Bear blog

Durham's new venue is really very good. Compared to the old one, at least. Big bright hall (made even better by the general absence of people all weekend), smaller smelly hall for unicyclists to get them out from under foot, canteen (which I'll admit to not venturing into, although I hear good things), grass and good weather for outside games, sit-and-watch-tv area for juggling vids, showers, 24 hour space. Kind of.

We got up at ridiculous o'clock in the morning to get up there at a decent hour because we were in Philip. It didn't take too long, considering the stops for poos and petrol. Lizzah was handily riding around the carpark looking like she needed a task when we got to site so she carted all our stuff into the hall for us. The Peats had ponced out and got a hotel room for the weekend. I was not impressed.

Alby and I cracked on and got some honest to goodness practice done. It's so nice to be able to juggle again after the summer break but the backs of my thighs aren't half feeling it. Eight clubs worked well, and we even managed to get a couple of reasonable video clips of it working which I may or may not post somewhere for people to criticise. The pattern looks better than it feels although I'm still gurning my way through it all.

During the games, whilst no one was watching, we tried again with seven club ultimates. Taking on board all the wonderful constructive criticism we've had over the past year ('floaty, like' and 'throw more accurately, and be better at catching') we finally got a semblence of a pattern going. It's still ugly and very very short, and Alby is desperately trying to keep his face out of harm's way, but it's infinitely better than it was on Monday.

We got our best ever run of six clubs back-to-back as well. A whole five (possibly six) catches. Unbelievable. The Durham air is obviously terribly beneficial to this sort of activity. 

In amongst the pwnage, we enjoyed the company of Tom and Dr Helen, Alby went mental on hammering people's backs for them, I used my unicycle (much to Barnesy's amusement as I wobbled my way round the hall), Miark threw things at me, I spectacularly failed to be good at four clubs but managed to acquire an impressive bruise for my troubles, I met The Missus who turned out to be very nice, and we went for a wander around the world's most shut town. The chippy didn't even open until 6.30. I mean honestly! We ended up having to descend on some poor woman's tiny little restaurant and watch her flap her way through more orders than I'm sure she'd previously taken in a year.

(To be continued. I'm going to bed.)

We went for a quick jaunt round Carsington Reservoir on Sunday with Stu. It was the most abismally unpleasant and displeasing ride I've ever been on. And I wasn't even on a unicycle.

I thought reservoirs were meant to be flat. This one decidedly wasn't. We started off along a long open stretch of path that ran along the side of a wide expanse of jaggedy looking rocks leading down into the water. And it was windy. Windy enough for me to fear the expanse of jaggedy rocks, at any rate.

But having fought our way through the side-winds we got to the end of

the path. A bit of snappy-snappy camera action and then we were off again. And it was fine. For the first minute or two. Before the hills got us.

We were outnumbered. They were everywhere and we had nowhere to hide. Our only option was to carry on straight into their ranks. They made me their bitch. The rest of the ride was spent panting, wheezing and complaining in turns.  The unicyclists, meanwhile, were doing very well. P in particular was just cruising up and down without really stopping for breath. Oh he of the gigantic manly thighs. 

Just before we got halfway round Stu, Lizzy and I stopped for a geocache. It was my first one. We had to trudge through a bit of brackeny undergrowth to find it but it was shiny and filled with goodness. Lizzy left a lizard puzzle and a porcelain duck. We took a peg and Stu took the travel bug. I've decided geocaching is a good way to periodically get rid of all the tat that builds up in the house.  

After that it was back on the road. Alan was feeling rough and was worried that his car was going to get rained on so we bikey ones raced off ahead and left the others to their own devices. They eventually appeared back at the visitors centre, slightly sweaty and worse for wear, but not before we'd sat down to chocolate and chips and had to put up with hordes of screaming middle class children. Shudder.

We stopped off at the Knockerdown for a pub lunch before heading home. Alan gave up at that point and returned to his sick bed. The rest of us chowed down. P ate about three pounds of meat, Lizzy paid for an £8 meal with a £10 note and got £6.10 change from it. I had steak and chips. Nyum nyums.

I'm never going back to Carsington again. It's a horrible place designed for fit and active people.  

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.

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.)

Pete got invited to a stag do and I didn't. This makes me sad. Pete got to go to a lap dancing club and get boobies jiggled in his face. I didn't. This makes me *very* sad.

But, on the plus side it meant that I got to have a whole weekend to myself doing exactly as I pleased. It was rather good. I read a couple of books and played Emperor until the wee small hours. And I ate pizza and chips and fish fingers and I didn't have to share it with anyone.

And then on Sunday Lizzy came round for lunch and we went to Fundango where we discovered that Rod is still alive and sporting a new, terribly attractive hair do. We played with clubs and laughed at languid hula-hoop men. I got a bit better at bouncing once Rod deflated my wheel. Peachi took a picture of my admittedly impressive 'I'm making poo' t-shirt. I rolled around on my Heelys for a bit and laughed when Lizzy tried it.  Lizzy got into the finals of Death By Peg, not because of any innate skill (although she *was* the person who started the whole pegging thing. Goddamn her), but because, as Rod mockingly pointed out, she was the only one taking it in any way seriously. Bless.

And then we came home. And we had sausage and mash with lots of gravy. And then I felt sleepy so I went to bed. And that was the end of my fabulous weekend.

We went up early to Northern-land this weekend so we could see UDC in all its glory. It was certainly a sight to behold. We handled not-so-stolen goods and I got to play with a banding machine. And we shifted and carried for a bit and Miark kept me entertained with his scary toys. It was very nice. And then we all trundled around Stockton for a bit, collecting unis and goal posts and trying to find food. Very nice.

Then Saturday we got up ridiculously early because Roger and Connie had to go and stick up signs around Durham. But then everyone decided that we didn't need to go with them so we sat for a while and Pete started building a wheel. Then we took the rather round-the-houses trip to Durham via the Stockton Transporter Bridge. It was fun. There was a fat man who talked to us and looked perturbed when we told him where we were going and he tried to tell us we were going in the wrong direction.

The first person we saw at the convention was Barnesy. Pete pipped the horn and he scowled back at us. A nice welcome. Then we pootled around in the unicycle hall for the rest of the day. We found out that the floor was rubbish for heeling on because it was all rubbery. We watched Connie do silly things. We played on Darren's new 20" and reached the communal decision that his new posh seat was essentially a bit rubbish. I stole Miark's 'buff' somewhere along the way. We ate chips and Haribo and spent a lovely day.

The Durham peeps had handed out money off vouchers for food at the pub down the road. Everyone was in there before the show and I think I might have been the only one who actually got what they ordered. Lots of complaining and refunding. Jolly good.

Now then...the show...

Jay ticked all the boxes for compering. Well done him. He even bigged-up Leicester at one point. We're the place to be, apparently. And once again, the acts were all decently entertaining. Ady's first performance was good considering the look of abject terror on his face. Aww. Connie's sumo wrestler thing had potential, certainly. And I liked her talking through her mad skillz for everyone. Grant did his Bungay stuff to much acclaim. He was good again, and I found myself bopping along to the music n'that, but the Bungay atmosphere just wasn't there. Sigh.

In fact, for once I don't have anything bad to say about the show. Nice little tables to sit round. A couple of good heckles. No whizzy poppy floaty annoying things flapping about the place. An exceptionally quick raffle. No sitting around. It's finally happened. I have nothing to complain about. 

Instead of driving out into the middle of nowhere and crashing on Mini's floor like we'd planned, we went for the rather more sensible option of paying out for a hotel room for the night. Oohhhh it was worth it. A TV and a decent shower. Luxury. We got to Mini's at about half twelve the next day and sat around for a bit before other people arrived. Then we went up to Hamsterly Forest and pratted around in the undergrowth for several hours. We lost Barnesy for a bit. We launched a thoroughly comprehensive search party but he'd disappeared. He caught up with us later looking extremely pissed off and unloved. But we did try. Really, we did.

I surprised myself with my bitchin' mad muni skillz. Mini commented that I'd got better. It's the holding the seat that does it of course. We rode about seven miles up to this really quite impressive skillz loop that all the bikers were being complete wusses over. Dark Tom whizzed down it in about a minute with no discernable trouble. Mini, Pete and Barnesy seemed to have fun falling over and messing about. I found it hard enough trying to walk it so I didn't bother riding anything. It was all slightly scary. But all jolly good wholesome fun. We finished the day with a decidedly reasonable Sunday lunch at Mini's local and then off home we toddled.

My legs are killing me. 

We went to Bristol for a few days. I spent most of my time in bed reading. It was great.

On Wednesday we rode to Wales over the Severn Bridge. I was petrified, having spent the best part of this year getting worked up about it and worrying that it was a really long way on really busy roads. And then when we got to Bristol we found out that Danny wanted to come with us. And he's really good. He's got cycle shorts and a mirror on his glasses to prove it.

But it was fine. I pwned a little bit of light muni getting down the fields and into the village. And then we were very leisurely pootling along in the sunshine, stopping to check the map and have a bit of a chat. Barnesy and Darren ran off into the shop at one point so that Barnesy could sweat on the counter and make a few people sick.

Equipped with cycle shorts and a camelbak and a pleasantly cooling breeze, I managed quite nicely. We were very laid back about it all really, which annoyed Danny a bit I think.

Then Barnesy fell over in the most comic fashion ever and he started getting a bit grumpy and fed up. But we were at the bridge! So we picked him up and brushed him off after a few photos of us laughing at him. And then we were off over the bridge for about three minutes until Barnesy stopped to take his hat off and we all watched it blow away over the side and into oblivion. Barnesy said a rude word. I struggled not to laugh again. We all commiserated heartily. I'll miss that hat. She was a character.

Things weren't quite so eventful after that. We soldiered on. The bridge is a lot longer than it looks. And a lot more windy. Danny saved us all from tears when we got to the end and realised there wasn't a handily placed Welcome to Wales sign to take photos of. He rode up the road a few hundred metres and spotted just the fellow on the far side of a big scary roundabout. Yey!

And then after a few photos and some strange looks from passing motorists we went back home. To be fair, by this point I'd already done about 7 miles. Without complaint, I might add. So my weak girly legs having problems riding into a head wind on a scary bridge is understandable. Barnesy's weak girly legs weren't holding up well either and after an icecream at the services we managed to get about half way back before conking out.

Then there was the problem of no pubs being open to accomodate us and the long tiresome walk-of-defeat back to site. Bah.

But it was good, all the same. I feel I have achieved something.

The day after that it rained. We went to a garden centre for tea and cake. I did a survey about fish food for a nice woman with a clip board. She gave me a pen. I got to chose the colour and everything. It was very exciting. Then we went on an adventure and ended up in the cinema watching Pirates of the Caribbean. It was very good. I want a costume like Keira Knightley's but Pete says he won't make me one. He's just upset that I like Johnny Depp. Men! 

A whole year of marriage...but enough of that.

We went up to the Wirral on Sunday to go riding with Dazza and Barnesy. It was much fun. Barnesy had a whole route planned out for us along the Wirral Way which was allegedly about 7 miles. Even though it was nice and flat it still felt more like 20 miles. I think that's the furthest I've ever rode. Even more of an achievement when considering that I did it on my horrible fat 24'' that hates me. I've got a good scrawp up the inside of my calf from smacking it on the tyre once too often. After about five miles I realised how foolish I'd been by not taking Pete up on his offer of finding me some cycle shorts. I reckon Darren has it easy with just getting a numb willy. I was in pain for a good two miles.

But even though I was maniacally struggling to keep my balance, scrawping myself every few metres and constantly having to adjust my feet as they slipped from the pedals, it was a well spent afternoon. There were lots of nice dog-dogs who came up to say hello. And it was a good opportunity to stuff my face with chocolate buttons. For energy, you understand. And because it had been throwing it down all weekend there were lots of puddles to splash through. Both me and the 24 got suitably muddy and encrusted.

Best bits included driving down to West Kirby and having a police car block off the road in front of us. The same thing was happening on the other side of the road, but the difference was that over there they had a police man walking up to the stopped cars explaining what was going on. He redirected everyone and they all left looking suitably appeased. Our policeman did nothing of the sort. He sat on the bonnet of his car for a bit, then reluctantly started waving a few people across without any kind of explanation. He was fat as well. And a bus nearly ran him over.

Once we'd got to Parkgate we stopped off at the Post Office to buy ice cream. I had caramel fudge. It tasted just like a Caramac. Mmmmm. Then we did a comedy walk/jog/ride/scramble up to the station just in time to catch the train back to West Kirby and the cars.

Thinking about it, maybe the Wirral was slightly too far away to warrant a quick afternoon ride. But I got to see Barnesy's pad, and marvel at all the cool stuff Liverpool has to offer. And leaving the cat to fend for himself for a while just makes him appreciate us more when we get home.

I tried hockey for the first time last night. And I was petrified.

But I've learnt a lot. For example:

1. If you arrive at the pitch still unsure as to whether you want to play, your personal feelings no longer matter and a stick will be shoved into your hand, teams assigned and the game kicked off before you can voice any doubts.
2. If you're worried that you're going to ride into someone, carry on regardless. They are all much more agile than you and therefore the onus of getting out of the way is entirely on their shoulders. 
3. If you have trouble pivoting round the stick, stop thinking about it. It'll happen of its own accord. 
4. As per 2., if you wantonly knock someone over and nearly make them cry, it's not your fault. They shouldn't have been that close. 
5. Hockey is a fast game with lots of shouting. Life is easier when you give up trying to understand what's going on and leave them all to it.
6. Don't go near the ball if it's anywhere near a corner. It's far too scary.
7. Don't go near the ball if it's anywhere near Roland. You'll never catch up anyway.
8. If you're getting a bit upset that you're doing more harm than good to your team, just ride up to Darren and get in his way until he is suitably narked. This makes you feel better.
9. If you're worried that you're going to get knackered and pass out, don't be. Riding around aimlessly is not very tiring.
10. If you're scared that the others are going to be too competitive and nasty for your liking, don't be. You'll be trying so hard just to keep your stick down that you will be oblivious to everyone else on the pitch.
11. If you go home with the overriding feeling that you're a bit of a lemon you probably need to blinker yourself to the imminent possibility of injury and just get stuck in next time. At least that way you can say that you tried.
    
    

Took a road trip to Crawley at the weekend. It was the anniversary of our first trip in Philip and was thusly terribly exciting.

I spent Friday night watching Dave peg his tent out with our griddle pan. Thwack, Pang, Twonk! Then I went wild and had half a shandy whilst I opened my brithday present from Darren and revealed my lovely new 'I'm making poo' t-shirt. Very nice, thanks D. And then after that there was a lot of sitting around not doing anything. Tried talking Miark around to putting on a treasure hunt (I think by the end of the weekend my constant pestering was begininng to have an effect. Maybe.) We met Greg's best friend Harvey and had a cuddle. I also got to show off my mad skillz at holding things while Darren put his new wheel together.

Next morning it rained. And rained and rained and rained. I got woken up by Harvey jumping up into the van for a cuddle after Pete had taken him for a walk. Then we all gathered in the van whilst trying to pick up the energy to head off to Tesco's for food. Against Darren's better judgement, we managed to bundle five people into his Mini. D got a bit grumpy at the fact that we had to move his bottle of water to get Miark in. That and the worry that we might be getting his interior all dirty with our shoes. Not that he's anal or anything.

Met up with Rod later on and had a good go at wheel walking. I think I might have made a bit of progress. My unassisted attempts seemed to go slightly better than they had at Millstreet. But only slightly. Rod, on the other hand, was zooming off and around one footedly in a terribly annoying manner. I fell off onto my arse at one point and everyone laughed. Grrr. I got my birthday glow balls from Greg and put the batteries n'stuff in all by myself so that they're extra special. Had a bit of a go with them after the show that night. They work. It's all good. Then Pete and I took Harvey for a walk through the woods. Or rather Harvey took me for a walk and Pete ran after us, snickering. It was fun. I want a dog that I can take for walks all the time, and throw things for and brush and show off to people. Sigh.

Alan turned up at some ludicrous time in the afternoon meaning that he couldn't make the most of the carparkiness and ended up having to pitch his tent on the teeniest bit of grass in the world. I met Carla, the bendy girl, and was horrified firstly by how bendy she actually is, and secondly by how she will happily pop things out of holes purely for the attention. Silly girl.

We went for a slap up meal at the Harvester down the road on the square roundabout. I had a whole shandy this time and coped very well. We had a really nice waitress called Clare. She liked the fact that I knew how to spell the name correctly too. Alan asked her to have a sit down but I don't think she was allowed. She didn't take notes of what we wanted either. She just remembered it all. And there were six of us. She was really good. Although she did forget to put sour cream on Darren's potato. But I still liked her. I didn't get to eat pudding cause none of the boys wanted any. Bah. Then we wandered back up to the theatre just in time for the show, and to meet Roger's sister and brother-in-law who were very nice indeed.

Now. The show. Everyone's going to have a rant about this so I'll keep it short. The acts were all cool and funky. I liked the pole act although it was perhaps a little too long. Zach Turner was very good, naturally. There was an absolutely fantiastic aerial act involving a man in ludicrously high platforms and an air hostess being stuffed bodily into a suitcase. Supremely entertaining. Maksim was good. There was funky acrobatics to ooh and aah at. There was the joy of seeing what started off as a Jazz Poi act pick itself up out of the doldrums and turn into a nice little bit of three club juggling. It made me realise how much of a dearth there is of good female juggling performers around. It's all very well watching lithe and lovely young girls flinging themselves about doing acro and aerial stuff, but occasionally all I really want to see it a woman showing that she's competent at throwing and catching stuff. Luke Wilson made the correct choice in deciding to do his exciting and stylish BUC act rather than his flat and lifeless EJC act. Even the whip act which I hadn't held up much hope for was entertaining.

So the only thing to complain about was the compering which completely mullered the atmosphere of the show, and incidentally freaked me out majorly by flashing willies and weeing on people's props. I wouldn't have minded so much that their skits were numerous and dull (although I will admit that they did have one nice idea with sticking their hands in bags, n'that) but they simply didn't do the job they were paid for. Not only did they not add anything to the show they actually ruined the atmosphere. There was an audible slump in excitement (and shoulders) whenever they appeared. They screwed up quite a few people's entrances because the audience didn't know when of if to clap. But what *really* annoyed me was the fact that they didn't introduce anybody. I spent the entire show going 'oooh! That was great. Who was it?' In fact, no. What *really* annoyed me was that they did actually manage to introduce themselves. Not impressed, at all. If I could remember their names I'd suggest that no one booked them again. Ever. 

We managed to miss the fire show. Yey! And sat chatting until we got kicked out of the theatre. Then we wandered for a bit. I learnt the words 'umbra' and penumbra' and used them for a bit. We were all terribly entertained by watching Roger try to pull a couple of girls who looked young enough to be his children. I dunno whether he was successful or not. I hope so, seeing as he put in so much effort.

When I woke up on Sunday it was raining. Barnesy and I wandered around looking for people and found them inside. I passed with Alan for a bit, relatively successfully. We didn't pwn triple singles though so something is very wrong there. After that I went to practice hockey skillz with Rod. Others joined us. I managed two or three decent swipes of the ball without falling off, although dribbling is still quite beyond me. Darren played rough and barged me off my uni onto the spiky gravel. And then smacked me round the head with his stick. And spat on me. He didn't even apologise. I've got a nicely mullered right leg now. Then it rained some more and we decided to go home. But then we spotted that Philip had dropped some oil so we stopped and Pete sorted that out. And then we really did leave. We got back home about five o'clock and collapsed.

Very nice, indeed.