Bear blog

An American man with a big bushy mustache just came up to me to return some books. Once our transaction was complete he said

"Well, alrighty then. Y'all have a good day now, miss."

I think he may have been a little disturbed by the inane grin and childish giggle it produced.

We've just got back from a lovely sunny weekend staring at shiny vans. It was good. Having failed, yet again, to meet up with anyone to convoy with, we trundled down on our own and were going well until we got just outside of Malvern and decided to stop to buy a drink. And then the van wouldn't start again. Bugger. So Pete got on the phone to Roger who told us he could come and sort us out but that he was at least an hour away, especially considering that his brakes had just failed. But then the man from the camper parked up just behind us came over and gave us a go on his battery booster. 'Huzzah!' we cried. But no. It didn't work. So Pete phoned Roger again. I could only hear half the conversation, but it went something along the lines of:

-Roger, it's not the battery. Whaddawe do? Whaddawe do?

-Ah, it'll be your starter motor then. Have you got a toolbox?

-Yes. It's at home.

-Ah. What do you have then?

-One spanner.

-Is it shiny and metal looking?

-Yes, it is.

-Get under the van then, and shove it about a bit between other metal looking things until you hear a fizzy-bang-pop sort of noise. And then you'll know you've fixed it.

To his eternal credit, it actually worked. Something to do with sparks and solenoids or something. There was a terrible crackly-bang sort of sound, but Pete emerged unscathed and off we trundled onto site.

Vanfest was busy this year, so before we could get into the queue to pay we had to sit in the holding area for about an hour. But it was fine. The sun was out, and people were chillin' n'that. Everyone had opened up their vans and were lazing around the place drinking and playing with barbeques and stuff. So we did a spot of juggling, and before we knew it we were camped up with the Colligan brood. And then a bit later Roger&Connie appeared, having successfully bodged their brakes. We sat around for a bit and had a barbeque and the Baxters turned up and were funny and northern. I may have accidentally, inadvertantly called Joe a cock-rider, but he didn't seem to mind that much. We missed seeing Showaddywaddy through sheer laziness and poor organisation. I may never know what their top-ten hits were now.

Saturday was spent buying crap. We had decided beforehand that all we were going to buy was three washers that we've needed forever. But it didn't work out like that. We did a tour of the trade stalls and came back up to the van with one washer, a new interior light, some new door panels for the cab, a shiny new t-shirt for me, and some rags. But the rags we made use of straight away by T-cutting the van to try to get some of the hideous scratches and scuffs out of him. It worked a treat. He's all shiny again now. Very handsome.

We spent the rest of the day alternatively lazing around the place and wandering about a bit. I fawned over all the nice dog-dogs, and we saw my doppleganger. She was more stylish, and slightly more emo, and she obviously had a professional haircut and was a bit less doughy around the hips than me, but she had the same mannish charm as I have. The resemblance was uncanny.

We all met up again in the evening. The enigmatic Keith turned up (although I never did get to see his fire-engine van) and played about on unicycles. Roger has a very girly pink trials wheel which is too sickly even for me. He's a big fat woman. We gathered for another barbeque and the tat competition. Tat being decidedly slim pickings this year, we failed to find anything that could live up to Miark's exacting standards and thusly were put on the judging panel with Roger and Joe. Wendy won with an exquisite porcelain chaise-lounge photo-frame which scored extra points for a) being bought with a straight face and b) being sold by a man who reportedly said 'yeah, that's lovely, that is'. After the tat, we went and saw The Commitments play, timing our arrival perfectly to hear Mustang Sally. We boogied heartily.

But then it was Sunday and after a quick ice cream and a trip round the Show & Shine to see some posh looking vans, we were packed up and back home. The cats were pleased to see us though. And we get to order pizza for tea because we're far too chilled out to think about things like cooking.

Yesterday was our second anniversary. Thank you to the people who sent us cards and well-wishes. We went to Terracotta to celebrate n'that.

It was good. Although we were sat right by the toilets, it put me in prime position to watch people get up for their food. Funny looking people I spotted included an enormously fat man who waddled over to the puddings counter, heartily slapped his big fat belly, and then proceeded to pile about six different puddings into his bowl. There was another enormously fat man who looked the image of Phil Jupitus. I wanted Pete to go up and ask for his autograph but he wouldn't. The spoil sport. There was also a regular from the library in there. She comes in every few days to borrow DVDs. I don't think she's got any friends (I certainly didn't see her talking to anyone in the restaurant). She'll be in tonight, taking out four films. I guarentee it.

About half way through the meal a big group of girls came in for a birthday celebration. Sigh. They sat right next to us and proceeded to giggle and scream at each other at the tops of their voices. I wouldn't have minded so  much if they'd  been young exuberant things, but they weren't. They were decidedly past their prime. With jowls and everything. Most of them were overweight, all of them were mingers. And they did that stupid double kissing thing all the time.

It was alright though, cause we just did surrupticious v-signs at them and tittered to ourselves.

Yey!

Broadband!

Yey!

I'm all like clicky-clicky and vroosh with the mouse and like, surf-surf-surf. And it's all like biddly-boo and ca-click.

Yeah. Broadband.

Friday was all about scary foreign films, seeing random people, and having curly toes. There were blankets and cushions and screaming girlies, skittery fingernails on floorboards, toilet related deaths, too much pizza and dubious sex scenes. Oh, and just in case you were wondering, you know fuck all about vampires.

Saturday was all about seeing Rod in a shirt and tie (tee-hee), letting parents do the majority of the work, and a trip to Halfords. There was wallpaper, a dirth of skill on my part, fat hairy men, and an unearthed garden. Having hoped to have got the hall/landing/stairs all nicely wallpapered and ready for painting, I was a little disappointed in our progress. But I've learnt many things. Like plumb lines are funny, and wallpaper makes me swear. The garden, however, is looking magnificently like a garden after Pete's dad took his northern prowess at hacking and slashing to it. There's even edging on the lawn.

Sunday was all about looking at our new garden and deciding that a barbeque was a much better idea than carrying on with the wallpapering. There was an abundance of food, an abundance of people, my first trip to the park, success with boomerangs, and gooey marshmallows. We saw Matt and Sarah, which was very nice, Lizzy and I threw things at each other very poorly and failed to catch them and once again, Pete and I went shopping for a barbeque and bought enough food to last us a month.

Monday was all about deciding that it wasn't worth doing any wallpapering at all until the new windows are put in, and pedalling pedalling pedalling around Rutland Water. There was an horrifically annoying number of people walking/cycling/standing around where I wanted to be riding, an horrifically annoying number of people without the least sense of spacial awareness or common curtesy, way too many hills for somewhere that's supposed to be flat, and a pair of rather achey legs at the end of it all. The sun was shining though, and Alby was good company in between his bouts of speedily dashing off ahead for no apparent reason. I slept well last night, at any rate.

Finally, a house.

I left Pete to Sort It this morning and buggered off to work. But I left early and went to pick up the biggest set of keys in the world with him later on in the day. 

Our plan was simple. Go and see what we'd actually bought, find out how much space we now have for a fridge freezer, buy  a new super-dooper swanky fridge freezer, do a bit of tidying and sorting, and move some stuff. The end.

But what we actually did was go and see what we'd actually bought, slump in a horrified heap at the dirt and degredation we'd inherited, fail to do anything constructive for many many hours whilst we gazed in disgusted awe at just how foul everything was. Call mother to come and make it better.

We pulled ourselves together after a while though and attempted to clear out the kitchen. Unfortunately, it mostly involved  shoving crap out into the garden and ignoring it. I swept and mopped the lino only to realise that it was never going to look clean, so that got ripped up and thrown outside too. We scrubbed at greasy kichen tiles and after about an hour found out that they were supposed to be off-white. Not orange. We only got two tiles clean. Even after going out and picking up my mother's steam cleaner we couldn't shift the grime. We're still this close tojust ripping out the kitchen altogether and storing food on the floor for a couple of months. It'd probably be more hygenic. 

Alan came round and did friendly things like scraping away at the wallpaper in our front bedroom and putting up with Radio 1 for several hours without complaint. The room's not purple any more, thank god but its still grim. I feel much better about everything now, anyway, after giggling at Alan shoving his long, hot, steamy ribbed pipe between Pete's legs. 

We've been productive in a very narrow sense today. Didn't get any moving of stuff done, or painting of walls, or purchase of fridge, but we're now officially on the ladder, n'that, and I've decided that actually, despite it all, I do like the house and it will be nice. It will, it will. 

I've also discovered that its much more therapeautic to get your friends round to laugh at nobs and bumming than it is to stress out about money and bricks.

Hurrah for us. 

My wonderful weekend included bikes, Londoners, barbequeing in the rain, Ajax, vinegar beer and a delicious plate of Suc Don Cok.

Alby and Pee took me on a mega bike ride up to Darren's on Saturday. It involved a serious amount of pedalling and an even more serious amount of bitching at Alby's idea of a 'pootling pace'. Pah. There were three hills. The first one nearly killed me, the second one finished me off. The third one I only managed to get up by singing the Rocky theme very loudly. And even then it took me a while. I'm a dab hand at gears n'that now though. I even used the ones on the right. I have also confirmed for myself that I don't like downhills. They're too fast. I like going at a pace where I can put my feet down and not have them taken off at the ankle.

For some reason, we decided that it'd be a good idea to barbeque on Saturday evening, despite knowing in advance that it was going to rain. It did. But we managed to wolf a few sausages before retreating indoors for beer and sleepiness. (Which reminds me that I've still got half a bottle of San Miguel in the fridge. Ooh.) Also, Alby told me the sickest joke in the world. It was very good but I'm not sure whether my mum liked it. For some reason she didn't reply to my text.

On Sunday we got visited by a couple of dirty Londoners. Me and Pete met up with everyone in the Swan, but not before going mental at the cooker with half a bottle of Ajax. It was terribly satisfying in a way that Cillit Bang really isn't. I think I've discovered brand loyalty.

The pub involved drinking Varschteiner shandy (very yummy) and classical tart sediment (appalling in every way) as well as enjoying the simple pleasures that hog lumps bring.

Then it was off to the nice Thai place again where the waiter was rather harried and rubbish and the prawns were soily. Apparently. But the prawn crackers were warm which has never happened to me before, and the company was good.

I think if your holidays are going to end, they should end with a weekend like mine.

I had a very nice birthday, thanks for asking.

Zumo gave me a free smoothie which I thoroughly enjoyed (although it was a bit watery) and Pete got me a blender (because that's what old people get one another) and a bike (because I need to conquer my fear...and get to work).

And I got lots of books and lots of music and lots of CSI to keep me occupied till Christmas. Pete's dad gave me £20 which I promptly took off down Waterstones. Me likee three for two.

We took the bike out round the back for half an hour. It's blue, by the way, which should give you an indication of how fast it goes. (Clurb's law of physics No. 3 states that red is the fastest colour, but blue's not bad). I didn't fall off, although my turning circles are mahoosive and I'm not very good at getting on and off the thing. Oh, and I clipped a wheelie bin with my handlebars due to my appalling lack of spacial awareness. But I managed to change gears quite a bit. And I'm still alive. Bargain.

Then my parents turned up and brought even more presents. Which was nice. I've got a lovely big jar of manuka honey to be getting on with, a tube that makes noises, and a big silver bouncy ball for rolling around on. 

Then Lizzah turned up and I got a new cup and a funny card with stickers in it.

And then Alan turned up and gave me his Euro Millions application form. Which I may well fill in. And some comedy.

And then we took my parents to Siam Garden which was ridiculously good. The fish cakes are a must. And the waitress had big eyes. After the shocking disappointment of Thai Orchid's puddings, we opted not to bother with pudding there but still managed to leave sated. Huzzah. We have found a place we wouldn't mind going back to.  

To end the day, Pete and I sat in front of Die Hard and marvelled at how badly Bruce Willis has aged.

Lovely. Ta very much.

I'm all Bungaylicious once more. It's a truly wonderful feeling. Being back at work today hit me insanely hard. It took me a good while to settle down to the fact that people were rushing about and looking harried.

This year's Bungay was nothing like last year's. I did altogether less sitting around in the big-top and much much more sitting around in the sunshine. Lizzy wasn't there this year to spur us into going off site and Doing Things. We didn't go to any museums, hug even one windmill, nor did I spot a single otter. Instead, I befriended a pony and marvelled at Alby's unicycling skillz. Pwnership commenced. Barnsey and I made the acquaintance of Milly and sat by the side of the road pondering upon such themes as fluffiness and friendship. We discovered a pub. A good pub. With food. Good food. It made for a couple of interesting evenings, watching LP struggle for breath and partaking of deep discussions about Books with Alex. Dave managed to choke down a couple of steaks. I reckon his body's getting on for about 40% beef by now. He'll be mooing next year.

But whilst we were terribly sociable and friendly in the pub, I barely spoke to anyone in the big-top all week. Such is the curse of sunny weather, I'm afraid. I decided quite early on in the week that I would be forsaking tent and cafe time for sunshine and afternoon naps. And I don't think I was the only one. The big top this year was actually used for juggling rather than sitting around. I probably went against the grain by spending less than an hour sat in the cafe all week purely because I wasn't interested in poker or board games, and the lounge was so inviting and fit for purpose.

The other thing about sunny weather is that it brings people with it. Lots of people. And whilst some of them disappeared during the week, by the last weekend it was busy. Super-mega-hella busy. For Suffolk anyway. We probably increased the total population of the county by 50%. Although having people around was a bit of a shock to the system they didn't really cause any major problems, other than having to get the toilets pumped at least twice and managing to trip over guy-ropes an unfeasable number of times. When you're all collapsed under the blazing glare of the sun, or snoozing in your tent, or wandering back and forth to visits pubs and ponies and supermarkets you don't tend to get too put-out by people. It would have been absolutely fine had Alby not turned up. I wouldn't have had to do any passing and therefore wouldn't have got grumpy at there not being enough room in the big-top for our gigantic patterns. Nor would Alby have wanged a ludicrously long and spinny club straight over my hand and into the back of some poor lad's head. He was very brave not to have cried. I certainly would have. I heard the 'thunk'.

I saw two owls, managed to stomach lots of beer without lemonade, ripped the piss out of Darren unmercifully for the whole week, laughed uproariously at and with Bri-Bri (just one Bri), saw Pirates in Norwich, played girly volley-club till a little bit of wee came out, made new friends, marvelled at burping prowess, ate lots and did very little to burn it all off, learnt new words (fo-sheesy!), re-affirmed friendships, enjoyed the feel of dewy grass between my toes at 8 in the morning, got sad when it was time to say goodbye, and generally had the best holiday ever.

I'm sat on my own in the library at the minute, gazing wistfully out of the window and thinking that it's a shame to have discovered what Real Life is, to then find that I only get ten days of it a year.  

(Photos to come.)

Best Bank Holiday Monday ever.