hirez: (Bunny Eye)
Migraine season has arrived with a bang (the migraines) and some whimpering (me), so the garden's getting more time than usual since that's all I'm fit for.

It's also that time of year when I remember with a start that I should be doing more outside things because there's more daylight to do them in and have a bit of a swear about having been looking the other way for the last few weeks. More or less like every other year for the past several.

The passage of time is a right bastard. The front parlour isn't much better, since it contains a flammable sofa and curtains last seen in 'Oh no it's Selwyn Froggett', and the kitchen is where dreams of escape go to wither and die.

On the other hand, I accidentally a vague sort of 'plot' for a story, so that's good.

You can also see the back wall of the garage for the first time in about a decade.
hirez: (Bunny Eye)
Gah. A migraine has given me a craving for raisins, tea and omelettes.

It's also put me at something of a tangent to reality. Well, more so than usual. Mind, the sun's warm, even though it is right parky otherwise.
hirez: (Cooper-Clarke)
Because I am at home to a migraine - no particular reason why other than sod's law - I cannot get my words in the right order. Seriously. Trying to format these sentences is just like, ugh, I don't know what word goes here. Wait, that one over there would be right, but then I'd have to fix the, um, thing, word for the view of time in writing. Casement? Punjab? Proprioception? Aha! Tense...

... What was I going to do about the tense? Something. Anyway, as well as words order wrong in the and casement, I am filled with unhelpful thoughts like 'Which Rails CMS should I fiddle with in a desultory fashion?', 'If I'm a recovering goth, why am I so shit at eyeshadow?' and 'Allotments, right? That's a load of hard work and dear god you can't even cope with the things you think you should be doing now are you some kind of mental?'

Weirdly though, I can remember the name 'John Cusack' and have only confused him with John Degenkolb and John Cooper-Clarke a few times in the last hour or so.
hirez: (posing)
Today - migraine. There was a definite 'clank' from my neck last night - probably one of the thrust-washers in the auxiliary Hardy-Spicer linkage needs re-packing with lithium grease, but it's a bugger to get to bits and since this is a pre-'68 model with the non-metric bearings, that'll mean pattern parts from some dodgy mob up round Long Eaton and, oh, just arg.

Which means several hours of lying in bed, trying to find the least-horribly-painful position to whimper quietly in, and Absolutely No Screens At All.

By the time I'd got bored with the cracks in the ceiling, the day had become really jolly pleasant. So I spent the greater part of the afternoon pottering (and indeed potting on, weeding, planting things for a laugh to see what will happen and guzzling the second crop of rasperries) in a garden which, although still mostly concrete and horrible, is now a place I can go and get lost within plant-maintenance. (aka 'leaving them mostly alone to get on with it')

Although that could be the result of a brain filled with broken things.

That said, it all smelled of September and warm soil. Which in turn reminded me of pottering around Ingleside/Fox Lake to the sound of crickets and distant locomotives.
hirez: (Bunny Eye)
There's a Pyracantha at the end of the garden next to the low bit of wall where Scrotes, were they so inclined, could usefully hurdle into my patch and pilfer the shed at their leisure.

Pyracanthas are also known as 'burglar bush'. That and its position are not a coincidence.

Since I spent the time when I should have been hacking back last year's growth in a pit of depression, the thing's about twice the size it should be. It's also rammed with bright orange berries as a warning to energy suppliers everywhere that they should increase their prices without delay.

All of this means that after The Wind from Nowhere at the beginning of the week, the sodding thing was leaning at an angle usually reserved for blackthorn bushes in coastal areas, which was more of an embarrassment than usual.

Now it's just an embarrassing heap next to the other embarrassing heaps and I have hands that look like I've been feeding pills to a mob of angry cats.

Of course the next problem is disposal of the remains. The council are really quite useless when it comes to hazardous garden waste.

It's going to have to be FIRE, isn't it.
hirez: (SantaBot)
Perhaps I need less rubbish tyres on the road bike.

And a new pair of winter strides, since there's an extra hole in the existing set.


Still, own stupid fault, etc.

Nevertheless: ow.

Knife party

Feb. 5th, 2008 11:04 pm
hirez: (dissent)
For reasons of carelessness described below, I've just had to perform my ablutions while wearing a rubber glove.

It was nowhere near as much fun as one might imagine. In fact, the only thing going through my head (other than 'that was the wrong hand with which to make a dive for the bathplug') was 'This is the sort of thing that [livejournal.com profile] steer would do.'

The carelessness was in accidentally launching the breadknife off a worksurface while there was a ferret below. Like a pillock I tried to catch the thing (knife, not ferret) on the way down and got a palmful of sharp end. It was one of those cuts that you can stare stupidly at and think 'You know, that's going to hurt like a bastard any second now... Here it comes... And... Ow fuck.'

Earlier in the day, I was able to fondle and indeed pilot round the station carpark a Giant SCR2. Very fine. The damn thing weighs nothing, and given it's at the cheap end of road bikes, that can only mean the expensive end is lighter still.

Before that we discover that the previously mentioned 'Noise and electronic music' CD collection cheerfully stretches the definition of 'music'. As the liner-notes mention, Russolo wasn't much of a composer. However Survival Research f-ing shred and Pauline Oliveros tries the patience of the listener splendidly. Ideal stuff for getting rid of people at parties. Unless they're all intransigent Peelites, of course.
hirez: (Christmas cat)
o christ i'm drunk. (You can look back over the last few years of LJ posting for similar happenings.)

it all started quietly enough. although ex-work was getting the tab on the beer, so no-one was hanging back. Moving on to the cider pub on a barge was where the rot-talking started, though i must mention that bristol in general seemed rather taken with the idea of a bloke wandering about in an inflatable santa suit. It also seemed like a really good idea to drink something called SuperJANET. I have no idea if there were other ciders named LINX or FLAG-2 available.

Anyway. There was a cider-powered rampage across bits of Bristol, featuring different people in the santa-suit and two random miscreants re-enacting John Woo fight scenes with inflatable crocodiles. Um. Probably. The people in the bus stop were quite surprised. Then I fell into the Arnolfini bookshop, which became expensive.

Ho hum. It's going to hurt in the morning.
hirez: (irradiated)

Of the several less-than-wonderful things that happen when a chap has a migraine, one of the non-obvious ones is that you come to think that your life is being led by someone else. I mean, it clearly isn't... Well, semi-clearly anyway.

But that feeling of watching from the wings remains. I was staring into space earlier and thinking 'That fellow needs to pull his socks up'. It took many seconds to realise that I was the fellow in need of some sock-pulling.

Most odd.

hirez: (irradiated)
hirez: (irradiated)
Next year, I'm going to take the whole month off and do nothing complicated involving screens or thinking.

Meanwhile: cycling home with either shagged vision or an exploding head. Arse!
hirez: (irradiated)
Woken at half-five by a particularly choice migraine.

hirez: (irradiated)
... So this would be comedy gastric 'flu malarkey.

Ho, and indeed hum.

On the other hand, I have remarkably clean insides. Hardly a mark on 'em.
hirez: (pillock)
The last couple of weeks, I've been beetling around looking like Clive Anderson, which hasn't been terribly pleasant.

Now I whiff of massage oil and I'm at least an inch taller.

Much better.
hirez: (irradiated)
The reason that I've been a bit thick for a while was that I'd not allowed Mr. Migraine his tithe. The bugger came to collect with a vengeance this AM.

It's so much fun not being able to read. Only seeing things in 2D it a right old laugh, too.

You'd think I'd have learned to retreat to a darkened room and cancel all engagements for a couple of days by now, but no. Duh.
hirez: (Laser goggles and raybans)
In an attack of carelessness on Friday even, I tried to hold open a loaded door with my right little finger. Or perhaps the wrong one. Anyway, the result was the nail being half ripped off an uncomfortable way down into the nailbed and presumably a deal of blood on the inside of the relevant glove. Even cut down as far as I dare, there's still a good section that's going to catch on anything within a 500 metre radius and cause more blood and swearing.

So I thought I'd try to glue it all together with some reasonably gloopy nailie. And paint the matching nail on the other side for reasons of symmetry.

Result: it looks like I'm dripping the final gothness from my life out of the ends of two fingers. Although I'm starting to wonder if I may as well do the rest, I rather like MAC 'Black and blue'...

Today I was seduced by the wonder that is the local pound shop again. A handful of maybe-useful clampy things for £1.98. Not much use for holding fingernails on, but significantly less useless than talking South Park car air fresheners. I'm sure there's a large factory in China that plans production runs using the same perl script that generates spam message titles.

And and and... Was that Howard Goodall programme (How music works) on Ch-4 a corker or what? It's self-evident that people who know their stuff (and can convey same) are going to be a lot more use that random simpering teevee presenter. Like Radio Humppa from WhatTheHack last year.


hirez: (Default)

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