DECEMBER 2001
Public transport, my arse
Really, it's no wonder that everyone travels by car in this country. Public transport, unless you live in London, is hopeless. It's all very well for the government to try and price us out of driving but it's not like the alternatives are either viable or affordable. Take the trains, for instance. Great Western Trains run what is alleged to be a service to my nearest station, Cholsey. Yesterday they once again proved themselves to be about as much use as tits on a bull.
There I was freezing my bollocks off at Reading station, having left the pub at 23.10. I was waiting interminably for the 23:48 train home, which was already the subject of two revised departure times, when without explanation it was announced as cancelled. 15 minutes late it was by this time. We were then casually told we'd have to wait for the 00:40 train instead. Fantastic. By the time it showed up I'd spent an hour and a half waiting with the temperature gauge displaying a big fat zero. Got home at 1:10. Two hours to go fifteen miles. Lovely.
The only entertainment on offer was a bloke at the station singing "Vera" over and over and even he was long gone by the time the 00:40 showed up. "Vera"? Yes, "Vera". The Pink Floyd song, one of the most obscure tracks on The Wall . An interesting choice, you have to concede. Quite what led him to that, I have no idea, since his girlfriend's name appeared to be Alison. But I had to applaud the selection. It wasn't, you know, Steps or something equally banal.
December 30, 2001
Merry Christmas!
Alles schläft, einsam wacht
Nur das traute, hochheilige Paar,
Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh'!
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh'!
— Franz X. Gruber, December 24, 1818
December 25, 2001
Spam, spam, spam, spam, spam
Some unsolicited messages are beyond satire, really.
December 17, 2001
International playboy travels again
In the course of my business I am taken to many delightful places. This week I enjoyed a culture-packed three day sojourn in Warrington. For those of you unfortunate enough never to have been to Warrington, I can only shake my head in sympathy that you have missed out on so much. I stayed in a particularly fine hotel and sampled the wondrous local cuisine at a nearby four-star restaurant. I must say I was put in mind of the grandeur of Italy and the hill towns of Tuscany, particularly Montepulciano, as I savoured the stunning panorama of the scenic splendour that is the M6 sliproad which I was afforded from the balcony of my penthouse suite at the Horrible Inn. Truly I am blessed to travel to such fine places.
December 15, 2001
Bad rabbit
In Gus's absence I decided last week to put Carly in the other cage with Edward and Jacques so that she wouldn't be lonely, figuring that as they'd all seemed to get along okay when out in the run in the garden things would be fine. I heard a few murmurings the last few days but hoped they work themselves out. However, much to my annoyance, before I set off for W***ington yesterday evening I heard Carly squealing in some distress and it became clear that Edward was harassing her, so I swiftly decided to take her out and give her back her own cage. This seems a little out of character for Edward, who's a quiet undemonstrative soul most of the time, though I did see him give Jacques a slap when Jacques got too bossy once. Couldn't afford to leave them unsupervised for six days, save for Jon's daily feeding visits, if she was going to get picked on. Well, I hope she won't be unhappy on her own as I'm not going to be getting a replacement for Gus. Maybe if I eventually get Edward bonded with Curtis she can go back in the Jacques, I know they've got on fine previously. We'll see.
December 11, 2001
This grain of sand is mine
I found a new theme tune today. I wasn't looking for one, but I found it by accident earlier this evening whilst playing some songs I hadn't listened to in a while. I was searching for the guitar chords for a different song. Strange how that happens sometimes.
December 10, 2001
Another bereavement
So the menagerie has decreased by one again, following on from losing Marmite, my male Russian hamster on November 22. Only this time the loss seems so much greater because of who it was, how old he was and what he represented. This was Gus, my first guinea pig. I got him on November 19, 1998, a few weeks after we got Curtis, when I believe he was about 12 weeks old. I'd wanted a pig for ages and had been looking at them a lot, searching the perfect one. Once she had Curtis, Tasha had no argument as to why I couldn't have one, then I spotted Gus in a pet shop, standing up on his hind legs with his front paws against the enclosure practically yelling "You! Yes, you there with the long hair! Guess who's coming to dinner!" That was it. He was the one I had to have.
And what a little star he was, right from the start. He was extremely curious and lively, always wanting to know what was going on. He was very friendly, cute as anything with that wild shaggy fur and as dumb as a box of rocks. He even didn't mind when I gave him a bath which I needed to do every so often because his coat got so mucky and he was extremely funny when he was soaking wet. I have some hilarious photos I must scan that I took one time of him in the bath, that including one that had Tasha quite literally crying with laughter for ten minutes. Everyone who encountered him, friends, parents, people coming to view the house when it was put up for sale, they all loved him, thought he was the most adorable thing they ever saw. After I'd had him a year or so I got Carly who was then very little, only 7 weeks old. They got on just fine, not least because he was a horny little devil. You could see him practically doing his best Terry-Thomas impression, twirling his moustache and saying "Hellllooooooo!". They eventually had four litters of micropigs, the cutest things ever to walk on God's green earth.
He started to lose weight about three months ago, a while after I had him neutered to stop the micropig factory. I wasn't too worried about this at the time as he was apparently eating everything in sight with his normal enthusiasm. However one night last week I came in to find him lying on his side struggling to get up. I had him in the vets first thing but she thought it was pretty much hopeless. He'd obviously not been eating because he'd suddenly lost a lot more weight and was much thinner. He'd no strength left, couldn't stand at all and was cold by the morning. The vet immediately got some subcutaneous fluids and Baytril in him and got him warm, but he didn't respond so I let her put him to sleep. Despite asking lots of questions she remained mystified as to what had caused the problem, but pointed out that being a small animal, things go downhill very quickly once there's a problem which I know to be true from keeping hamsters for years. Often by the time you become aware that your pet is ill it's terminal, unlike with larger animals such as cats, dogs and rabbits where changes in their behaviour are much more noticeable.
People think that losing a pet is a trivial matter, nothing to be upset about, something disposable easily replaced, like having a car stereo stolen or breaking a squash racquet. This annoys and offends me greatly. It's nothing like that. It's a genuine bereavement; you lose a part of your family, especially if you don't have kids. No matter whether that pet is a horse or a hamster, it's still your pet that you loved and looked after. That's all that matters.
Guinea pigs normally live to the age of five or so. My little friend Gus died on December 6, 2001, aged about three and four months. He's buried in my back garden next to a Mexican Orange Blossom bush. RIP, little man.
December 10, 2001
Ihr wollt doch auch das Blut vom Degen lecken
Last week I got the chance to see just about my favourite band, Rammstein, live for the first time, at the Brixton Academy. I kind of knew what to expect, because I have the concert DVD Live aus Berlin, and kind of didn't, because that was recorded three years ago. Do you know what it's like when you go anticipating something special only to have your expectations are blown away within five minutes because the reality is way better? That's how it was. They were amazing, awe-inspiring, incredible.
Firstly there was the musical excellence of the performance, the band playing the songs as well as any live band I've ever seen but with the added power and dynamics of the live rendition. Then there was the sound. It was brutally loud, like industrial metal bands are supposed to be, but unlike most bands who play that loud where you often struggle to hear the music properly - and you know this is true when you stand through a support band you've never heard before and realise afterward that you still have no idea what they sound like - the sound quality was superb; crystal clear so all the instruments were audible in the mix and delivered at ear-splitting volume.
And then there was the show. And show, believe me, is the word. Rammstein don't walk on stage, play a bunch of songs, take the applause and then go home. They don't talk to the audience, except for Till Lindemann's fractured but clearly genuine thanks in English at the end for their response. They put on a very visual performance with plenty of theatrics, and of course the stunning pyrotechnics for which they are famous; flamethrowers, fireworks, explosions galore, enough to keep it exciting but not too much that they get boring. The party piece has to be the first encore, "Rammstein", which Till Lindemann sings whilst standing in crucifix position wearing an overcoat which is totally aflame. No matter whether you've seen it on TV, it's immensely impressive seeing it done live. Stunning, just stunning. Can't wait until 'til they come back.
