With my bike out of action, I run in to work. Which isn’t particularly memorable other than for being quite a painful experience and the weather, which was dark and miserable, although dry, didn’t help.
The coffee at work is now black. At lunch time I walk to Sainsbury’s to fetch some milk and other supplies. No wonder no one works over Christmas when we are subjected to such third world hardship. No milkman and no sandwich vans.
In the afternoon L joins everyone else who’s on a prolonged Christmas skive at the pantomime. Yes another one, her third of the season. That must be worth some sort of award. She warns me that she doesn’t intend being AF. That’s totally understandable. I wouldn’t be AF if I was going to a pantomime either.
She goes to the pantomime with her parents who then come back to our place afterwards and we have another present giving session. We could blame the weather for being five days late, everybody else does, but we won’t. The post office would probably be elated at only being five days late.
When her folks are gone I get around to submitting that tax return, after only two glasses of wine as well.
(Thursday 30th December)
Showing posts with label pantomime. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pantomime. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Into The Christmas Spirit
I decide it’s probably too icy for a repeat performance of yesterday's early morning run with the boys. One of us, probably me, would end up toppling into Martin’s Pond. Its so cold that MD’s football has frozen that hard it’s like a cannonball. Attempting to kick it for him means risking a broken foot. However when I walk for my bus, it isn’t that bad underfoot at all. Still, the extra hour in bed was definitely preferable.
Daughter has, in her words, 'an interesting day' and comes across a flasher on her way to college. It's a bit cold for that sort of thing. Unless that was his attempt to try to warm himself up.
L and Daughter are off to the pantomime at Nottingham’s Theatre Royal, oh no they aren’t, oh yes they are and they’re having Hogsmeade roasties from the Dickensian portacabins first.
Which will probably be a better feast than I get at my company’s Christmas party (for want of a better word) tonight. It’s at Derbyshire's cricket club, in a tent, which is thankfully heated. The outside toilets, however, aren’t.
We stagger there, having adjured to the Alexandra straight from work and having downed three pints of Christmas spirit whilst there. We are greeted at the door by group of Santas in little blue Santa dresses and Keith Loring, who is chief executive and formerly fulfilled a similar role at Derby County. Once inside we are handed a drink by yet more Santas, this time in little black Santa dresses. Definitely prefer the black ones.
Loring, it has to be said, puts in an impressive shift all night, circulating round all night, being master of ceremonies, sorting the wine and even waiting on tables. You would expect your average MD to just flirt with Santa's little helpers, grab a few glasses of wine and then leave early but not him. He probably even changed the loo rolls in the toilets, maybe, and he still had time to flirt with the Santas.
Each table is handed a quiz. Can you name the last fifty Christmas number one's? Of course you can. Anyone can with the help of Wikipedia. I would like to say we got a least forty without cheating. Then after cheating, amazingly, we still get one wrong. In fact only one table gets all fifty right.
For once I’m not on the wine because the keg Old Specked Hen is surprisingly drinkable. Well it tastes quite close to the cask version but that’s probably more an indication of how the cask version has declined since they lopped a whole percent off its strength.
The meal is actually excellent and even hot, which is a novelty for these sort of do’s. The disco, which is actually karaoked by the DJ’s, isn’t. The less said about that the better.
Then it’s a dilemma of whether to hike up to the bus station in subzero temperatures to get the direct bus or endure the slow bus that stops right outside. I take the slow bus. Probably not the right decision, it takes even longer than I remembered.
(Friday 17th December)
Daughter has, in her words, 'an interesting day' and comes across a flasher on her way to college. It's a bit cold for that sort of thing. Unless that was his attempt to try to warm himself up.
L and Daughter are off to the pantomime at Nottingham’s Theatre Royal, oh no they aren’t, oh yes they are and they’re having Hogsmeade roasties from the Dickensian portacabins first.
Which will probably be a better feast than I get at my company’s Christmas party (for want of a better word) tonight. It’s at Derbyshire's cricket club, in a tent, which is thankfully heated. The outside toilets, however, aren’t.
We stagger there, having adjured to the Alexandra straight from work and having downed three pints of Christmas spirit whilst there. We are greeted at the door by group of Santas in little blue Santa dresses and Keith Loring, who is chief executive and formerly fulfilled a similar role at Derby County. Once inside we are handed a drink by yet more Santas, this time in little black Santa dresses. Definitely prefer the black ones.
Loring, it has to be said, puts in an impressive shift all night, circulating round all night, being master of ceremonies, sorting the wine and even waiting on tables. You would expect your average MD to just flirt with Santa's little helpers, grab a few glasses of wine and then leave early but not him. He probably even changed the loo rolls in the toilets, maybe, and he still had time to flirt with the Santas.
Each table is handed a quiz. Can you name the last fifty Christmas number one's? Of course you can. Anyone can with the help of Wikipedia. I would like to say we got a least forty without cheating. Then after cheating, amazingly, we still get one wrong. In fact only one table gets all fifty right.
For once I’m not on the wine because the keg Old Specked Hen is surprisingly drinkable. Well it tastes quite close to the cask version but that’s probably more an indication of how the cask version has declined since they lopped a whole percent off its strength.
The meal is actually excellent and even hot, which is a novelty for these sort of do’s. The disco, which is actually karaoked by the DJ’s, isn’t. The less said about that the better.
Then it’s a dilemma of whether to hike up to the bus station in subzero temperatures to get the direct bus or endure the slow bus that stops right outside. I take the slow bus. Probably not the right decision, it takes even longer than I remembered.
(Friday 17th December)
Monday, January 4, 2010
The Deep And Crisp And Even
As I’ve already mentioned, with the freeze predicted to last for some time, chances of biking this week at all are remote. However, as overnight we gained a nice inch of the deep and crisp and even stuff. Well it’s not exactly deep but I figure this morning would be a good time to attempt a run. It got to be better than running on the dreadmill, which is what I’ll be forced to do otherwise.
Snow can be quite good to run in when it is fresh and still quite grippy. This does appear to be the case as I jog up to catch the bus from the QMC. Unfortunately once I alight from the bus in Borrowash I realise that yet again Derby seems to have missed out on the white stuff. So I’m faced with a slither along icy paths instead. Thankfully the route down by the river allows for plenty of running on the grass which is good because running on the path is more than a touch dicey. Despite this I see almost as many bikes as usual, probably 30 or more, and only about half with sensible tyres. The rest of them on the sort of unsuitable mount that I usually ride. Despite this I don’t see any one fall off.
The next problem I face is due to latest bout of concreting over of the countryside that’s going on down there. They’re shut the river path again and divert me on to the main road, where more slithering ensues. I eventually skate into work, only six minutes slower than usual, which isn’t bad considering the ice and the detour that must have added half a mile.
L reports that not only has Daughter taken a tumble on the ice, mind she was probably Facebooking at the time rather than looking where she was going, but Doggo has taken a slide too. Both are apparently fine.
After work, I opt out of playing roulette with the ice pavements by running home and take the easy option of the Red Arrow instead.
I get home to find that Daughter has gone and had all her hair cut off, well not quite but it’s pretty short. Question is what she going to spend two hours a day doing now she has so little hair to style? No need for hairdryers, hair spray and the like.
The girls head off to see the Derby Panto or are they just going to see Neil Morrissey.
Either way I decline their offer to join them. Pantomime has never really been my sort of thing but I’m sure they’ll have a good time. Oh no they won’t, oh yes they will. Apparently the pantomime is packed out but there’s not a man in sight. Funny that.
Snow can be quite good to run in when it is fresh and still quite grippy. This does appear to be the case as I jog up to catch the bus from the QMC. Unfortunately once I alight from the bus in Borrowash I realise that yet again Derby seems to have missed out on the white stuff. So I’m faced with a slither along icy paths instead. Thankfully the route down by the river allows for plenty of running on the grass which is good because running on the path is more than a touch dicey. Despite this I see almost as many bikes as usual, probably 30 or more, and only about half with sensible tyres. The rest of them on the sort of unsuitable mount that I usually ride. Despite this I don’t see any one fall off.
The next problem I face is due to latest bout of concreting over of the countryside that’s going on down there. They’re shut the river path again and divert me on to the main road, where more slithering ensues. I eventually skate into work, only six minutes slower than usual, which isn’t bad considering the ice and the detour that must have added half a mile.
L reports that not only has Daughter taken a tumble on the ice, mind she was probably Facebooking at the time rather than looking where she was going, but Doggo has taken a slide too. Both are apparently fine.
After work, I opt out of playing roulette with the ice pavements by running home and take the easy option of the Red Arrow instead.
I get home to find that Daughter has gone and had all her hair cut off, well not quite but it’s pretty short. Question is what she going to spend two hours a day doing now she has so little hair to style? No need for hairdryers, hair spray and the like.
The girls head off to see the Derby Panto or are they just going to see Neil Morrissey.
Either way I decline their offer to join them. Pantomime has never really been my sort of thing but I’m sure they’ll have a good time. Oh no they won’t, oh yes they will. Apparently the pantomime is packed out but there’s not a man in sight. Funny that.
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