about 10 taxis to take us to the arena, we were there. The French Maid sketch from Tittybangbang ('Don't look at me, I'm shy!) had caught on as a source of great hilarity in the group. We repeated ad nauseum in our merry state. Upon seeing large numbers of gay and lesbian couples in the foyer at the gig, I altered this to: "Don't look at me, I'm bisexual, lesbian or gay." Kerry was mortified. "Shhhhh!"
The show was great with an excellent finale of 'I Don't Feel Like Dancing' and 'Filthy Gorgeous.' The audience interaction was really good with lots of laughs - 'Laura' was dedicated to Laura Bush, and Ana Matronic wished every woman in the audience 45 minutes of uninterrupted cunnilingus. She wasn't clear about whether this was during the gig or afterwards, but I was touched by what I'm sure was a very genuine thought. And Jake was far too fanciable for very gay man. I'm beginning to worry about myself.
From the arena we took the slowest taxi ride ever to Buffalo Joe's. I wasn't expecting a great deal, but ended up having the best night out I've had in ages. The place was heaving, but there was plenty of bar staff. It was even better when four sexy half naked guys got up onto the bar and started dancing. I was shockingly thirsty and ordered the first soft drink I spied, which turned out to be 'Shark' energy drink. What the hey, it went down quickly and was very refreshing.
Upstairs there was enough room to dance. Dangerous given my penchant for shaking it all about, being merry from the wine and wired from the Shark. I went for it, unashamedly. Some people who were also dancing stopped to give me more space, then started cheering me on. Kerry and the others were bent double with laughter. At one point, a bald guy approached me. I stopped him short with one hand and said: "Don't look at me, I'm shy."
A little while later, a very nice Dubliner called Graham came over to tell me that I was "very, very lovely." He gave it a good go keeping up with me and didn't seem to be put off by my dancing like an absolute arse. If anything, he seemed to really like it. At about 01:30 we decided to head back to the hotel. Graham pleaded with me to stay and he made some excellent points in his argument. Alas, I decided it was not the night to claim Ana's kind wish for me.
Back in the room, Kerry and I chatted over our brilliant night. "When we come back next year, I bet they'll all be dancing like that," she laughed. I'd love to find out. Another trip is definitely on the cards for next year.
Saturday was Scissor Sisters day and we headed to Newcastle. I met Kerry and her colleagues Sam and Alysoun at 10am, and headed for the bus station. When the time came to board, we were met by two ex-bouncers who seemed to be pissed off that they were now driving the National Express up and down to Hull everyday. "Yougothotfidinair?" the fat one asked. To be honest, I wasn't sure if he was asking because I wasn't allowed hot food on the bus or because he wanted to eat it, but I was slightly offended. If the image I'm projecting is that of a girl carrying pies and pasties around in her bag then I've gone seriously wrong somewhere. "No", I managed, setting my job quite firmly. I then attempted to board the bus. "Yer bag goes in the hold hen." Clearly my (genuine) LV weekend bag was doing me no favours and I'd been identified as a chav. Kerry nudged me and started feigning shock "Don't you know who I am? This is an LV sweetie."
I decided to challenge them and said I'd really prefer to take my bag on board. "Naw hen. Bag goes in the hold. Ye ca be drinking alcohol on the coach." Fuck - now I look like a bucky swigging, pie guzzling schemie. Don't Louis Vuitton realise the hassle their luggage causes respectable passengers on the National Express? No, right enough, it is something of a contradiction in terms. The bus then started to fill up with genuine schemies and the drivers revelled in the opportunity to be bouncers once again. One guy was asked to get back off the bus, whereupon the drivers told him that he had to "get onto this bus like a human being and not an eejit". Kerry started laughing and remarked that it was like being on a school trip. "Do you know what would be great," I said. "What?" "If instead of a book and this week's Economist in my bag, I had a little stove and a wok. Why no Mr Bus Driver, I don't have any hot food - (aside) not yet anyway, mwahahaha!"
We got into Newcastle at 1pm and got settled into the Hotel - which meant that Kerry and I had a snooze and ignored Sam knocking at our room door.My new Decleor eye mask went down a treat. Whereas Sinead had previously told me to refrain from wearing eye masks when rooming with her ("I can't sleep when I know you're wearing that weirdo eye mask, it's freaking me out."), Kerry laughed and said: "Check you, Joan Collins!"
After consuming a bottle of wine with dinner and ordering about 10 taxis to take us to the arena, we were there. The French Maid sketch from Tittybangbang ('Don't look at me, I'm shy!) had caught on as a source of great hilarity in the group. We repeated ad nauseum in our merry state. Upon seeing large numbers of gay and lesbian couples in the foyer at the gig, I altered this to: "Don't look at me, I'm bisexual, lesbian or gay." Kerry was mortified. "Shhhhh!"
The show was great with an excellent finale of 'I Don't Feel Like Dancing' and 'Filthy Gorgeous.' The audience interaction was really good with lots of laughs - 'Laura' was dedicated to Laura Bush, and Ana Matronic wished every woman in the audience 45 minutes of uninterrupted cunnilingus. She wasn't clear about whether this was during the gig or afterwards, but I was touched by what I'm sure was a very genuine thought. And Jake was far too fanciable for very gay man. I'm beginning to worry about myself.
From the arena we took the slowest taxi ride ever to Buffalo Joe's. I wasn't expecting a great deal, but ended up having the best night out I've had in ages. The place was heaving, but there was plenty of bar staff. It was even better when four sexy half naked guys got up onto the bar and started dancing. I was shockingly thirsty and ordered the first soft drink I spied, which turned out to be 'Shark' energy drink. What the hey, it went down quickly and was very refreshing.
Upstairs there was enough room to dance. Dangerous given my penchant for shaking it all about, being merry from the wine and wired from the Shark. I went for it, unashamedly. Some people who were also dancing stopped to give me more space, then started cheering me on. Kerry and the others were bent double with laughter. At one point, a bald guy approached me. I stopped him short with one hand and said: "Don't look at me, I'm shy."
A little while later, a very nice Dubliner called Graham came over to tell me that I was "very, very lovely." He gave it a good go keeping up with me and didn't seem to be put off by my dancing like an absolute arse. If anything, he seemed to really like it. At about 01:30 we decided to head back to the hotel. Graham pleaded with me to stay and he made some excellent points in his argument. Alas, I decided it was not the night to claim Ana's kind wish for me.
Back in the room, Kerry and I chatted over our brilliant night. "When we come back next year, I bet they'll all be dancing like that," she laughed. I'd love to find out. Another trip is definitely on the cards for next year.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Not so Keane on Jesus
Okay, so no Keane. They have decided to cancel their concert in Princes Street Gardens on account of exhaustion. Big bunch of girls. I prefer Snow Patrol anyway - so there!
This week has been busy but not necessarily with anything particularly exciting. For that reason I should probably stop this entry right here. But I won't because, well, it's never stopped me in the past and I'm here now - writing stuff.
Work has been good. Very busy, which keeps my mind off fun things and my eyes off the clock. I've designed a suite of posters to promote the marketing department internally. I wanted to get across the idea that the department now had the staff and the time to do some proper marketing. That we are 'open for business again', so to speak.
The first poster I came up with said 'Back again' with a nice smiley picture of Jesus. I loved it and think Jesus is an underused marketing tool in the financial services sector. However, I opted for self-censorship and relegated 'Jesu' to my drawer. He has now been replaced by Dirty Den in one poster and Bobby from Dallas in another. Quality.
I was asked to come up with some creative ideas for a short movie file promoting pensions. I'm actually quite excited about this, which is now depressing me. How bad must it be when I'm excited by pensions? I think I'll go slash my wrists with my Coldplay CD. (Repeat to self: my job pays the bills!)
Leanne and I had dinner at David Bann on Tuesday night. It was so good we didn't bother going to see a Festival show as planned. Instead, we ordered the Amaretto Marscarpone cheesecake and took our time over it. It was an excellent night made more so by the realisation that food, wine and chat with a good friend is preferable to a professional comedian.
On Thursday evening, I endured my first hockey training session. Two hours, three minor injuries and a static wheeze later I hobbled home. Truly knackered, I immediately drew a hot bubble bath and indulged my desperate muscles. Hopefully, the addition of fitness training on Tuesdays will mean the sessions get easier. I live in hope.
I treated myself to an afternoon showing of 'Easy Living' at the Filmhouse during my lunch hour on Friday. I expected it to be quite empty, but Cinema 1 was rammed. It was top-quality screwball and I loved every minute of it. When the boy and the girl get together at the end, his long disapproving father gives him a job. He tells the girl she has a job too - "cooking my breakfast." What a proposal! I returned to work in a delightful mood for the rest of the day.
The office summer BBQ on Friday night was really quite pish. It was pouring with rain, there was a poor turnout, I was about the only one dancing and I left my umbrella in the club at the end of the night.
Saturday was much better. Another great film at the Filmhouse (The Laughing Policeman) and dinner with Sinead afterwards. I was ravenous and longing for a steak, so we eventually ended up at the Smokestack in Leith. My medium-rare fillet steak and chips went down an absolute treat. We chatted deeply for hours until we realised that Sinead might miss the last train. A taxi to Waverely meant she was just in time for her rowdy journey home.
Today I depressed myself by reading all about the Horn of Africa. (How much for that Russian AK-47? Why sir, that'll set you back three cows. And the US M-16? Oh, that'll be five cows. Well I'll take that then since there's no vegetaion to feed my cows and an M-16 will do a better job of shifting the 6,000 desperate souls who are sleeping on my football field-sized plot of land. Maybe it'll convince them to head for the port and try to secure passage to the Yemen in a death-trap steel container on a rickety ship that's likely to sink with the loss of all life before the appearance of the Yemeni officials forces the smugglers to toss their human cargo into the carnivore-infested waters or maybe they'll join me in a war with the Ethiopians across the desert. That Bin Laden guy sure speaks a lot of sense.) It's a mire of such complete desolate hopelessness that I don't think there's even the hint of a solution. Governments aren't talking about it - not so much because they don't care (which they don't), but more so because their shocking impotence would be laid bare for all to see. The Middle East is child's play compared to this.
But that's too depressing a note on which to end this entry. Sinead said to me last night: "When something doesn't go to plan, people have a tendency to set themselves in a pessimistic frame of mind. They think things can only ever be worse, but a lot of the time things turn out better than they could have imagined." From the long list of personal success stories I've been acquiring, I know that's true. She was talking in the context of a personal issue rather than a global one, but it would be pretty damn skippy if the world got a break too.
This week has been busy but not necessarily with anything particularly exciting. For that reason I should probably stop this entry right here. But I won't because, well, it's never stopped me in the past and I'm here now - writing stuff.
Work has been good. Very busy, which keeps my mind off fun things and my eyes off the clock. I've designed a suite of posters to promote the marketing department internally. I wanted to get across the idea that the department now had the staff and the time to do some proper marketing. That we are 'open for business again', so to speak.
The first poster I came up with said 'Back again' with a nice smiley picture of Jesus. I loved it and think Jesus is an underused marketing tool in the financial services sector. However, I opted for self-censorship and relegated 'Jesu' to my drawer. He has now been replaced by Dirty Den in one poster and Bobby from Dallas in another. Quality.
I was asked to come up with some creative ideas for a short movie file promoting pensions. I'm actually quite excited about this, which is now depressing me. How bad must it be when I'm excited by pensions? I think I'll go slash my wrists with my Coldplay CD. (Repeat to self: my job pays the bills!)
Leanne and I had dinner at David Bann on Tuesday night. It was so good we didn't bother going to see a Festival show as planned. Instead, we ordered the Amaretto Marscarpone cheesecake and took our time over it. It was an excellent night made more so by the realisation that food, wine and chat with a good friend is preferable to a professional comedian.
On Thursday evening, I endured my first hockey training session. Two hours, three minor injuries and a static wheeze later I hobbled home. Truly knackered, I immediately drew a hot bubble bath and indulged my desperate muscles. Hopefully, the addition of fitness training on Tuesdays will mean the sessions get easier. I live in hope.
I treated myself to an afternoon showing of 'Easy Living' at the Filmhouse during my lunch hour on Friday. I expected it to be quite empty, but Cinema 1 was rammed. It was top-quality screwball and I loved every minute of it. When the boy and the girl get together at the end, his long disapproving father gives him a job. He tells the girl she has a job too - "cooking my breakfast." What a proposal! I returned to work in a delightful mood for the rest of the day.
The office summer BBQ on Friday night was really quite pish. It was pouring with rain, there was a poor turnout, I was about the only one dancing and I left my umbrella in the club at the end of the night.
Saturday was much better. Another great film at the Filmhouse (The Laughing Policeman) and dinner with Sinead afterwards. I was ravenous and longing for a steak, so we eventually ended up at the Smokestack in Leith. My medium-rare fillet steak and chips went down an absolute treat. We chatted deeply for hours until we realised that Sinead might miss the last train. A taxi to Waverely meant she was just in time for her rowdy journey home.
Today I depressed myself by reading all about the Horn of Africa. (How much for that Russian AK-47? Why sir, that'll set you back three cows. And the US M-16? Oh, that'll be five cows. Well I'll take that then since there's no vegetaion to feed my cows and an M-16 will do a better job of shifting the 6,000 desperate souls who are sleeping on my football field-sized plot of land. Maybe it'll convince them to head for the port and try to secure passage to the Yemen in a death-trap steel container on a rickety ship that's likely to sink with the loss of all life before the appearance of the Yemeni officials forces the smugglers to toss their human cargo into the carnivore-infested waters or maybe they'll join me in a war with the Ethiopians across the desert. That Bin Laden guy sure speaks a lot of sense.) It's a mire of such complete desolate hopelessness that I don't think there's even the hint of a solution. Governments aren't talking about it - not so much because they don't care (which they don't), but more so because their shocking impotence would be laid bare for all to see. The Middle East is child's play compared to this.
But that's too depressing a note on which to end this entry. Sinead said to me last night: "When something doesn't go to plan, people have a tendency to set themselves in a pessimistic frame of mind. They think things can only ever be worse, but a lot of the time things turn out better than they could have imagined." From the long list of personal success stories I've been acquiring, I know that's true. She was talking in the context of a personal issue rather than a global one, but it would be pretty damn skippy if the world got a break too.
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