Archive for August, 2001

Wierdest ever injury this morning.

Wierdest ever injury this morning. I stumbled out of bed around 8am and straight into the toilet. Having done the neccesary, I of course pulled the chain, which is attatched to a cistern high on the wall. The next bit was something of a blur. The cystern lid tumbled down, landed on the toilet bowl which smashed into pieces (as did the cistern lid - ended up neatly folded inside the remains of the bowl). But it didn’t end there - several hefty (and very sharp) hunks of porcelain scuttled across the room, one of them burying itself at high speed in my toe. Of course, I didn’t realise at the time that was what happened - I was still too busy watching water gush over everything (the toilet was flushing at the time this happened, remember) and thinking “oh my god, where’s the mop…. I don’t think there is one” (I’m staying in Dave’s flat, and still don’t know quite where to find everything, or indeed whether everything can be found there).

It was only when my mind calmed down a little, and I surveyed the rubble-strewn, flooded floor, that I realised my toe was hurting a little. Not a lot, but feeling rather bruised. I gave it a cursory glance, and was surprised to see a little blood on top of it. Then, on closer inspection, I noticed even more blood, so I thought “oh my god, where’s the first aid kit” (see previous paragraph). I stuck my toe under the bath tap and was amazed at the amount of thick, gloopy, deep red blood running out. Ouch, I thought. Better wrap it in something - but nothing to hand. I ended up plumping for a (rather dirty) tea-towel. Rang for a taxi to take me to hospital, stumbled downstairs (continually re-adjusting tea-towel) to try and find someone from the housing co-op to tell them about the toilet, tried the neighbours for some medical supplies (eventually got hold of Sheenagh, who very kindly came around with some sweet tea, micro-pore tape and a cotton-wool pad). Eventually my cab arrived and I headed off for hospital, where I sat for a few hours before having my wound opened up, prodded around in, x-rayed, examined by a plastic surgeon (apparently my tendon had been cut, but not so bad that it would need surgery) and sewn back up again. Funny this is, at no stage did it hurt all that much. Isn’t shock a handy thing?

Been to France

Been to France

scrap book

As I mentioned, we recently

As I mentioned, we recently moved. I’ve been trying to get video captures of the new house online for a while, but… it’s too much hassle (at least while holding a 6-month old baby it is). So I scanned in the brochure photos: here. Videocaptures will follow eventually, I promise.

Returned to Sheffield to find

Returned to Sheffield to find that Gill has made the house homely, with framed photos all over the walls, including this rather nice one from our holiday in Antwerp:

I’ve spent a morning suffering

I’ve spent a morning suffering from dream confusion.

“Hey, that computer I ordered should be turning up soon… oh no, that was in the dream wasn’t it”.

“I could’ve sworn this T-Shirt was covered in mud… oops, dream”

“Oh my god, how embarrasing! I remember that I… ah, that’s OK, dream”

“I wish this sun would go away and it would get all icy and snowy and cold, because I’m ice-man and I’m immune to all those normally quite painful elements… oh, in my dreams at least”

Wierd thing is, I remember that I dreamed this things one by one as they crop up in my thoughts, but I can’t for the life of me remember the threads that tied them together: the rest of the dream is a complete mystery to me.

File under “read when there’s

File under “read when there’s time”… another wonderful blog

I love stumbling over obscure

I love stumbling over obscure little websites, like Lindsay’s Technical Books. Lists of wierd and wonderful inventions, books on how to convert your car to run on coal & wood or build a lawnmower, and a bunch of other bizarre pieces in a cooky victoriana-style.

Finally this busy weekend, we

Finally this busy weekend, we went to Gill’s aunt’s 60th birthday. 60th birthday, 60s party. Was fun - joined in with some games in the field out the back, ate too much, and then fell asleep at about 6pm (well - only 2 hours sleep on Thursday because of anxiety, only 2 hours on Friday because of excitment - I was knackered). Luckily I woke at around 10pm for a quick drink around the campfire before retiring one last time, to spend the night trying to ignore the dripping tent closing in on me, and the ants crawling in and out of my sleeping bag. Wierdness of the night was provided by the CD I burned of 60s tracks - I hadn’t realised it would be the only music played all night. I was alright for the first couple of times around, but began to get a little… well, wierd.

On Saturday, in the middle

On Saturday, in the middle of all this unpacking hectivity, I ducked out to get the car serviced. After several not-entirely-satisfactory run-ins with Gordon Lamb in Eccleshall, I hunted out some Saab enthusiasts to do the job. I found Trent Saab’s website some months ago, and was impressed by their apparent knowledge. But even after getting in touch with them, I was still fairly wary of garages and wasn’t sure how much their enthusiastic talk of being Saab “anoraks” was genuine and how much was sales gab.

I shouldn’t have worried. They know what they are talking about - they have even worked closely with Saab, including translating all of their technical literature into English. My engineer for the day, Lindsay, had represented Saab internationally on behalf of the UK, and what he didn’t know about a Saab 900 probably isn’t worth knowing.

I spent a relaxed morning wandering between their customer area and the garage, where I watched Lindsay diagnose the car, point out to me the problems, and then fix them. My suspicions about Gordon Lamb where confirmed when I discovered that the replacement manifold which they sold me at my last service was almost certainly uneccesary on a 16-valve Saab, and rather more worryingly that the rattle which had bugged me ever since that same service was coming from the power steering, which was now about to drop off with 2 bolts undone and the final one less than finger tight.

At the end of the session I left with a car which drove like a new vehicle, and with a bill, listing parts which I now knew the exact meaning and location of. It was still rather painful on the wallet, but less so than going to the crap dealership, and for the first time since owning my car I felt secure in the knowledge that it was working perfectly, with no worrying problems about to spring up.

Last Friday we moved house.

Last Friday we moved house. It all crept up rather quickly - Gill had made most of the arrangements, packed things up while I was in London - and come Thurdsday I was starting to worry. The sale all seemed to be set up at the last minute - would the mortgage go through? Would all the legal aspects be in place on time? What things would we forget to pack?

On Thursday night I had a nightmare - the first that I remember having in a long time. We were rushing to pack things away at the last minute. I had just remembered the outhouses/cellars that we had neglected. There were two entrances, one at either end of a series of messy dark rooms. Opening the “out” door, I saw the most horrendous apparition, a wraith-like mummy of dark grey rags and bones. I dashed past it and worked my way through the labyrinth to “in”. At each stage was a different undead creature, each slightly weaker and less frightening than the last. They chased me and almost caught me on a number of occasions, but each guardian was unwilling to follow me far beyond the borders of its territory. I finally past the lowliest zombie and broke free through the second door.

But I still had to collect the various items scattered through these rooms. It was a tough task, because all of the rooms contained more junk and blown-in leaves than useful items, and the more belongings I collected the more weighed down I became, and I had to make a number of return visits, monsters re-grouping and fortifying their domains between times.

I could not pass the creatures and leave my back unguarded, so I had to slay each one in turn to progress my journey. They died protesting, and I found that the only way to keep them down was by removing their heads with a saw (which I usefully found hanging in an early cellar). Their hands clutched for my neck as I sawed frantically at theirs. The rough-cutting of flesh disgusted me, but it was the only way in which I could save my life. The early zombies were easier, although still not easy, to deal with. But as I went deeper into the complex, and spent more time searching in the deepening darkness, the more unequal our struggles became. I took a quick peek through the out door at that chilling spirit, and wondered how I would ever pass it or even its inferior antecedents.

And then I woke up. Phew!

And we still had to move house. And Gill had a funeral to go to. And a job interview. And I had a letter to deliver to the solicitors, and some keys to pick up. And the removal men were coming at 8am. And…

Most of that worked out OK. The removal men soon realised that 1 van and 2 men wouldn’t suffice, so they sent for reinforcements to double their numbers. The Halifax were engaged for 3 hours, so I couldn’t find out whether they could give me the keys. In the end I jumped into the car to fetch them, took Lolly with me and left Rowan & Beth in the care of the removal men and our house’s new owner. As it was a sunny hot day, I was dressed in a T-shirt and Lolly in a vest. But soon after we started out, the rain came down. And then the hail. And then the sheets of water, thunder & lightning. We guessed our way to a car park which seemed like it ought to be close to Sheffield Cathedral. Luckily, it was. But it was still bucketing it down. I found my jacket in the boot, wrapped Lolly in it and stared out at the waterfall outside. When it seemed to die down a bit, we ran… but still got drenched. Turned up bedraggled in the Halifax ready to have a fit if I didn’t get the keys, but they sorted it out pretty quickly so I headed for Walkley and our house for the rest of our lives(!)

Took me 5 minutes of fumbling to get the assorted keys to work on the door’s 3 keyholes. But then I was in, wandering slowly around the empty house, taking in its splendour. Suddenly everything was OK. It had all worked. Here we were - the rest was pre-ordained. And the house was so… right. It was like moving into your parents or grandparents house - everything working, everthing of a certain quality and solidity. I was happy that we wouldn’t have to attempt continual improvements to make this into a “proper” home. We could just settle in and enjoy things as they were. And we did, though the unloading and (ongoing) unpacking were fairly painful. But we’re happy to have a wonderful new house. And Rowan likes it, because, as she said, it is “like a queen’s house” and “has chandeliers”. And it’s so secluded, despite being in a busy part of Sheffield - you can wonder around the entire house naked without being spotted from outside, which is a bonus as I can never find where Gill hides the dressing gowns.

More house stuff as soon as I get my photos sorted out…