No camping or druids this year

We were up the hill in bluebell wood anyway though, and it was a sea of purple, just as it should be. Apparently they are grazing goats up there from June to October to get rid of brambles and such, so I might fancy going back soonish :) This all came as the centrepoint to a week(end) of some serious socialising and doing of stuff. Monday and Tuesday we had new windows put in at the back so it was chaos. I kept my head down and hacked my PSP so I can now run homebrew code, emulate almost any system made up to about ten years ago and, should I want to, download any game at all and run it from the memory stick not the UMD drive which is slow and eats battery. It was painless and fun. Then there were windows.

Wednesday was a day in work followed by a pint or three and a Wildhearts gig at the Point down Cardiff Bay. They were ace, the crowd weren't. I can't remember coming home so I had a good night. The following morning wasn't so good. The first Wildhearts gig of my thirties and I'm in agony. Cuts, bruises, a sore nose (where I apparently headbutted Katie - no recollection of that at all), a hangover that just wouldn't quit and a neck/calves in total shutdown situation meant I spent the day sitting very still and being very quiet. Thursday more of the same and Friday saw Rob and Katie come over for foods, though we sat in the garden drinking and spinning poi until about eleven, then ducked back in for garlic bread, fajitas and some sort of chocolate weapon Katie had devised, which lasted us until Sunday evening for a small bowl each. She's making that again, I can assure you. The company must have been good because we all thought it was midnight and it was three so we went to bed and awoke not hungover, a bizarrely successful evening and a change to the usual pub-home-splat methodology I've employed of late.


Saturday was a fry up then kites. Wonderful wonderful kites. Except the wind was intermittent and when someone is learning they need a nice even breeze.




Not to worry, we all know where in the park to congregate now so we can be there at the drop of a hat should the wind perfect itself suddenly in future. The Cardiff squadron is taking shape. Watch your backs, Lincoln.


Kites didn't last long enough, as Rob & Katie seem to make everything be later than it feels, we had to jet up to the valleys after not too long and this time Bargoed in particular for some more quaint socialising with the clan, one of whom was 40, to the tune of the 'Grease Megamix' and some other shite. Only one big lass treated the room to her bra in a moment of drunken inhibition loss, so if you'll excuse the pun, we got off lightly. Sunday found us in the aforementioned wood of bluebells and thereafter to Abergavenny, where I finally caught up with Emma, who I've not seen for months and her two daughters who have got hairdos and fashion clothes and are a bit lady shaped, who Emma recently got in to replace the two little girls who used to jump up and down on my cranium every time we visited, call me 'Thingy' and poke me in the eye. All in all it was very relaxing. Today is anniversary day 1 and we are taking it easy then going for some food. Tomorrow, a trip out.

On Wednesday I'm back on the breakfast run.

It's going to piss down, isn't it?

Ye gods...

Busy? I should say so. Where to begin? Went to Newcastle for a wedding, drove up from Hull with Neal and we found a mithraic temple while out looking for kiting spots by Hadrian's wall. Then an evening of Nintendo Wii (yes, VERY good indeed, thanks) and much Witchwood Ale and Kath/Simon became a legal entity and Neal and I fussed over Izzy while Mars fussed over Elaine. The food was very rich as I hope the marriage will be. That weekend there was also a firework show, a divorce (not finished yet, they take ages), some policemen, a heroically drunk thin lady who couldn't made head nor tail of the Wii, some kiting on the playing fields above Prudhoe (ace), a night in Zest Hull with the Nick and the Kathryn and the Lorna and the Johnny. And the Neal. Plus Branston to see Dad (somewhat less tumerous than of late, which could be good) and Mum who is in charge of purple goo and Isobel and Brian who are old school. Not seen them for over a decade. Then Pete's minus Andrea and Billy/Gaynor and that was ace.

In Cardiff we've had loads over. Karl, Ilana, Chris and Lee (Karl, Chris, Lee and I went kiting down Barry Island and I Supermanned for the first time, my board tethered to my leg with the bungee cord as it was, I careered face down across the sand unable to pull my brake lines with the accursed thing systematically whacking me in the bollocks for some distance. Jules (Costa gone! he gone, baby!), Lorna and Reiji, an overabundance of landlordship and some other dudes. The organic veg box delivery man. Window fitters, that sort of thing.

Work is great, lots of hours at the hostel, which is best and doing well, I am told.

What else have we done? Wildhearts gig, got Beautiful Days tickets (woo!) and curries and pub (smoking ban now so we can see to the far wall in our local) Atilla gig and Mars did some stuff on her own and just belly dances all the bloody time.

I've been doing lots with video games and that, a little kiting, a little too much drinking and socially the pair of us are far too active to keep up at the moment, but we like it, our friends down here are diverse, interesting, occasionally inoffensive to look at and generally rather jolly bloody decent folk. I was tipsily chatting to Billy the other day and said over the phone about how when he was moving us down I hoped that Cardiff could be the best aspects of Manchester and the best aspects of Lincoln, i..e. the locals/amenities for one, and the people for the other. It's certainly getting that way.

Bastard