There’s Always Tomorrow

Intended to get the bus this morning but overslept. However it’s so icy I’m kind of glad I didn’t get the bus and have to skate in to work from Derby. It’s looking like its going to be a full week in the car. It’s been a long time since I last did that. Also thankfully I didn’t have to go out attached to two collies as L did, which must have been interesting. Last night was coldest it’s been so far, -16 in Scotland apparently. They’ve had a fair dump of snow up there; Nevis Range is fully open and looking very tempting. Although as soon as we decide to go up it usually all melts.

L’s started the search for something unusual for Christmas Day as it’s just the two of us for lunch. Fish is our favoured option but Sainsbury’s has nothing that’s wild or exciting. We'll end up having a pork chop at this rate. Then she has success down the market and has to choose between Swordfish and Conger Eel. Swordfish wins and if she gets two we can draw swords at dawn and have a battle.



Back on the squash court tonight. I lose, of course but it’s just good to be back and be fit enough to do so. I can feel the lack of recent exercise in my legs afterwards though.

Then its home to spend the evening wrapping presents. I think I’ve got something for everyone, if not there’s always tomorrow...

The New Prison Cell

My drinking partner for tonight informs me that he’s feeling ‘rough as a pile of dog doo’. Thanks for that, just saying he was ill would have done. So that’s my evening rescheduled. So I go off Christmas card delivering and then manage to fit a swim in, for the first time in ages. I’ve got to do some kind of exercise as outdoors isn’t conducive to much. We do after all have a 10k race on the 28th and before that a lesser one on the 26th.

One of MD’s Christmas presents arrives, the one he didn’t want, his new prison cell, I mean cage.



Very quickly delivered it was, as have all my online orders this year. Since everyone stopped using the Royal Mail to deliver stuff, service levels seem to have gone up, funny that. The only thing I’m waiting for now it the traditionally tardy Virgin Wines, or else we’ll have nothing to drink on the day itself. They say its guaranteed delivery in time for Christmas, wonder if that’s even if they have to drop it down your chimney on the day?

The Search For Meths

It doesn’t look to be a good day to cycle, it’s very icy out, and so it’s the car today. Looking at the weather forecast it doesn’t look like it’s going to be good week to cycle at all or to run for that matter.

Top of my shopping list for the usual sojourn to Sainsbury’s is whisky, dark rum and meths. I sound like a right alkie. The first two are for the notorious eggnog, the latter for tonights almost as notorious cheese fondue. Notorious because the last time we did one the ceramic fondue bowl exploded spilling molten cheese everywhere. Whilst everyone ran around in a mad panic attempting to mop up the mess, Son was doing his own mopping up and finishing off the debris. Tonight we’ll be using metal fondue pots.

Thing is we have a bit of a fuel problem; it runs on methylated spirit and just where do you get meths from these days? Sainsbury’s hadn’t got any; they suggested I try white spirit which I’m not sure would work, unless we’re looking to repeat the explosion. Apparently B&Q sell it, so their website says. I might have to detour there on my way home but then, before I get chance, L saves the day with the help of good old Wilko.

She’s also acquired some mince pie flavoured candles, to mask the smell of wet dog that pervades everywhere at home. I just hope we don’t replace that with the smell of burning mince pies instead. As it happens, the smell of warm melted, burning itself to the bottom of the fondue pot, cheese masks everything.

The fondue, despite being a little burnt, goes down well but it’s not as impressive as L’s Kaiserschmarren, which is something else we’ve discovered on our alpine travels, which are basically diced pancakes and a great lunchtime pick me up after a morning on the ski slopes. They’re also not too bad after a slither along our icy streets either.



If anyone’s had too much cheese fondue and Kaiserschmarren, bear in mind it’s also the 4th Annual Global Orgasm Day for Peace, which coincides with the first day of the Winter Solstice. The aim, ‘to effect positive change in the energy field of the Earth through input of the largest possible instantaneous surge of human biological, mental and spiritual energy’, apparently. So go for it, any time in a 24-hour period from 5.47am on the 21st will do. I don’t know, one day people power and Rage Against The Machine, today this.

Raging Against The Machine

I head down to the dog training venue as today is the day they move the equipment from the old place to the new place. I lend a hand loading the lorry up which I thought would just be loading up the equipment that we usually train with. What I didn’t consider and I don’t think many others did either is that there was loads of stuff at the back of the store room that we didn’t know we had or had forgotten we had. Stuff we certainly didn’t want now but had to take anyway. At one stage it looked like we might need a bigger lorry but somehow it all went aboard.

Afterwards some of the other collies are looking for somewhere different to stretch their paws so Doggo and MD offer to show them Wollaton Park. So the boys get to run on the park with three other dogs and predictable chaos ensures but at least they’ll sleep for the rest of the day. The park itself is looking particularly scenic, covered as it is in a thin layer of last night’s snow.

We get another slight flurry of snow in the afternoon as we do a bit of shopping and I look at training cages for MD at Pets Sat at Home or whatever it’s called. Then rather naughtily I get home and order one off the internet for half the price.

Later as running and cycling are a bit dodgy because of the weather, I head to the gym with L. 5km Bike, 1km row, some leg weights and a 3km run at near race pace. Things are looking up, I couldn’t manage either a row or all the weight machines last time and I don’t bitch at anyone. According to L, my competitively in the gym would make me a gym-bitch if I was a girl. I do quite a bit of my exercise to Marilyn which is a bit risqué as I keep getting the urge to scream along to the ‘f*** you’ bits. Not really the done thing in the gym.

Talking of ‘f*** you’. The X-Factor has ‘kindly’ given us the Christmas number one for the last four years but not this time Mr Cowell. I'm no Rage Against The Machine fan and was no fan of 'Killing In The Name' first time around back in 1992 but I do admit it's become a bit of timeless classic since.

When a part-time DJ called Jon Morter decided it was time to rage against Simon Cowell’s machine, I wasn’t sure he’d picked the right record. It wasn't a song that I thought would appeal to enough people but it was certainly 'on message', 'F**k you I won't do what you tell me' indeed.

It started as so many things do now, on Facebook, with a fan page 'Rage Against The Machine For Christmas No. 1' which pointed people to music sites where the track could be downloaded.

It wasn’t though, until the band was invited on to Five Live to play the track live that it went stratospheric. Asked to play a censored version and drop the 'F**k you’, naturally they didn't and they got the publicity they needed propelling the single to number one, becoming the first one to do so on download sales alone.

Whilst Cowell will still be counting his money after coming a close second, the charity Shelter will benefit from Rage Against The Machine’s sales. Well it is Christmas, and that probably makes them worthy winners.

The Beer Is Just Too Strong

I take the dogs on a very frosty park. I would have liked to have taken the footballs but MD’s ball has got wet and has now set into a large frozen lump. Kicking it has become a kin to kicking a cannonball and about as painful.

Then a quick drive to the local farm shop to choose which leg to have for Boxing Day lunch. We weigh up the difference between the sizes of the two largest legs on offer, until the butcher points out that they’re both from the same lamb and as the lamb was not known to have an odd gait, therefore in theory they should be the same size.

As I head off to meet my brother for a probably misguided pre-match beer, hair of the dog I suppose, we still have a house full of teenagers, sleeping last night off. Haven’t they got homes to go to? L charitably does them all bacon and sausage sandwiches to try and rouse them.

The main reason I’m meeting my brother is for the ‘Santa Walk’ although to be honest, it was the beer that tempted me. Santa suits are not compulsory but all the same I bring my freebie Santa hat from last night. As we sit in the pub, in view of the starting place of the walk, we see it set off. We consider going off in pursuit but when we see only about twenty people on the walk, we opt to stay for a 2nd drink instead. It’s also far too early to head off to the match and end up standing in the freezing cold for an hour or so.

At the match, normality is restored. In that, it’s back to the negative, uninteresting football from our lot. Totally out played first half, they are better in the second half but are still deservedly beaten. Suspect tactics again though, in my opinion.

After the match I meet up with L and we head over to Burton, where we’re long overdue a night in the Cooper’s Arms. They have a real fire lit and it looks just as cosy as before but here’s a first. We leave the pub because the beer is too strong. There are a few golden hoppy numbers at the bottom of the alcohol scale but all the dark stuff and the barley wines start at 6.6% and go up to a staggering 10%. So defeated, we retreat next door, to the Devonshire Arms, where the Burton Bridge Porter and Stairway are a more sensible 4.5% and 5.0%.

We are back in Derby a few hours later where I’ve agreed to rendezvous with a couple of friends for a final beer. Modern communication methods though fail us. I don’t hear my phone when he calls me; likewise he doesn’t hear his when I return his call. Mind you, he doesn’t answer my texts either.

When we left Burton it was raining there, meanwhile the weather wasn’t doing much at all in Derby but when we get back to Nottingham there was white stuff everywhere. Snow, at last.

Through The Wardrobe

I slithered into work listening to Marilyn, on a combination of bus and foot; even I think it’s a bit cold at the moment and too icy to cycle.

I may have got home ok on the bike last night but a colleague went down as he took a shortcut across one of the car lots here. Problem was they’d been washing cars and had unintentionally built an outdoor skating rink. He’s smashed his helmet, so it was a good job he was wearing it.

L’s sister sends us photos of a snowy Hertfordshire; a customer sends us photos of an even snowier Kent. They’ve had a lot more than we have. I feel outdone. There’s black clouds overhead right now. Fingers crossed.

Christmas is not just the time of year when families get together for the annual gathering of related DNA but it’s also when companies get all their staff together in one room, attempt to get them drunk, embarrass them and feed them overcooked turkey. This is the other reason I’m on the bus today.

Ours has an added twist this year, Mr Tumnus, Mr and Mrs Beaver and a lion called Aslan. Well, maybe. They’ve rather tackily called our ‘do’ ‘Winter Wonderland in Narnia’, which is immensely worrying and sounds like something you’d take your six year old to.

L insists I take my camera just in case Mr Tumnus shows up. Although I’m sure she’s naively hoping for James McAvoy.

It’s not worth me going home before the evening entertainment starts, so I pop into the pub for one, just to line my stomach. However, the Brunswick is that rammed I can’t get in the door and I end up next door in the Alexandra.

Then it’s in through the wardrobe and into Narnia. Yes they do actually have a fake wardrobe. Once inside we get offered mulled wine and Turkish delight, which I refuse, because isn’t this what turns you to stone. No sign of Mr and Mrs Beaver or Mr Tumnus for that matter. There is a singer all dressed in white who may consider herself to be the White Witch. Shame she’s more karaoke than competent artiste. Not good. Everything else is the usual fare, food ok but nothing special and the wine cheap and unspectacular. They are taking photos of the whole event, displaying them on a big screen and putting them on Facebook for download later. This causes amusement on our table, after management recently banned that popular time wasting activity.

L, who’s back from a trip to the pantomime, tells me we’re again up to the rafters with teenagers. Not sure how that happened.

Afterwards on the bus, I get the one Red Arrow driver who doesn’t automatically stop at my stop. I close my eyes momentarily and we whizz by. I’m not the only one, another chap is soon at the front of the bus remonstrating with the driver and demanding to be let off. He is told he has to now go all the way to the city centre now. We both have to walk back.

Surprisingly not too heavy an alcohol night, that is until L and I get the ill advised port out.

Nice One Brian

Still no snow, not even in East Anglia where the weather warnings were. A humid 2.5 degrees on the thermometer and a quick walk around the garden reveals no ice. So I take the bike. It’s cold but certainly not icy. My brother rings me as I’m half way to work. Which is fine but I was nicely warmed up and unfortunately conversations with my brother are rarely short. After a chat with him at the roadside, I’ve chilled off again and never get warmed up again after that.

Amazingly, in the afternoon, it actually starts snowing. Brilliant. Well apart from the fact that I have to cycle home. L bumps into Son in town, during the snow shower, in just a t-shirt but it was ok, as he had a jumper in his bag just in case it got cold. No wonder he's always ill.

I slither home on my bike, it isn’t too bad really. Soft snow isn’t that slippery but it’ll be hell if it freezes overnight.

We’re off down the Arena to see Brian tonight. Somehow I always end up at the bloody Arena just before Christmas; L tells me it’s now traditional. Hmmm. Last year it was the Quo and that wasn’t really my choice, this year it’s not been my choice either. I can’t say that I’ve ever really been a fan of our Bry, better known as Marilyn Manson, and L had to talk me into this one as well. She said it would be a rather nice oxymoron for me, which I’m sure, is a total misuse of the word. What she means is it would be a total contrast between a Marilyn gig and my company’s Christmas Party the following evening, which is entitled ‘Winter Wonderland in Narnia’ for reasons that may become apparent on Friday, although in a way, I hope not.

Once I’d agreed to this evening, purely on the grounds that it would be excellent blogging material, I had to do a bit of research to get me up to speed because I only really knew a few of his tracks.

Then on the eve of the gig, there were rumours going around that it may not happen and suggestions (by me) that they might consider switching it to the Rescue Rooms because the ticket sales had been so poor. Suppose he is over forty now and his bubble did seem to burst a few years ago. The Arena was bizarre choice anyway, particularly as the rest of his tour consists of Academys, with 2500-3000 capacities. Consequently the 8000 capacity Arena is not even half full tonight.

L's brother has joined us on this occasion and L must be a proud sister taking him to what is, apparently, his first gig. L herself is looking well vamped up, cracking open the blue hair dye (subtle) and the blue nail varnish (not so subtle).

Support is from a band called esOterica, which sounds like a sports drink. They are from Croydon and have a lead singer who has quite a big opinion of himself. Correction, a very big opinion of himself. His over confident stage presence, to be fair, goes down well with crowd. If somebody had just walked in off the street and had no idea who was playing, they’d think this lot were headlining. Their set is good though, full of energy and enthusiasm. Their sound a touch industrial and a bit heavier than I expect even Marilyn to be. Reasonably impressed.



Once the support band have finished the stage is hidden behind a large black curtain which is a bit annoying as I like to see all the kit being setup and helps pass the time between bands. The curtain stays up when the lights go out. Then strange noises and a lot of smoke start to emanate from behind it. If this was to keep you in suspense they needn’t have bothered because once the curtain has dropped and the band are well into the swing of ‘Cruci-Fiction in Space’ you still can’t see anything because of the denseness of the smoke. It must be several minutes before someone emerges from of the gloom wearing a pair of red laser gloves which he fires at the crowd. It may or may not be the man himself.

As the song ends and the mist subsides, yep it’s him. The man clearly still has presence stage although it does seem to be accompanied by a bit of a beer belly these days.



One thing I’ve learnt by researching his music is that he certainly has some good songs and his second one tonight ‘Disposable Teens’, shows how surprisingly catchy some of them are. That said, he’s not known as a crowd pleaser for his song selection, often preferring the obscure album track to the big hit and he’s no exception tonight. They are many notable exceptions from the set but I for one, being a big fan of the obscure oldie, shouldn’t complain.

Visually though, he keep us busy, employing a number of costume changes, well mainly hats and jackets, all of which seemed to be quickly discarded into the crowd at the front. There are fewer costumes and certainly less razzmatazz than I was expecting but he did still possess an interesting selection of gadgets and lights to supplement his act.



Earlier this year a lot of people walked out of the Legends of Motown concert because the sound at the Arena was so awful, but I doubt that would ever happen at a ‘proper’ gig and Mazza may just have found the solution to the Arena’s awful acoustics. If you scream 'f*** you' at the roof, often enough and loud enough, as he does on 'The Love Song' eventually the sound reverberates back. Sorted. Works a treat too with the multiple cries of 'F*** It' on the following 'Irresponsible Hate Anthem'. As you can tell, so far it's a nice family show.

Although it’s a tour to promote his seventh studio album, ‘High End Of Low’, the majority of the set is pulled from his most famous albums, 1998’s ‘Mechanical Animals’ and 2000’s ‘Holywood: In the Shadow of the Valley of Death’. There are just three songs from the new album tonight. One of which is a nice little romantic ditty called 'Pretty As A Swastika', Mazza showing all his usual charm. Another is the wonderful ‘Devour’, which could almost be described as mellow.

The album is said to be a step back in the right direction after his previous one ‘Eat Me Drink Me’ bombed and nothing is played from that tonight. A lot of this is credited to the return of long time guitarist and co-songwriter Twiggy Ramirez who didn’t work on that particular record. Don’t know if they fell out or not but they appear to be best buddies again tonight.

Going through his back catalogue has enabled me to unearth the absolute gems that are the moody ‘Coma’ songs, ‘Coma White’ and ‘Coma Black’. I couldn’t tell you for certain whether it was just ‘Coma White’ tonight or whether he wove a bit of ‘Black’ in there as well, but it was the highlight of the evening for me.

There were also several heavier, more growling numbers, notably the stuff from his ‘Antichrist Superstar’ album, although he gives it a longer more expletive filled title but tracks such as ‘Dried Up, Tied and Dead to the World’ and ‘Little Horn’ leave me largely unmoved.

A few expletives apart, I thought Manson was rather well-behaved tonight, there was actually less swearing that that provided by the support band, there were of course plenty of drugs references but this also included a lecture against their use, maybe serious, maybe not, as he launched in to popular ‘The Dope Show’.

He obviously adapts his props to where he is, draping himself in the Union flag at one stage and even bringing on Robin Hood at one point. ‘Robbing from the bitch and giving to the whore’ he explains. Ok so perhaps there was more bad language than I thought.

With the excellent ‘Rock is Dead’ we’re clearly heading towards the conclusion and he closes with a couple of covers, not ‘Personal Jesus’ or ‘Tainted Love’, we get ‘Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This)’ and Patti Smith’s ‘Rock n Roll Nigger’. As we were saying afterwards, no one really admits to liking Patti Smith but everybody seems to cover her songs.

After which it wasn’t so much an exit as a disappearance, with the smoke and the darkness it was actually hard to tell whether the band had gone or were just lurking in the shadows. They reappeared just as mysteriously to play us out with 'The Beautiful People' accompanied by streams of ticker tape pumped out from the stage. Leaving someone a lot of clearing up to do before the next Ice Hockey match.



Marilyn Manson’s star may have faded a touch but he and his band can still put on a good show. Whilst mixing in some nicely dark humour and a decent light show, although along with the smoke, the lights make it a bit naff for photography. The smoke also often makes it hard to see, was he ceremoniously burning the bible at one point? At under an hour and a half, it was also short and punchy, and all delivered with bundles of energy. Nice one Brian.

Outbid

I take the bus. I need to late night shop after work and it’s also looking wet out. This also gives me a good chance to rehearse for Marilyn tomorrow. L’s doing the same, on the exercise bike at the gym, pedalling away to his stuff.

As expected today, Nottingham wins the battle of the East Midlands to be named as one of twelve cities to be included in England's 2018 World Cup bid document. At the expensive of Derby.

The squabbling between the City and County Councils over the plans for the new stadium seem to have been ignored by the FA. In fact, it was probably fortunate for Nottingham that County Council leader Kay Cutts withdrew her support for the project and therefore the FA didn’t get to meet her. Had they done so I’m sure they would have looked elsewhere. Kay Cutts has already rejected outright the proposals to concrete over the green belt within the County Council boundary at Gamston. All other plans to build a new stadium in Nottingham have also come to nought so there’s no reason to suspect that the situation will change now.

Of course the bid was not just about a stadium. Derby of course already have the perfect stadium.



The FA's overriding concern in all this is to win the right to stage the World Cup in the first place, what it does to get to that point doesn’t really matter. It needed to sex up its bid worldwide and when it comes down to it, globally, more people have heard of Nottingham, it’s even a tourist destination of sorts. Foreigners would look at the map and if Derby got the nod say ‘where?’. Then there’s the infrastructure, the number of hotels, the restaurants, the transport links and all the existing sporting venues. Derby didn’t have a chance.

As it happens being in the bid document probably means little, several cities will be dropped at a later date anyway. So if Nottingham's stadium does not happen, unfortunately it will mean no World Cup for anyone in the East Midlands. Unless of course they ask Derby to step in at the last moment. Now that would be funny.

In the evening I skip training MD, although perhaps despite the ok from the vet a few more days off wouldn’t hurt in his recovery, and swimming too, to go on a bear hunt in Derby or more correctly, for the winter outfit the bear wants. Christmas clothes shopping for a bear whatever next. It wants a puffer jacket, along with furry boots etc etc... FFS as Daughter would say. L asks if I need her to get me anything from Nottingham, well no, but if she sees a bear wearing a puffer jacket, mug it.

All’s Fair In Love And Cycling

The promised freeze and potential snowfall (!) doesn’t materialise and the ride in to work is actually rather pleasant, helped by the fact that there’s not much traffic. As ever winter cycling is a constant battle between being too hot and too cold. If anything today, I’ve too much on and I’m too warm. Some people go too far the other way and I see one guy in just a t-shirt, albeit a long sleeved one. He was very lucky the weather wasn’t as cold as they promised or else he may have lost a nipple or two in the wind chill.

I often get slightly annoyed by a particular cyclist whom I see most days. He’s older than me, well I think he is because he’s got a solid head of grey hair, but he always has to overtake me and then try to disappear into the distance. It’s not too bad getting passed by youngsters but it’s a bit rich when they’re a lot older but all’s fair in love and cycling as they say. What really annoys me is that when he’s ahead of me and doesn’t know I’m there, I catch him up with ease. So it’s obviously just an act for my benefit and presumably other cyclists too. He just doesn’t like being behind someone. Doesn’t apply to me of course.

After work, L takes MD for his final check up at the vets. He’s passed fit and when I get home he's already out running with L. She’s been out with them in shifts; Doggo's already done a fifteen minute stint. MD's stint is much shorter and L returns complaining of all four paws being off the ground all the time. He's yet to get the hang of running on the lead but to be fair we haven't done that much of it with him. We have until the Boxing Day run, which both dogs will compete in, to lick him into shape.

The family is all out together tonight en mass, a rare treat, must be something festive in the air. We meet up with some friends and go for one of those all you can stuff down you face for a tenner Chinese meals and it actually isn’t too bad either.

Not A Good Day For Teenage Organisation

There’s very little traffic on the roads this morning. I think a lot of people are already on their Christmas break, the 112 days of Christmas and all that.

I’ve not often seen eye to eye with Billy Bragg but I had to nod in agreement the other day as he laid into the Government’s plans to disconnect file-sharers. Billy sees downloading as ‘not about piracy, it’s about promotion’, pointing out that the music industry ‘in danger of persecuting people for listening to records’ and therefore alienating potential customers.

I agree. What he means is that these days’ people go on to buy the music of artists that they first listened to via ‘free’ downloads. Personally I've acquired quite a bit of music ‘free’ in the last few years and consequently go on to buy the stuff I like, whilst not bothering with the stuff I don’t. A consequence of this is that I’m buying more music now than ever before but there’s also the fact that I can now afford to do so. When I was the age of your typical downloader, I didn’t buy as much, we used to get our music by home taping off other people’s records. So probably not that much has changed. Funnily enough, I’m now going out and buying CD versions of those albums that I taped years ago because I want a better copy and can now afford it. What goes around comes around.

Whilst ultimately people need to be persuaded to pay, otherwise musicians won’t get paid and therefore they’ll be no music because they’ll all become bin men instead, the industry needs to work out a method of how they’re going to do it. Hopefully these folks will start to buy more as they get older and wealthier, that is provided the industry doesn’t totally alienate them first.

L has a Christmas party at lunchtime; she’s really been slacking, considering how many I’ve already had. Not that that’s much to brag about. The emails I get off her in the afternoon seem to have the slant of a couple of glasses of wine about them. She doesn’t want to be drunk driving her PC, even if she’s only doing Christmas shopping on it, who knows what we might all end up with for presents.

We have one appointment to remember tonight, as does Son. Ours is at his college, Parents Evening part two. We’re there and on time, although our appointment doesn’t actually materialise. Son's appointment is at the opticians, which he totally forgets about. So it’s not a good day for teenage organisation. Thankfully he did belatedly text us through a couple of other appointments for us, which at least saves us from a wasted journey.

Back home the tree goes up and L makes the Christmas cake. I just hope no one spots the lack of currants, there's been a rush on them and Sainsbury’s were all out. The cake is supposed to be fortified with brandy every two weeks but due to the closeness of Christmas, I think we're going to have to accelerate this process to perhaps every two days, or maybe even every two hours. We’ll see how it goes.