The pigeons are circling.
(That's just me going off topic as I am accused of doing in the forum.)
Thursday 28 June 2007
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.
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