Okay, the update so far:
Saturday lunchtime: left Hyde Park and immediately took the wrong lane due to heavy traffic, thereby adding a good 30 minutes to our journey out of London as we circumnavigated the streets of Kensington. Convoyed with Rachel in her Suzuki Jeep (soft top, noisy, duct-taped and a top speed of 60 to avoid head gasket problems) and with Red Heroes Dean and John in their SJ (crawling a bit, not running at its best). The micra can reach 80 mph (85 downhill) and is the daddy. We see a bunch of other rally micras bombing along at the same speed.
Saturday evening: arrive half an hour early for the Channel Tunnel and get an earlier train. It's like driving onto the lorry in Knightrider. We meet Monkey and X on their wee bikes when we reach the petrol station on the other side.
Saturday sometime during the night: we push the Red Heroes through a toll booth. A few kilometres later they break down on a motorway bridge. We get to use our hazard traingle and viz vest for the first time. It's very dark and rather remote, so instant exhaust surgery is carried out, the exhaust is partly removed and strapped to the roof, and we drive on. Their speedo is bust and we relay information to them via walkie takies.
"Feckin' Irish Rovers, can we have a speed check please?"
"That's a forty, Red Heroes, four zero. That's 3 mph faster than a monkey bike."
We plough on. At the next toll booth, Maso and Aaron speed ahead in the Micra while the remainder of us bring up the rear in the SJs. About 50 yards through the toll booth the Red Heroes' SJ loses all acceleration. We pull into a car park (with, fortunately, a toilet block). I spend the night holding a maglite as Dean strips the engine. It's raining and dark and the toilet block is pumping out hideous French pop music. There is no garage and no shop for miles, and Maso and Aaron have disappeared, and I have borrowed Maso's coat and his phone is in the pocket.
As we watch the sun rise over the Champagne region Dean spots the problem - the timing's out and the key in the bottom crank shaft pulley is warped. I have gone from understanding nothing about cars to learning a good bit (but not how to fix as yet) about exhausts, carbourettors and cam belts. I'm finding it fascinating and want to know more. However, we haven't slept since we left London, though we've discovered some amazing (legal, just) stay awake tablets. Still no sign of Maso and Aaron.
Maso and Aaron appear after dawn. They've been driving in circles through farms and crossroads, trying to double back (the French don't believe in in roundabouts after slip roads and a return journey on the same stretch of motorway is a near impossibility). A 10 mile return trip became 190 miles long. They are both banned from future map reading, though they insist it wasn't their fault.
As the sun rose higher we found an A-Team style solution - fashion the requisite pin out of cannibalised bits and pieces. Bewteen us we had a selection of tools, some hacksaw blades and some old bits of metal. We set up Base Camp 1.0 and Dean spends hours carefully filing down an old screwdriver to the right shape. After many careful hours of filing and fitting the engine was started and... power returned! We set off again feeling hugely optimistic and wired up on yet more antisleepy tablets. So far, so good...
...until we reach Verdun. No SJ behind us. We pull off the motorway to yet another toolbooth. A frantic phonecall comes through - they're stuck at the last junction. Rachael is dispatched to get them and I find some people at the toolbooth to talk to in mangled A-Level French. After much explanation we send a motorway security man to them and also arrange for the police to phone a tow-truck. I learn the French for scrapyard. We wait. And wait. Eventually the tow-truck, with SJ loaded on the back, zooms past us and an hour later the other SJ returns. We are all knackerd and haven't slept in 55 hours and the drugs are wearing off. Maso is close to declaring war on France. The Micra is still going fine. After an hour of driving round Verdun we find an F1 hotel - basic but very necessary. We are grateful for the rest. And the showers.
Monday morning: Maso is determined to reach Prague so we leave Dean, John and Rachael to sort out the scrapping of the SJ. It is rather likely that they will arrive in Prague minus one team member... We speed on (autobahns are a gift from the gods of motoring) and manage to get through Germany without once buying petrol. After one stint of driving I take a nap in the back seat leaving Aaron and Maso to navigate. When I wake up, we are lost. I curse them resoundly and swear never to sleep again. How can you get lost on the E50?
Prague! We reach Prague! The hotel car park has a fleet of (well, two) rally cars in it - the Crimson Monkeys' Bedford van and the Green Team's 2CV, both broken (wheel came off on the motorway on the former, something bad but unknown has happened to the latter). Varnish's Polo is somwhere in a garage - he drove the last 400 km here with only a handbrake to stop the car - his brakes have gone. We also met a team from Wales with the same problem, plus they failed a drug test at the Czech border and were strip searched, detained for 24 hours and forcibly blood tested.
And the Micra is absolutely fine. Oh no, wait - we had to cable-tie a bit of the bumper.
So yes, we're in Prague. Because we arrived a day late we had no hotel booking and two hotels turned us away before we found one with a cancellation (they all looked at us like we were dirt - I have never been anywhere with more unfriendly hotels). We've had a good breakfast and now we're waiting for the others to catch up and fix cars, then it's on in mass convoy to Chernobyl in the Ukraine.
I'm loving the whole thing. It's fantastic. It's the most amazing adventure. I can't wait to learn more about cars - I'm turning into a petrolhead. Oh, and if I ever buy a car it'll be a K11 Nissan Micra.
Tuesday 24 July 2007
Wednesday 18 July 2007
Ready, steady, go...
After the chaos of the last few days (tractor show, donkey derby, hunting down a car, talking to the radio (cheers, Uncle Hugo and Ferry FM), papers and TV people (nice one, BBC news), photo shoots galore (thanks, Belfast Telegraph and Newtownards Chronicle), collecting money (Aaron has a gift for sweet talking), packing and leading the pram race) we're finally ready to go. The days were creeping past and then suddenly it was like a scene from 24 - what time is it? Who are we meeting next? What do we still have to do?
We had our send off in the Square in Portaferry last night - hordes of people wishing us well and giving us money - where we headed the pram race, with police bike escort, round a loop of the town. This was followed by a hugely successful Night at the Races ably run by Donal from Mulsanne Casinos. It was the first time I'd seen grown men and women screeching at a DVD for their horse to win, but eight lucky people did win 40 quid each, and someone even picked up the grand prize of £77.50 on the auction race. My mammy's horse, The Bookkeeper (spot the gambling librarian), galloped home at 2 to 1, and she was very excited about that. We're delighted that our friendly pharmacist, John, was a multiple winner with his horses - he supplied us with a huge box of first aid goodies yesterday making him our favourite local legal drug dealer. I only hope we don't have to use half the stuff he's given us...
After cashing up and bagging coins and swapping change at the bar we'd made over £400, probably more, and over the whole of Gala Week had easily lifted a grand. People have been fantastic in their support. It's no wonder Northern Ireland is one of the most charitable places in the world.
So here we are, ready (just about) to depart for Belfast, pick up a few odds and ends, eat the condemned man's hearty breakfast at Ten Square and then hit the road. I am utterly calm despite my lack of sleep last night, and yes, a little excited too. Next stop, London.
We had our send off in the Square in Portaferry last night - hordes of people wishing us well and giving us money - where we headed the pram race, with police bike escort, round a loop of the town. This was followed by a hugely successful Night at the Races ably run by Donal from Mulsanne Casinos. It was the first time I'd seen grown men and women screeching at a DVD for their horse to win, but eight lucky people did win 40 quid each, and someone even picked up the grand prize of £77.50 on the auction race. My mammy's horse, The Bookkeeper (spot the gambling librarian), galloped home at 2 to 1, and she was very excited about that. We're delighted that our friendly pharmacist, John, was a multiple winner with his horses - he supplied us with a huge box of first aid goodies yesterday making him our favourite local legal drug dealer. I only hope we don't have to use half the stuff he's given us...
After cashing up and bagging coins and swapping change at the bar we'd made over £400, probably more, and over the whole of Gala Week had easily lifted a grand. People have been fantastic in their support. It's no wonder Northern Ireland is one of the most charitable places in the world.
So here we are, ready (just about) to depart for Belfast, pick up a few odds and ends, eat the condemned man's hearty breakfast at Ten Square and then hit the road. I am utterly calm despite my lack of sleep last night, and yes, a little excited too. Next stop, London.
Wednesday 11 July 2007
No more office 'til the end of August
It's all getting very real - I set my vacation autoresponse on my work email yesterday and closed the door of my office for the last time until the end of August. That does not, however, mean I've finished work, and was up to midnight yet again trying to complete everything before the 18th.
Fortunately work is supportive. Shefa is going to come and see me off. Thankfully my boss is nothing like the Pointy Haired Boss, and has generously sponsored me - thank you Zimmer.
Meanwhile over on the unofficial forum everyone is panicked as their cars keep breaking down/falling apart/blowing up. I am only mildly worried that ours might do the same under the weight of the massive HGV spots Maso has insisted on mounting. After all, Maso's car history is somewhat colourful...
Fortunately work is supportive. Shefa is going to come and see me off. Thankfully my boss is nothing like the Pointy Haired Boss, and has generously sponsored me - thank you Zimmer.
Meanwhile over on the unofficial forum everyone is panicked as their cars keep breaking down/falling apart/blowing up. I am only mildly worried that ours might do the same under the weight of the massive HGV spots Maso has insisted on mounting. After all, Maso's car history is somewhat colourful...
Monday 9 July 2007
Meeja hoors
Arrived out of this morning's conference research workshop to find Maso splashed all over the Norn Iron media. He's on page 3 of the Irish News, an article which then prompted a call from GMTV to cover us for tomorrow's show (Maso has duly recorded it today). 'Tis all hotting up nicely, really. You can check out our public profile on the Feckin' Irish Rovers web site.
Thursday 5 July 2007
Less than a week
...before I head back to Norn Iron to do all the rally-esque things that might need doing over there, like whoring ourselves to the media over and over again and that final push for sponsorship.
Thanks to the sponsors who have been donating online - Mark d'Inverno, the Pupillis and Mudcat's Ella - we're delighted with your help. (Anyone wanting to join this list of benevolent philanthropists can visit our justgiving pages: http://www.justgiving.com/feckinirishrovers, http://www.justgiving.com/feckinirishrovershopeandhomes, http://www.justgiving.com/feckinirishroversnicfc.)
I haven't packed yet. I haven't had time. I thought work might ease when term ended but it hasn't. However, a few hours spent navigating the autobahns in Germany this week has now prepared me for the first leg of our journey and I'm assured we can get to Prague in 10 hours. Getting through airport security with a laser scanner when the alert level had just been raised (to "orange" or "careful now!" or something) was a much harder task. I thought they might be distracted by the fact that Pikey was carrying a selection of loose human teeth in his pocket, but he breezed through. Perhaps I look like a threat to world peace. I hope not, because I want to get through Russia without being strip searched, for their sake as much as mine.
Hmmm, lunchtime. I should really eat. I keep forgetting to have food, something that never used to happen to me. Unfortunately my clothes are now too big and I have to use belts for all my jeans and I'm pretty sure I'll be eating erractically on the rally, though I intend to take the gourmand approach and trough a load of exotic (and probably mutton-based) foreign dishes into me.
Thanks to the sponsors who have been donating online - Mark d'Inverno, the Pupillis and Mudcat's Ella - we're delighted with your help. (Anyone wanting to join this list of benevolent philanthropists can visit our justgiving pages: http://www.justgiving.com/feckinirishrovers, http://www.justgiving.com/feckinirishrovershopeandhomes, http://www.justgiving.com/feckinirishroversnicfc.)
I haven't packed yet. I haven't had time. I thought work might ease when term ended but it hasn't. However, a few hours spent navigating the autobahns in Germany this week has now prepared me for the first leg of our journey and I'm assured we can get to Prague in 10 hours. Getting through airport security with a laser scanner when the alert level had just been raised (to "orange" or "careful now!" or something) was a much harder task. I thought they might be distracted by the fact that Pikey was carrying a selection of loose human teeth in his pocket, but he breezed through. Perhaps I look like a threat to world peace. I hope not, because I want to get through Russia without being strip searched, for their sake as much as mine.
Hmmm, lunchtime. I should really eat. I keep forgetting to have food, something that never used to happen to me. Unfortunately my clothes are now too big and I have to use belts for all my jeans and I'm pretty sure I'll be eating erractically on the rally, though I intend to take the gourmand approach and trough a load of exotic (and probably mutton-based) foreign dishes into me.
Sometimes you hear, fifth hand,
As epitaph:
He chucked up everything
And just cleared off,
And always the voice will sound
Certain you approve
This audacious purifying,
Elemental move...
Philip Larkin
Poetry Of Departures
Thursday 28 June 2007
17:02hrs
The pigeons are circling.
(That's just me going off topic as I am accused of doing in the forum.)
(That's just me going off topic as I am accused of doing in the forum.)
don't ever want to say goodbye
A lot of farewells coming up in the next few weeks, some of them lifechanging, so I'm indulging in a Malcolm Middleton weepfest. Oh, and cleaning, because that's how I deal with trauma.
It's a drag, racing
Flew back to Norn Iron last week for my cousin's wedding and a visit to the gorgeous new Ms Callaghan, spawn of my best mate Christine. It also meant I got a chance to hare round in the modded Micra (now with bullbars, shopping trolley roofrack and added snorkel). It's a lovely wee car to drive - very nippy. I was dandering along below 30 m.p.h. most of the time though while I got used to its light clutch action (I feel like a slightly less xenophobic Jeremy Clarkson when I write crap like this). Maso was going a little faster though. Yeah, we went drag racing. That's how cool we are. Fast cars, wide boys and crash helmets.
Our first hint that Mongolia isn't going to be all plain sailing was our inability to find Bishopscourt race track. It's only about 5 miles from Portaferry, but it's on the wrong side of the Lough therefore we have every excuse not to be familiar with the back roads of Ballyhornan. To add insult to injury, it turned out that there were two racetracks, and the one we got to was not the one that was open for drag racing. We spent 45 minutes circling laneways in a 3 mile radius before we found the abandoned airstrip where cars were flying up and down and gunning their engines in a very non-eco way. To my shame I followed the Highway Code to the letter and signalled appropriately when turning into the car park.
I was expecting something out of Grease with someone in capri pants waving a scarf to signal the commencement of racing, but actually they had lights, a commentator, race vans and chips vans and a lot of wet spectators. Wayne, the organiser, let us have a free go to test out what our wee Micra could do. Just to make it interesting he put us up against their fastest car - the Irish championship winner to be precise. Throw in skid pan conditions, torrential rain and visibility so low you couldn't see the quarter mile flags and it added up to a pretty interesting experience. Maso rose to the challenge though, notching up an impressive time of 20.86 secs. He would also like it stated for the record that the car we were up against had intermittant wipers and we didn't, so that's probably why we were beaten.
(Music by the Broken Family Band. Of course!)
Our first hint that Mongolia isn't going to be all plain sailing was our inability to find Bishopscourt race track. It's only about 5 miles from Portaferry, but it's on the wrong side of the Lough therefore we have every excuse not to be familiar with the back roads of Ballyhornan. To add insult to injury, it turned out that there were two racetracks, and the one we got to was not the one that was open for drag racing. We spent 45 minutes circling laneways in a 3 mile radius before we found the abandoned airstrip where cars were flying up and down and gunning their engines in a very non-eco way. To my shame I followed the Highway Code to the letter and signalled appropriately when turning into the car park.
I was expecting something out of Grease with someone in capri pants waving a scarf to signal the commencement of racing, but actually they had lights, a commentator, race vans and chips vans and a lot of wet spectators. Wayne, the organiser, let us have a free go to test out what our wee Micra could do. Just to make it interesting he put us up against their fastest car - the Irish championship winner to be precise. Throw in skid pan conditions, torrential rain and visibility so low you couldn't see the quarter mile flags and it added up to a pretty interesting experience. Maso rose to the challenge though, notching up an impressive time of 20.86 secs. He would also like it stated for the record that the car we were up against had intermittant wipers and we didn't, so that's probably why we were beaten.
(Music by the Broken Family Band. Of course!)
Tuesday 19 June 2007
Reasons for the rally
Okay, I admit it - there's more to doing this rally than raising money for charity and it being fun. I'm running away, I'm pretty sure of it. I'm running away from turning 31 but feeling 25; from a rough year at work made rougher because I've lost my enthusiasm for it; from yet another relationship that I hoped would last a long time actually turning out to be something quite different. I'm watching friends settle down, getting married, having children... and if I'd married the love of my life when I was supposed to, I'd be in their position too, but it didn't work out like that, so I'm running away and Mongolia seems a good destination.
Maybe it'll be like the French Foreign Legion. Maybe I'll turn up at the starting line in Hyde Park and there'll be a bunch of other shifty-looking characters signing up under pseudonyms, all with funny hats and dodgy pasts and a Jean-Claude Van Damme lookalike petitely smouldering in the background. We'll all drive off into the sunset together leaving our old lives behind. We'll bond in the desert and befriend an American who is fleeing injustice, a gambling British Army Major, and an Italian with a hero complex, and we'll fight the rebels who outnumber us. Or that could actually be the plot of Legionnaire.
My mother says I post to much information in this blog. Ma, that's what blogs are for. Besides, it's not like you're reading b3ta. Actually, please don't read b3ta.
Maybe it'll be like the French Foreign Legion. Maybe I'll turn up at the starting line in Hyde Park and there'll be a bunch of other shifty-looking characters signing up under pseudonyms, all with funny hats and dodgy pasts and a Jean-Claude Van Damme lookalike petitely smouldering in the background. We'll all drive off into the sunset together leaving our old lives behind. We'll bond in the desert and befriend an American who is fleeing injustice, a gambling British Army Major, and an Italian with a hero complex, and we'll fight the rebels who outnumber us. Or that could actually be the plot of Legionnaire.
My mother says I post to much information in this blog. Ma, that's what blogs are for. Besides, it's not like you're reading b3ta. Actually, please don't read b3ta.
Wednesday 13 June 2007
A big cheer for my ma!
My mammy is brilliant. When she heard we were going on this rally she started er, rallying support and within weeks had single-handedly coerced and cajoled the beauticians and therapists of the Ards peninsula to give up their valuable time and skills for a ladies' pampering evening in Portaferry. Well, that was last night, and with the help of some wonderful women and the goodwill of all who attended they raised over £550 for charity.
Thanks to all who gave up their time to help, especially Maso's mammy and Joan, and thanks to all those who came along. Most of all, thanks ma!
UPDATE: Actual total came out at £800! Thanks so much.
Thanks to all who gave up their time to help, especially Maso's mammy and Joan, and thanks to all those who came along. Most of all, thanks ma!
UPDATE: Actual total came out at £800! Thanks so much.
Tuesday 12 June 2007
Saturday 9 June 2007
You didn't ask about the Broken Family Band...
...awww. But I'll tell you anyway, because I was at their gig in the Water Rats Theatre last night.
'They' say never to meet your heroes because you'll be disappointed, but I can confirm that this does not apply to the members of the Broken Family Band. Just before they went on stage I ambushed a rather tired Steve Adams - they'd done two sets in Brixton that afternoon which, when combined with the sweltering weekend heat, would have caused lesser mortals to collapse. He bravely pretended to be enthusiastic and charming about meeting the random girl who's been stalking him for money on the Internet and he immediately put all his t-shirts at my disposal. (I took seven. No, only one of them is for me.)
Shall I review the gig? Oh, okay then. As music critics go I would be a shite one when asked to review groups I am inordinately fond of, like the Broken Family Band for example. In fact, I can't think of another band that I am so fond of, so let the gushing commence.
What is it that makes the Broken Family Band the dominant music force on my iPod and just about the only thing other than Irish fiddle music scrobbled on my last.fm profile? Is it their droll, pin-sharp lyrics? Their offbeat humour? Their delicate riffs and chunky chords? Songs that are so singalongable? The fact that they're all so nice? This gig for example: we had flowers to wear, we had the finest wines known to humanity, and cake. We had the up-close and personal laid-back coziness of the venue. We had a great back catalogue of songs played to us and plenty of new ones to whet our appetite. We had jokes and impromptu Blues. We had a very nice time. Nice is good. More people should be nice.
There is a dark side to everything though, and to the couple in front of me who wouldn't stop talking during the songs and who didn't heed the shushing noises: I'm not interested in what you're going to do to each other later; in fact, I hope he can't get it up and she vomits on him and you both have lethal hangovers. Bah.
So anyway, thanks to Steve, and to Mick, Jay and Gavin whom I also managed to chat to long enough to thrust our team cards into their sweaty paws. Come and see us off on the 21st July. You guys rock. Nice is definitely not a dirty word.
'They' say never to meet your heroes because you'll be disappointed, but I can confirm that this does not apply to the members of the Broken Family Band. Just before they went on stage I ambushed a rather tired Steve Adams - they'd done two sets in Brixton that afternoon which, when combined with the sweltering weekend heat, would have caused lesser mortals to collapse. He bravely pretended to be enthusiastic and charming about meeting the random girl who's been stalking him for money on the Internet and he immediately put all his t-shirts at my disposal. (I took seven. No, only one of them is for me.)
Shall I review the gig? Oh, okay then. As music critics go I would be a shite one when asked to review groups I am inordinately fond of, like the Broken Family Band for example. In fact, I can't think of another band that I am so fond of, so let the gushing commence.
What is it that makes the Broken Family Band the dominant music force on my iPod and just about the only thing other than Irish fiddle music scrobbled on my last.fm profile? Is it their droll, pin-sharp lyrics? Their offbeat humour? Their delicate riffs and chunky chords? Songs that are so singalongable? The fact that they're all so nice? This gig for example: we had flowers to wear, we had the finest wines known to humanity, and cake. We had the up-close and personal laid-back coziness of the venue. We had a great back catalogue of songs played to us and plenty of new ones to whet our appetite. We had jokes and impromptu Blues. We had a very nice time. Nice is good. More people should be nice.
There is a dark side to everything though, and to the couple in front of me who wouldn't stop talking during the songs and who didn't heed the shushing noises: I'm not interested in what you're going to do to each other later; in fact, I hope he can't get it up and she vomits on him and you both have lethal hangovers. Bah.
So anyway, thanks to Steve, and to Mick, Jay and Gavin whom I also managed to chat to long enough to thrust our team cards into their sweaty paws. Come and see us off on the 21st July. You guys rock. Nice is definitely not a dirty word.
money, or lack thereof
The rally is proving to be personally expensive (*makes cash register noise*) and that's before I've even considered the cost of a flight home. In the past week I've spent £104 on the first dose of rabies and tick-borne encephalitis vaccines, £230 on an eye test and the resulting new glasses (my eyes have woefully deteriorated again and Specsavers suck), and £25 quid for knickers that are quick-drying (for laundry purposes, not because of little accidents).
Next week I have to shell out another £104 on vaccines, £47 on an Uzbekistan visa and at least £28 on a dental check-up.
I am keeping a running total of my expenses so far but it's too bleak to even view it. At least I am slightly less likely to get rabies, or rather, I have more time to get to a hospital if I am bitten. Yes, Specsavers in London Wall managed to get half way through my eye test while I tried to tell them I was still wearing my contact lenses. In fact, the optometrist who sniffed all over me (yeugh) tried to tell me I couldn't wear lenses based on my eye measurements when I was actually wearing lenses at the time - and she'd been staring at them in close up. Think I'll be finding a real opticians next time. The rest of the staff were helpful though but my new glasses are too nice and expensive to take with me, so I'll rely on my contact lenses and will steer by sense of smell.
Next week I have to shell out another £104 on vaccines, £47 on an Uzbekistan visa and at least £28 on a dental check-up.
I am keeping a running total of my expenses so far but it's too bleak to even view it. At least I am slightly less likely to get rabies, or rather, I have more time to get to a hospital if I am bitten. Yes, Specsavers in London Wall managed to get half way through my eye test while I tried to tell them I was still wearing my contact lenses. In fact, the optometrist who sniffed all over me (yeugh) tried to tell me I couldn't wear lenses based on my eye measurements when I was actually wearing lenses at the time - and she'd been staring at them in close up. Think I'll be finding a real opticians next time. The rest of the staff were helpful though but my new glasses are too nice and expensive to take with me, so I'll rely on my contact lenses and will steer by sense of smell.
Sunday 3 June 2007
all things medical
Ahhh, weightloss is a wonderful thing - 6lbs in 2 weeks and all thanks to a little thing I like to call the stop-taking-half-my-meds-lots-of-running-and-hula-hooping-and-salad diet. Half a stone 'til I'm back to my pre-meds weight, and I've promised myself an iPod shuffle for when that happens (my big iPod has just died completely, meaning I've lost a shitload of music). I see the very helpful psychiatrist tomorrow to find out more about changing my other meds to stuff that hopefully isn't quite as evil.
Another bonus is that my hair has grown back (some fell out last year) and, as it said on the list of side effects, "regrowth may be curly". Yes that's indeed true. I have curly hair, but only at the front. The back is just mildly wavy. Things aren't so bad though - Maso was complaining yesterday that he has a mullet. Given Aaron's locks and penchant for bandanas, I think our team has what Dylan Moran terms "Irish Hair".
I have to keep an eye on my health on this rally. It will involve a bunch of sleeping tablets to ensure I have regular rest, plus watching out for warning signs like, ooo, hallucinations and delusionary behaviour. I do have medical insurance, but it excludes bipolar. Apparently if you want cover for mental health issues, even if you have never been hospitalised, the lowest insurance quotation is about £658. That was an interesting conversation:
Insurer X: Hello Dr Devlin, you got an online quote from us for £1207. Would you like to follow up on that?
Me: Er, no. I went with a cheaper insurer.
Insurer X: Might I enquire how much you paid?
Me: 45 quid.
Insurer X: That can't possibly cover your medical condition.
Me: You're right, it doesn't. But it does mean I can afford an emergency flight home if I need it.
So screw you, insurance people, I'll spend my money on rabies and tick-borne encephalitis vaccines instead. Might just get a sticker for the car saying "Warning, may contain nuts".
Another bonus is that my hair has grown back (some fell out last year) and, as it said on the list of side effects, "regrowth may be curly". Yes that's indeed true. I have curly hair, but only at the front. The back is just mildly wavy. Things aren't so bad though - Maso was complaining yesterday that he has a mullet. Given Aaron's locks and penchant for bandanas, I think our team has what Dylan Moran terms "Irish Hair".
I have to keep an eye on my health on this rally. It will involve a bunch of sleeping tablets to ensure I have regular rest, plus watching out for warning signs like, ooo, hallucinations and delusionary behaviour. I do have medical insurance, but it excludes bipolar. Apparently if you want cover for mental health issues, even if you have never been hospitalised, the lowest insurance quotation is about £658. That was an interesting conversation:
Insurer X: Hello Dr Devlin, you got an online quote from us for £1207. Would you like to follow up on that?
Me: Er, no. I went with a cheaper insurer.
Insurer X: Might I enquire how much you paid?
Me: 45 quid.
Insurer X: That can't possibly cover your medical condition.
Me: You're right, it doesn't. But it does mean I can afford an emergency flight home if I need it.
So screw you, insurance people, I'll spend my money on rabies and tick-borne encephalitis vaccines instead. Might just get a sticker for the car saying "Warning, may contain nuts".
Saturday 2 June 2007
Up Late at Night Again
It's been an exhausting week at work, so I was really looking forward to a lengthy lie-in this morning. Alas, it was not to be so. At 8am, through my drug-induced sleep (and midway through a rather lovely Dr Who dream), I heard knocking at the front door. After the requisite search for something - anything - to wear I managed to make it downstairs to greet an obscenely cheerful and perky postman. I squinted at the piece of paper he handed me, scrawled something resembling my name and was handed a Special Delivery envelope in return. Hurrah! Russian visa!
Try as I might I didn't get back to the same, er, interesting point in the dream. Bah. Still, got to watch the next episode on TV this evening with a decent glass of pinot grigio. Chris phoned afterwards and we both cried down the phone about how sweet an ending it was. She's pregnant and therefore hugely hormonal; I'm just an emotional geek with a huge crush on David Tennant. No, neither of us has a life.
Try as I might I didn't get back to the same, er, interesting point in the dream. Bah. Still, got to watch the next episode on TV this evening with a decent glass of pinot grigio. Chris phoned afterwards and we both cried down the phone about how sweet an ending it was. She's pregnant and therefore hugely hormonal; I'm just an emotional geek with a huge crush on David Tennant. No, neither of us has a life.
Tuesday 29 May 2007
Runner beings
While negotiating the wet cobblestones of Wapping yesterday it struck me that I am really going to miss running when I'm on the rally. Running is what I do to unwind, it's how I clear my head, it's how I can toil up 84 steps at the station without losing my breath. Unless I spend a good bit of time pushing the cars (and that's not unlikely) I'm not going to get to go for a run while I'm away. Instead it's probable that I'll reach Ulaanbaatar with a bruised arse and a strong clutch foot. I'm also going to miss the London marathon application but I'm planning to beg someone to fill in my details for me. Anyway, dammit, I'm taking my hula hoop to Mongolia. I will beguile border guards with my entrancing hip-swinging (a.k.a. looking like a knob).
New website to add to our collection: http://www.feckinirishrovers.com
Maso has just texted me to say that shewee are now a sponsor. This brightens my day considerably - I've always wanted to be able to pee standing up. Never let it be said that I have no ambition.
New website to add to our collection: http://www.feckinirishrovers.com
Maso has just texted me to say that shewee are now a sponsor. This brightens my day considerably - I've always wanted to be able to pee standing up. Never let it be said that I have no ambition.
Monday 14 May 2007
visas/buy things
I'm surrounded by a stack of marking but still managed to escape for a while to pick up my Mongolian visa and drop off the application for the Kyrz Krygstan Kyrgyzstan one. So far so good.
We've got goods to sell now - the usual collection of t-shirts, hoodies, mugs and thongs at http://www.cafepress.com/feckinirish. Thank you to the long-suffering Mark for helping me with the alpha channels. A PhD in computer graphics (mine) does not enable one to use photo editing packages; a PhD in computer vision (his) evidently does. Anyway, buy things and support us - the dollar is weak against the pound so a t-shirt costs as little as £6 quid and £3.50 for post and packaging.
My mammy is throwing herself into the supportive role as Irish mammies do and is organising a womens' (she says "ladies") evening in Portaferry involving all manner of relaxation, massages, beauty things and the suchlike - go ma! The people involved have been really generous about offering their time to share their skills, so a big cheer for them.
Cheers for all the messages which currently range from "you're doing what?", "are you mad?" (short answer: yes, but my shrink just smiled and gave me the go ahead), and "I'd love to do that!" (hmmm, I remember saying that at Easter. That's how I ended up on this trip...)
We've got goods to sell now - the usual collection of t-shirts, hoodies, mugs and thongs at http://www.cafepress.com/feckinirish. Thank you to the long-suffering Mark for helping me with the alpha channels. A PhD in computer graphics (mine) does not enable one to use photo editing packages; a PhD in computer vision (his) evidently does. Anyway, buy things and support us - the dollar is weak against the pound so a t-shirt costs as little as £6 quid and £3.50 for post and packaging.
My mammy is throwing herself into the supportive role as Irish mammies do and is organising a womens' (she says "ladies") evening in Portaferry involving all manner of relaxation, massages, beauty things and the suchlike - go ma! The people involved have been really generous about offering their time to share their skills, so a big cheer for them.
Cheers for all the messages which currently range from "you're doing what?", "are you mad?" (short answer: yes, but my shrink just smiled and gave me the go ahead), and "I'd love to do that!" (hmmm, I remember saying that at Easter. That's how I ended up on this trip...)
Tuesday 8 May 2007
Back to the grindstone
Exam week this week and I have a bunch of students to invigilate so begging letters are on the back burner for a while. A weekend of climbing was a decent break, even if I did bore Henk to death with rally tales. He very kindly sponsored me in the form of a cosy down jacket on the proviso that I never mention the R-word again. I will be the warmest girl in the desert in clothing that's designed for Himalayan ascents, but given that I was freezing my ass off in a 3-season bag in the Peak District on Friday night, I need all the help I can get.
Georgiansilver from Mudcat sent a cheque for the charities and it arrived this morning so donations are coming in. Thanks Georgiansilver, it's very much appreciated.
Georgiansilver from Mudcat sent a cheque for the charities and it arrived this morning so donations are coming in. Thanks Georgiansilver, it's very much appreciated.
Friday 4 May 2007
Dragging myself away from it
It's the first May bank holiday weekend so I'm furiously emailing off to get letters of invitation to various countries whose names I can't pronounce, then I'm catching the 6 o'clock train to Derbyshire to go climbing at Stanage for the long weekend. That'll be interesting as it's so long since I did any proper climbing that I can barely tell one end of the rope from another.
The friendly people at MOO emailed this morning to say they'd give us a pack of free photographic mini business cards. This is a lovely gesture as they're still a small web company, so hurrah for them - everyone should buy themselves some MiniCards to say 'good on yez, MOO'.
Note to self: post insurance cheque, hang out washing, leave note about watering seedlings, find climbing helmet, learn how to spell - or better still pronounce - Kyrghyzstan. The spellcheck doesn't recognise it either.
The friendly people at MOO emailed this morning to say they'd give us a pack of free photographic mini business cards. This is a lovely gesture as they're still a small web company, so hurrah for them - everyone should buy themselves some MiniCards to say 'good on yez, MOO'.
Note to self: post insurance cheque, hang out washing, leave note about watering seedlings, find climbing helmet, learn how to spell - or better still pronounce - Kyrghyzstan. The spellcheck doesn't recognise it either.
Thursday 3 May 2007
Rally fever
The world really doesn't need another blog, especially not one from me, but it'll serve to remind me of all the niggly wee things I need to keep track of when gripped by rally fever. So far I've been making more lists than I have paper and last night I forgot to go to bed and when my knees went numb at 4am I suddenly realised that if I'm like this now, then how am I going to be behaving when July rolls around.
Big news of the day: The Broken Family Band have kindly agreed to take us under their philanthropic wing and they are now Feckin' Irish Rover sponsors. I knew buying Jesus Songs would pay off. I'm looking forward to gunning the Micra through Eastern Europe with their music playing. We're taking their love to the Central Asian massive. Or massif.
Also, Goldsmiths are very excited at the prospect of having one of their lecturers adrift in Mongolia and are keen to help out with publicity. We hope to wangle a bit of a deal with them. I'm hoping that part of the deal is that I can come back to work late if Mongolia proves attractive.
Visa sorting time now. Then more emails. And more lists.
Big news of the day: The Broken Family Band have kindly agreed to take us under their philanthropic wing and they are now Feckin' Irish Rover sponsors. I knew buying Jesus Songs would pay off. I'm looking forward to gunning the Micra through Eastern Europe with their music playing. We're taking their love to the Central Asian massive. Or massif.
Also, Goldsmiths are very excited at the prospect of having one of their lecturers adrift in Mongolia and are keen to help out with publicity. We hope to wangle a bit of a deal with them. I'm hoping that part of the deal is that I can come back to work late if Mongolia proves attractive.
Visa sorting time now. Then more emails. And more lists.
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