Bear blog

The Toys:

I'd specially ordered a Nimbus X, with a few minor alterations, for collection at Scarborough, so the first thing we did when we got there was find Roger and raid his van. Then we sat in the hall and put it together and I got all excited about how shiny and red it was. Then Pete put the frame together and told me that it didn't fit. He talked to Roger, who said that there should be a 7ml clearance on it. Nah. It was upsetting, but I found myself more irked than anything. Roger didn't seem terribly apologetic about it. I'm obviously foolish to imagine that a batch of new products would be quality tested before being sold. He tried to placate me with talk of a temporary frame being made up and a new frame being shipped out to me in a couple of weeks, but that didn't really relieve my frustration. Especially seeing as he buggered off and left Miark to do all the hard work of hunting out the temporary frame for me, and bearing the business end of my grumpiness.

The next morning Pete decided to pump the tyre up anyway and found that it did actually fit. The moulding down the centre of the tyre rubbed, but otherwise there was about 1ml of clearance. So the frames work, but they're still defective. I had to then bite my tongue and apologise to Roger for being mardy with him. Then I hunted round for Miark to apologise rather more sincerely, as he'd apparently been hunting round till midnight to get my frame sorted. I felt even worse when his resonse to my apology was "That's ok; as long as you're happy." It would appear that the onus of customer service falls to the grunts at UDC.

The other toys were all much fun. Lizzy seemed rather pleased with her red Nimbus 24. I have to admit it looked better than I thought it was going to, especially with the addition of a pair of red pedals. Once she'd scratched it and muddied it up a bit, it looked even better. I finally managed to get the seatpost cut down on my own 24 so that I can now ride at a slightly more reasonable height. Rod eventually built his new KH. It was blue and shiny as it should have been.

The Venue:

Really rather poor, in my opinion. There were three halls, as well as a few ancilliary bits like the tennis courts and the trials area. But two of the three halls weren't really up to much. They were pretty pokey, and generally had other things going on in them, taking up a lot of the available space. So when the hockey tournament and the freestyle competition were going on in the big hall for the best part of Saturday people who just wanted to ride were left pretty much to their own devices. I felt a bit cheated by it all, to be honest. I'd paid my £35 quid like everyone else, but it seemed that my needs were ignored in preference to the hockey players.

On paper, I'm sure that three halls seemed like ample space, but the organisers hadn't taken into consideration the simple stuff like children playing, and people standing around chatting. Taking so long to set up for the show took away valuable space as well. The situation gets even more baffling when you consider that they were running at a loss all weekend, presumably meaning that there weren't as many attendees as they had originally planned for. And whilst they obviously hadn't made any provision for the rubbish weather taking the outside areas out of commission (aside from writing 'remember to bring the sunshine with you' on the promotional fliers earlier on in the year), there really should have been more attention taken to making sure there was a decent amount of space for everyone. Very poor, indeed.

The Show:

Entertaining in part. I don't think anyone went into the show in the best of moods, doors opening about an hour and a half later than we were originally told. Our particular situation wasn't helped by being sat directly in front of the Yorkie Bar Shits who, having been left unsupervised for the entirety of the weekend, had turned into raukous, abusive little twats. Nor was it at all entertaining to have to put up with those whizzy balloon thingies. Again.

Maynard Flipflap had a go at compering. He ranged from tedious to cringingly bad. There were a couple of freestyle routines which were hampered by the teeny-tinyness of the stage, and a trials love fest between Yoggi and Joe which, whilst different, only had me watching for the possibility of imminent injury. Tempei did his usual diablo act and was awfully droppy. It was quite disappointing in the knowledge that that was his last performance in the UK. Best bits were Tommy Baker doing fantastically entertaining stuff with basket balls (including wantonly confusing a four year old) and Luke Wilson doing a simple juggling bit really really well.

The Ride:

Sunday was ride day. We decided, for various reasons, not to bother with the organised rides and just go off to the seaside with the Emu lot. We also forgot to pick up our packed lunches. What a shame. Although £35 quid for a weekend convention with all meals included is bloody good value for money, I kind of expected the food to be edible. After a lot of faffing and various people reaching various levels of narkiness, we got into the cars and got down to Filey for a ride around Filey Brigg and down onto the beach where we met up with the Emus. They played gladiators whilst I made my sandcastle fort. If nothing else, we kept the tourists amused. I discovered that riding on sand is infinitely more difficult than I had previously imagined. And I also found out that I have a fear of UPDing into puddles and/or the sea. We went up onto the front for chips and a wander around the arcades. A dog-dog tried to steal one of my doughnuts but I resisted. A very good day.

The People:

Steve Granger was quite funny. Darren used his comic observation to christen him Talkie Toaster. He spent the weekend asking me whether I would like any more brown toast. Invariably, the answer was no.

Miark spent the weekend fluctuating between wandering aimlessly and being harrassed with work, but he kept a sunny disposition throughout. If nothing else, the weekend served as very good proof of how little day-to-day graft Roger actually does with UDC, and of how much credit he takes for other peoples' hard work. We passed some clubs around on Saturday night. Miark taught me some really nice 'French' patterns which to throw feel somewhere between horrible and fantastic.

Barnesy had taken the executive decision to come to BUC without any of the normal juggly people to chat to. So we spent quite a bit of time with him. Lizzy liked him because he has zips on his coat. I liked him because he's funny. Especially when riding, and when pulling his Concentration Face.  

Rod and the Emu lot were very nice to be around. I learnt new names and put old names to faces and generally enjoyed insulting Parry. I enjoyed their company so much that I left on Sunday with the feeling that I might maybe one day be inclined to pick up a hockey stick. I especially liked James after he'd told me how nice my new uni was. The man has taste. I was also utterly surprised to hear that Joe has a wife. He just doesn't seem the sort. Rod was good to me and spent an inordinate amount of time holding my hand and putting a stop to my grumps. Best of all, of course, there does seem to be an opportunity to blag another free sticker.

On the whole, I'm not sure that I get on with unicyclists as a breed. They don't appear to have the friendly attitude that I've come to expect from hanging around with jugglers.  Hockey types are a bit too competitive. Trials types, on the whole, seem rather immature. There's also the problem that unicycling is a much more kid-friendly activity than juggling, so if you don't like spending your time around a lot of manic children, you're stuffed.

The Best Bits:

• Having a new shiny toy to love and cherish.
• Being grumpy and rude to Roger in an effort to make him understand that he's actually a bit shit.
  
• Riding on the beach.
• Miark hugging Darren through a door.
• Luke Wilson's horrificly skinny arms.
• One of the Yorkie Bar Shits smashing his hub to pieces.
• Driving home past a farm that had pigs with big hairy ears.
  

And to draw us nicely into Convention Season, BCC 11 wasn't half bad.

We didn't bother going up there shockingly early cause Darren can't physically get out of bed before half eight and I needed to wander into town to pick up my new specs. Alan and Camille were passing when we got there. Alan looked happy. Camille didn't. So we threw some clubs around then went outside and played with a huge big cuddly dog-dog whose owners said I could have, but Pete said I couldn't.

A day of passing, certainly. Seven club three count really quite good. Triple singles...naturally. We induced Sam to teach us funny looking tricks. She gave us a couple to be getting along with (pass, zip, pass, pass, zip) and then sat and laughed at us for being shit at them. We did rather pwn them yesterday though when nobody was looking.

There was a girl, too. She was probably in her early twenties but she looked like Lizzy will look in her early 40s. Mostly achieved by looking exactly like Lizzy, but with a slight double chin. It was cool but unnerving. I had to keep staring at her and I think by the end of the day she was starting to notice me doing it. Poor girl.

Pete went off to play hockey with his boyfriends. I had a really rather stonking go at one-footedness. My best ever up until Saturday had been one revolution unaided, and with a bit of coaxing from Rod I managed four in the little unicycle hall before dancing for joy and being all sweaty. Then after tea when everyone had gone to watch the Renegade the hall was virtually empty so I had another go and managed seven. A whole seven! I probably could have done more except there were some annoying kids pratting around on Scary Kev's bike and I was worried about a collision.

We didn't bother staying for the show. On paper it looked decidedly dull, and the renegade looked to be an hour and a half long. Nah. Collected stuff, drove home (listening to Philip making the most peculiar and worrying noises), got home, slept.

A good day for learning stuff, achieving stuff, talking to people (and dog-dogs), and not giving in to apathy. Huzzah!

Now that my husband has chosen to play hockey, rather than escort his wife home from work in the dark, I have discovered that the streets are rather more quiet at 9pm than they are at 5pm. Hence, yesterday I decided to try out riding to work.

And it was bloody hard work.

Unfortunately, I hadn't considered that the streets around town are rather more crowded at 1pm than they are in the evening. I managed a whole two minutes of riding on my way in before the gormless hordes provoked me into stopping and just pushing the bloody thing into work. Still, it was a good workout for my forearms.

The ride home was rather more successful. I've never ridden in the dark before so I was flailing wildly for a good proportion of the ride; flitting from street light to street light and frantically examining the road in front of me for any blips or bockets. I made it out of the university and three quarters of the way up University Road before being bocketted off. Woo!

Got back on at the top of Regent Road, pwned the rather sharply inclined drive outside HSBC, got hollered at by some bloke in a chavmobile. Had to stop for a rather annoyingly inept woman who couldn't decide whether she wanted to turn right, left, or just go home again. I didn't bother getting back on till after I'd traversed the still rather busy Welford Road. Down Newarke Street I got a girl walking up towards me chatting on her phone say "Oh my God! You're NOT going to believe what I'm seeing..." and a man on a bike aped me with a jazz-hands wave. Careened round the corner only to have to stop for another dappy woman driving a car. It really shouldn't be allowed. Took the opportunity to cross the road safely. Zoomed across St. Nicholas Circle only to be waylayed by about five lads walking abreast across the pavement and not thinking to step aside for me. Again, took the opportunity to cross the road safely.

But by then I was rather tired. So I didn't bother getting back on at the canal. I've ridden that bit of the world too many times anyway. I know I can do it. So pottered back home on my pegs and collapsed in front of the cat.

Not bad for a first attempt, I think. Next week'll be even better.

Stupid people that we are, Pete ran off to get a hire car while Lizzy raced down to our house and I packed everything up, and then we were off! There was much singing of random Jesus songs that we'd found in the back of a chair, an incident of trying to drive the wrong way up a one way street, and a moment of forgetfulness involving a hand brake and a hill. And only five hours and three stops at random services later, we were there and beheld it in all its glory-after spending about fifteen minutes faffing at the reception desk, digging through boxes of tshirts and listening to arguments about what colour passes we should have.

The first person we met was the 20p man who we promptly walked away from, mid-speil. Said our hellos, congratulated BYJOTY, laughed at all his new 'friends', put up the tent and then went to eat nice chips off the floor. A Cornish woman with a dog talked to us. I was itching for some juggling, but we got back to site just in time to grab our tickets and get on the coach to the show.

We nearly died on that coach, I'm sure. Unfortunately, the road to Redruth is really rather hilly and our coach didn't respond very well to it. There were bangs and crunches, and it didn't seem to matter what gear the thing was in cause all it did was crawl agonisingly along for forty minutes. At one point there was an alarming clunking noise eminating from the engine and people started muttering in worried tones. But we got there. Only to be told that the show was running an hour and a half late.

So Darren used the smallest cash point in the world and 'sucked corporate cock' on his knees whilst randoms laughed at him. And then we went for eats and drinks in this little pizza place which would have been quite nice expect the woman serving us was a cow. I ordered potato skins with bacon and cheese and she brought me potato skins with cheese and bacon. No! And then she over-charged Pete for his beer even though she'd provided us with the menu that she then said had the wrong price on it. Cow.

But we got back to the theatre just in time for Barnsy to come out and say we could go in. Hurrah! The show was pretty snazzy. I didn't even get annoyed at the balloons being flapped around the place. Very nice passing routine with some hefty Aerotech gear. Jon Udry did something quite nice and different. There was a scary balloon man that I didn't like at all, but he then came back on and did a nice bit of devil sticking, although he did look like a majorette to start with. Nice improv ball juggling, very nice German bounce juggling. Ryo Yabe did a flawless performance and got a standing ovation for it. But I don't know whether he deserved it. Most people I talked to about it said I must have fallen asleep for most of it, but there were a couple of people who agreed with me. It was good, but not standing ovation good.

Back to site. Pick up gear. Walk into lovely huge hall. Juggle juggle juggle. Pwned a lot of stuff with Alan, as per. Even had a good couple of runs of eight. Cuddled Rod. Got jealous of his nice orange t-shirt. Juggle juggle juggle. Went to see what was going on in the renegade tent but it mostly involved shitty poetry and people being childish with chili vodka. So I left and went for some more juggle juggle juggling. That was the point when Lizzy flaked out for the night. Amateur. Juggle juggle juggle. Darren was the next to flake. Had a really poor attempt at one foot riding with Alan on some girl's uni. It's really hard in sandles. I was probably only riding for ten minutes or so but my legs turned very jelly like. That's what you get for not picking up a uni for about three months. Juggle juggle juggle. Talked to Miark and some random Bungay person. Miark made worrying comments of a slightly sexual nature which I wasn't expecting at all. Slightly scared. Eventually called it a day at about half three and sloped off to the tent. Got half way there and realised I'd left my wallet somewhere. Back to the hall, searching through kit. Found it. Talked to Rod about girls. Cuddle. Bed.

Woke up five hours later needing a wee. Did my ablutions, went to check on my gear. Saw BYJOTY in the cafe, so me and Pete joined him for full English and orange juice. Mmmm. Think Jon may be interested in buying my uni, which is nice. I can start a price war between him and Darren. Went to wake people up at about half nine. Said hello to Roger.

Pete and Lizzy had some fair old attempts on the Schlumph coker. Roger blatently felt up Lizzy's arse, to much amusement. Juggle juggle juggle. Ride ride ride on Rod's uni while he wasn't there. I got about half way round the hall. Even had to turn and bob and weave around random shit on the floor. Woo!

But then we had to leave and I was sad. Went round the site about three times, taking down tent, packing car, picking up gear from the hall, saying bye to absolutely everybody (cuddled Rod), losing people, going for wees, gaining people, finally getting everyone in the car. And then we were off.

It was the best weekend I've had for absolutely ages. And now that I'm home and back at work and everything I'm incredibly sad. Pete keeps trying to cheer me up with talk of Bungay and The Lakes and Sheffield and EJC and Crawley and Brizzle, which helps a little. But not a lot.

Jon went down to the British Juggling Convention to have a go at competing in the British Young Juggler of the Year comp. Everyone was wishing him luck and stuff, but he'd never even performed before so we weren't getting our hopes up.

But not only has he won both sides of the competition, he's apparently done it with ease.

I am filled with motherly pride.  As are Pete and Lizzy. So much so, in fact, that Pete's off getting a hire car and we're all packing up and heading off for a celebratory drink down in Cornwall. This may be a long weekend.

Just been trawling through juggling.db trying to assuage my BJC yearnings and found 'Adypops' upsetting people again.

It's probably a symptom of being a child of the information age, cause in real life he seems like a nice kid, who just happens to be very into learning his 'thang'. Not that I've ever sat down and had a conversation with him, but I imagine that if I did he'd be well mannered.

Whereas online he seems rather more hellish and arrogant. That's the trouble with anonymity, I suppose. It makes people act like idiots. I'm sure if I didn't know who he was, his posts would irritate me as much as they seem to do everyone else. As it is, I find it all rather amusing.

Not 59 catches.

Not 63 catches.

Not 67 catches.

70 bastard catches.

Get in there!

53 catches.

How infuriating.

We're going to EJC!

Hurrah!

Talk about prepared. We've got it pretty much all sussed. Pete and I are loading up everyone's stuff in the van (complete with new brum-brum engine, hopefully) on Friday morning and tootling off down to Fishguard or some such place, whilst Lizzah and Uncle D race across Wales, picking up Jon on the way, to meet us in good time at the ferry port place.

Then we're all going to get horrendously sick and grumpy on the ferry and wind up crashing somewhere, late afternoon, around Wexford. Hopefully, the Irish have establishments of eating and drinking and making quietly merry. I have no idea. Then it's either a leisurely potter across to Cork to help the EJC people with setting up in return for pitching a night early, or it's an even more leisurely potter across to Cork, looking at pretty things on the way, and bounding though the countryside, in a youthful and carefree manner.

This would all be a lot easier if ferry companies didn't see fit to hike up their prices on a weekend. But I'm not going to get bitter. Oh no. It's going to be our Big Irish Adventure. That's why we're all making doubly sure that we've got enough insurance for the van and the car. One of those adventures.

Very excited. Must calm down.

Right then. I thought I'd have a glance back at my post about last year's NAJC. My overall impression of the day seems to be much the same:

"The place was big and bright and didn't smell."

Which is quite a feat. This year there was even a dedicated space for uni-ma-cycles, albeit down in the depths of the building, well out of the way of all the proper jugglers. So I had a jolly good go at one-footedness. And lo, it was good. 15 revolutions, and I only stopped at that because I slammed into a wall. Apparently I've now got to start trying it without someone to cling to.

 "There was plenty of stuff to keep me occupied."

No acrobalance workshops and girlish squealing this year. Or at least less squealing. We went out around the campus on the unis. Oh, what fun. I'm still not completely at ease on the 24. I spent the ride holding Lizzy's hand and getting all puffed-out on slight inclines. Why is it that I'm fine going up hills on the 20 with 114s, but put me on a 24 with 150s and I'm knackered? But it was good fun. We got a few comments. Pete and Rich spent the entire ride egging each other on to do stupid things. Lizzy climbed up a cliff and sat in a tree. The usual.

But what's that I hear you cry? What of the show? Well, let's examine last year's critique.

"The Nottingham show was crap. Although you can't take my word for it because I only got to see the upper tenth of it."

Not only did I get to see the show this year, having somehow managed to nab a seat behind a small child who then buggered off (after thoroughly irritating Alan by deigning to disagree with him). A nice clear view of everyfink. Huzzah! And, having seen everything, I can officially say that it was quite a good show. And a hell of an improvement on last year.

"...it was crap because of the hats. All three bloody acts of them."

Again, an improvement. This year we only had to sit through one hat act. And, trying to look on the bright side of it all, it wasn't that bad. He didn't drop with the usual gusto. And he did a bit of a comedy thing before he really got going which tickled me slightly. But like most hat acts it went on too bloody long.

"Now, the compere. Criminally funny? No. Useless."

Martin did the compering this year and made a fair go of it. It was a basic "Please clap, here's so-and-so", "Please clap, that was so-and-so", "Wasn't so-and-so very good?" kind of thing. Which pleased me. Well done, Martin.

There were a few questionable bits to the show. The break dancing seemed a bit random and went on far too long. And then there was the jazz poi, which really I'm not qualified to comment on because I was laughing too hard to really see the performance. Poor girl.  But to make up for it, Trev fell off the stage, Norbi snapped his fingers chav-stylee in the middle of a diablo bit, and Tempei swore. Those are the kind of things I don't mind paying for.

Most intruigingly, my overall impression of the show was how it  was brimming over in homo-eroticism. Started off with beefed up men, outdoing each other with flashing pecs and abs. Then there was Norbi and Tempei sharing the same diablo. In this day and age. Tsk tsk. The Trev and Danny's sweaty crotch-to-face action. A hat routine. Disco hula. Andy and Andy, sequined up and jazz-handing with the best of them. And then there was Luke and his make up.  Very nice, I'm sure. I'd be interested to know just quite how a day could take a such a sudden turn into gay-hood without it being completely intentional.

So well done Nottingham. A- for improvement. Keep it up.