A picture of snow wot I took!

In a break with tradition of enjoying ‘Songs of Praise’ and a buttered scone with the vicars wife we made our way up to the Snow Bar a couple of Sundays ago for night of acoustic jamming. The Snow Bar for those pretending to be interested is a bit like having your living room precariously placed on a ledge overlooking the Alps where you can watch the footie on a slim line TV and young people in beanie hats break their limbs whilst skiing or snowboarding down MK’s very own slopey aircraft hanger that is the Xscape Enormodome! Yes it really does have everything that Sunday has lacked in the past with its array of strangely exotic, cut n paste characters (some even nip n tucks) all stepping up to the mike and getting down with their bad selves. Early on a duo that seemed to attempt the entire Eva Cassidy back catalogue were technically good but had forgotten to practise (together) and ended up performing experimental jazz versions that was not to everyone taste and I ‘m sure would have Eva break dancing in her grave had she had heardit. A rapper who was supported by some stolen bongos and a bloke from the audience, and a lady that performed REM’s ‘losing my religion’ complete with jangly mandolin in a fairly convincing Michael Stipe voice. The evening however was kicked off by a band ‘Without Reason’ who played some acoustic versions of their self penned songs. Despite there being some serious technical issues when the Bass was lost on a couple of the numbers the overall sound was really good and the band tight and rehearsed. Obviously the first slot at an open night possibly wasn’t the best but the smallish audience was appreciative and will have gathered a few more interested parties to support them when they play up in Birmingham in March. They seem to have got themselves involved in a music competition that isn’t controlled by Simon Cowell which certainly gets my vote. Don’t take my word for it and check them out at www.myspace.com/withoutreason2009 and if you have a few spare texts then send one that says MIDLANDS 3278 to 64343 and support their attempts at total world domination.

Angry 3D viewer Jon Cheshire with his faulty specs

Channel four have been running a series of programs last week in 3D for which you needed the miraculous card boarded glasses so it was with no hesitation that I drove down to Sainsbury to purchase a couple of pairs. Firstly I had to get through the all new Big Brother pay-and-display-machine-of-Hell which requires users of the car park to pay 30p and then fill in your car registration which is printed on the ticket. I suppose that the shopping experience is SOOOO wonderful that prior to this new system that many elated customers come out of the shop and smiling at other would be car parkees and given them the remaining time on their tickets for free (out of the goodness of their own hearts) So once I had managed all the electronic form filling I boldly marched into the store with a spring in my step and song in my heart and found a goatee bearded young man in the International Fruits department to ask where a chap could purchase the cellophane and card board glasses of the third dimension. As he rotated his Yams he took pleasure in telling me that they were sold out and they wouldn’t be having any more. Doh!!!  Not to be beaten I planned my day on Wednesday to end up at the city centre where I was sure that the Sainsbury’s near the enormo dome would surely be able to sell me some the these specialist spectacles, however the buggers had moved and offered no forwarding address other than pictures on every window of smiling employees pointing to the right and saying “We’ve moved just up the road” Quick as a flash I jumped in my car to hunt for the ‘just up the road’ store but after about half an hour had to give up concluding that David Blain must have been involved in the relocation!!

That evening I broke garlic bread and wine with Peter and Alan at the Flying Fox where I told my stories of the desperate attempts to procure the glasses of 3D. Peter in a rare moment of comradely tolerance not heard of since Rolf sang about breaking off his horse’s head in Two Little Boys offered me his very own personal 3D glasses which he would fetch when we dropped him off at his flat. A tear welled up in my eye as I dreamed of almost being able to touch the Queen’s coronation, Derron Browns sleight of hand and the piss poor Friday the thirteenth, part three.  I made out that this outburst of emotion was brought about when hearing of the passing of Alan Black quintet of Chickens at the murderous paws of Mr Fox but joy was in my heart by the shear kindness of the gesture of the gift of sight. At that moment of time, I thought there must be a God.

Friday evening I sat down with my glasses looking forward to the full on ‘in your face’ slasher movie Friday the 13^th only to find that I had been duped by the heartless Peter ‘Judas Iscariot’ Kill into believing that these ‘what looked like sunglasses’ were in fact actually just that,.... sunglasses!

Wednesday; I have recently been furnished with ‘Bite Back’ spray to stop attacking dogs. Unfortunately to date NO dogs up until Wednesday have been ‘hard enough’ to take on this canine mace so I have not been able to try it out, but on Wednesday morning a Labrador cross (in fact a very very cross Labrador cross) dared to step up to the plate and have a go. With Ninja precision I sprayed the beast with a lethal dose of the concoction which according to the manufacturers smells of hungry Korean chefs which frightens 99% of all dogs off. It didn’t really have the kind of effect that I had hoped for and the mutt recoiled and just barked and beared it's teeth from a slightly further distance away! I was hoping that it was going to be more like a James Bond invention, immediately making the animal lose all its grip and start swerving around and crashing into a wall and then bursting into flames. I am going to suggest that maybe we should all be equipped with mini flamethrowers or a cyanide capsule hidden in a bone, but I doubt whether I will get it through.  

"Have you any bottled water please"

Friday the 13^th; I agreed to drive Kirsty’s car up to Derby to pick her up, despite Carol Kirkwood’s promise of one of the most miserable days so far. In a break with recent BBC Weather tradition she was good to her word, and it didn’t disappoint.  A small chink of sunlight amongst the torrential rain of the 13^th s horizon did however appear when on route I received the call from Southern offering me gainful employment. So I had a wry smile on my face as people passed and looked into the vehicle as I weighed up these two offers of work. Of course it was only when I got out of the car that I really understood why so many people had been amused and interested in my thoughtful time of mulling over my options. Looking back at the bright red Ford Ka I soon realised that it may have looked a little odd as I sat on the pink heart logo seat covers amongst the cuddly toys and next to the grinning Cheshire cat stuck to the rear window. By about this time I had got wet enough and decided to head north to Derby Uni . On the way back we had just got on to Brian Clough way when the car decided to make like a non whistling teapot and displace the entire contents of its radiator in a huge plume of steam.  As I stood on the petrol station forecourt with my head under the bonnet, even the constant flow of rainwater running off my face wasn’t enough to fill the radiator again and I had to go and find another source. As we limped our way from service station to service station down the motorway buying expensive bottled water I got to thinking there might be something in this Friday the 13 folklore.       

Twiglet lookalike and Ancol harness and lead set, stunt cat

Wednesday went well because I didn’t bump into Alan ‘let me tell you about my new chicken’ Black and I wasn’t quizzed on my limited boot and shoe knowledge at the interview in Kettering. In addition I was in and out before the hours of darkness so my car remained reasonably intact and home in time to take the crazy cat out in the garden on her pretty pink harness and lead set. A result, I think you will agree?

Whose the Colonel now? 

Tuesday; sometimes you can have just too much work. I received a call about a new contract on Tuesday morning which would take me in and around Banbury and the wilds of Oxfordshire. Picturesque Morse country for sure, but with a disproportional amount of murder and ladies a riding cock horses, so I said I would get back to them.  Then I had a call from Scottish and Southern to invite me for an interview on Wednesday in Alan Blacks constituency of Kettering. I agreed, and made a note to myself to brush up on my boot and shoe knowledge to impress the locals. Shortly after this I had another call from my great mate ‘Beady haired Nick’. The conversation went something like “Our tour manager has died (or got a cold, or something) and we need someone to drive us, deal with the hotel twisted fruits and generally talk the local promoters into paying up with only the aid of Mr Baseball bat” I said “Where do I sign” Unfortunately when the full details were revealed I had to decline because the clash with the visit to Kettering. However I have now included Tour Manager (potentially) to my C.V. and have requested that people refer to me as The Colonel.         

This week we have finally taken over the full running of the cat from next door. It was decided that, so there wouldn’t be population explosion of small stripy cats with disproportionally large ears that she should be neutered. For this purpose we had to put her under house arrest on Tuesday evening from 7.00pm until Wednesday morning when she would go to the vets. On the face of it, not a particularly difficult or stressful task until the usually nocturnal Twig realised that there wouldn’t be any chance of rolling hedgehogs, attacking sleeping birds or collecting nails, pieces of wire and other small metal objects on her magnetic collar throughout the night! So after an evening of slumber and rest she was a little perplexed when she wasn’t put out in the lobby as usual when I made my way up the stairs, and very soon she was upstairs sitting on my head and balancing on my shoulders whilst purring as loud as a vespa scooter on tick over. The long long night went on in this fashion but with more and more inventive ‘wake up’ methods until finally my alarm clock went off and I dragged myself out of bed like the living dead. After showering and having some breakfast I did feel marginally better, however by this point all of the nights crashing around and human annoyance had tired the small cat and she had fell into a deep sleep curled up on the bottom of our bed. So it was with particular pleasure that I woke her up to tell her that she had to go to the vets!