Horseplay.

On the way back from the mountain one day I mentioned in the car that I would like to learn how to ride a horse. I was immediately set upon by a girl that told me that this dream was 'totally gay'.

Now I know Brokeback Mountain may have influenced some people but to brandish all horse riders as 'totally gay' seemed a bit harsh to me.

This then led on to a discussion of types of people that we didn't like. By the time we had got home, our list looked something like this.

Horsey people. ( Gawfaww, bwoke her in myself you know )
People who act 'student'. ( smelly, dirty, drunk, get over yourself types )
People who describe themselves as crazy.
Angry Northern girls.
Girls that act like sassy black women when they actually come from Romford.
People that wear band tshirts when they have never heard the bands music. ( The Ramones, The Smiths )
People that move to London and become all 'city'.
Anyone you can look at and instantly recognise them as coming from Art School.
Mimes.

So if I do learn how to ride a horse, I'm not allowed to become a tight trouser wearing, laugh through the nose, serry drinking pompus scab on the landscape.

Or wear a Smith tshirt.

Things that hurt less than learning to snowboard.

Childbirth.
Hollyoaks Omnibus.
Rectal Prolapse.


I think it was when I hit the deck and heard my lower back pop like Rice Crispies that I realised I would be in some pain in the morning.

I think it was in the morning when my lower back ached more than Cliff Richards testicles that I realised I would be in some pain for the rest of the week.

Worlds greatest car.

I went to look at a car the other day. I'd been told that this car was the 'executive edition'. Sure it was old, 20 years old, but it's not like I've won the lottery recently so you've got to make cutbacks. I got into the drivers seat and the first thing that struck me was the leg room.

Absolutely none.

I pushed the seat back as far as I could, didn't make any difference. I basically had to chew my knees to fit in the drivers seat.

So yes, the first thing that struck me was the leg room, but the second thing that struck me were the buttons.

Everywhere. Buttons . . . everywhere.

I love things with buttons. Buttons do things. Each one something different. This means the more buttons something has, the better it is, because it does more stuff. Logic.

This car has stacks of buttons. And then I noticed the mother lode. Right next to the stereo, which had plenty of buttons let me tell you . . . right next to the stereo was . . .

oh my . . I'm going to need a moment here

. . there was a graphic equalizer.

Whoa there.

Built right into the car. Right there next to the stereo. With lights above it that moved with the music. This was my dream car stereo, sat infront of me in a car I could buy. Joy, I tell you, was upon me.

Then there was the dashboard. There was not a dial on it. Nothing mechanical at all to impart information to me. If I needed to know anything about the car, the speed, the fuel, the temperature, it was all displayed to me with lovely digital displays. A car full of buttons, with digital displays everywhere you looked. Have it.

Then there was the engine.

Utter crap. Seriously. It was rubbish. The cambelt was shot and the clutch needed changing a good 15 years ago.

I'm back to car hunting. Only I've been told I run the risk of being taken off car hunting duty. Apparently I look for 'gimmicks' and 'stupid stuff' in cars instead of what's important.

Important? What? Do these people even know what a graphic equalizer is?!

Quiche.

Never been a fan of quiche. Until now.

What changed? Well apart from the fact that is was double the thickness of any quiche I've seen in England, and forgetting that is was crammed full of roasted vegetable goodness, the thing that sold me on this quiche was the crust.

Was it the flakiest most golden crust ever? No.

Was it the moistest, most delicious pastry ever? No.

Was it made out of sausage meat?

Ohhhhhh yeah.

A sausage meat crust. Now that my friends is how you make a quiche.

The day the Earth stood still.

I've been in my first earthquake.

Didn't feel a thing. Gutted.

I've been assured there was an earthquake, and I've been assured that things did shake, there was movement, small children were frightened. Me, I went the whole day completely unaware that a child worrying incident had just taken place. My personal items remained unshook, and the only erratic movement I can recall was when I burnt my mouth with hot coffee.

I've been in my first earthquake.

I survived. Awesome.

Adaptation.

I've finally got myself a universal adapter so I can use my laptop again. Like an old friend returning from war, with chocolate and a bottle of Talisker, we are reunited.

Zoolander Of The Slopes.

I cant turn left. Simply wont happen. I've been trying to get to grips with this snowboarding lark but my body just wont let me go left. Going right is fine. Not a problem. Could do it all day, and actually have to due to the lack of left turns. I'm thinking that booking an actual lesson with an actual snowboard instructor might be the best way to sort this out. For while it's been fun so far, I just know there is more fun to be had by being able to do this thing properly.

The annoying thing is, I could turn left in England. I was still rubbish, don't get me wrong, but at least I could do it. But out here that seems to have been robbed from me.

I ride goofy so leave any handy hints in the comments box, or simply ridicule me for me mono turning ways. Up to you, you cursed two-turners!

Open Fires Make You Sleepy.

The house I'm staying in has a wood burning heater in the lounge. It is almost impossible to sit in there at night infront of the telly without getting all warm and drowsy. By half nine I'm a wreck. Falling asleep where I sit and spilling hot Ribena down myself. So I get up and go to bed where I have an electric blanket, a thermal sheet, a wool sheet, a duvet and a throw, and I snuggle down to the cosyist nights sleep you could imagine.

But this brings a new problem. For while it's nice to get all wrapped up in a warm bed, cosy and tight in the duvet, come morning when you can see your breath, getting out of bed is an absolute mission.

Hot Wheels.

Hopefully I'm going to buying my first car in the next couple of days. Having little money means I get little choice over what kind of run into the ground rust bucket I get to pick from. However, if it gets me to the top of the mountains then it will do me fine. If it has a working heater, I'll be even more grateful.

Seeing as I know less about cars then I do modern dance I'm going to be taking someone along with me to kick tires and lift the bonnet and do other car-checking things. Then a test drive, a haggle, an exchange of cash for keys and then the inevitable uncontrollable spending that follows buying an old car to keep it on the road.

First car . . . I'm so excited!

Done and Dusted.

It was so scarily easy to sort the visa thing out I'm worried I've still done something wrong. I went to immigration, handed my medical forms in, waited three days and got my visa papers through.

I have the papers in my hand and yet there is the nagging voice, the one that demands hassle and long waits, the one that wants me to get my visa card out, fill in more paper work, talk to more people and then wait again.

This went so smoothly. Here is my paper work. Thank you for the visa.

Mint.