Recovery of Faculties
Oh dear. Over a month since my last post, and my development blog which I had such plans for hasn't really gotten off the ground either. (Though I do have a post or two in draft for that one.) Of course, being a relatively new dad means that time is at a premium, but also to blame is that my development build of Poster has acquired a nasty crashing bug that I must get around to killing. As a result, I don't really trust it since it lost a rather large post the other week. It's not good when you don't want to use your own software because of defects in it. Once that issue is beaten I should be able to get another release out, which would be nice, even though nobody actually uses it.
I did find time to pick up a guitar for the first time in many months. R was at choir, and I was able to get A off to sleep by about 9.15, so had a wee bit of free time. I've never been a very good guitar player, but my skills have atrophied shockingly, and even a fairly simple song sounded dreadful as my wayward fingers struggled to find their places. An hour and a half later and my fingertips, having lost the protective calluses that all guitar players develop, were in agony, but I felt the practice had been worthwhile and I'm encouraged enough to try and play a bit more often when I can.
A is doing grand, and growing so fast you can actually see it if you stare at him long enough. Every day his personality develops a little bit more, and he's turning into a really delightful wee fella. I never thought of myself as being particularly paternal, but, sleepless nights, nasty nappies and lack of free time aside, we're really enjoying being parents, especially now that those difficult first couple of months are over and he is aware of us and can interact somewhat. In addition to this, he's mostly sleeping through the night now (though usually waking up earlier than we'd chose to), and we're getting into something of a routine.
For that period immediately after the birth of a child you feel rather like someone who is recovering from a nasty head injury. You are effectively housebound, dizzy, forgetful and prone to falling asleep in the middle of conversations. It feels like you will never lead any kind of "normal" life again. Thankfully this feeling eventually fades, and though you might experience permanent changes in personality, a full recovery is, indeed, possible, as your brain re-wires itself to cope with its new circumstances.
I could still be doing with a bit more kip, though. For Christmas this year I would like either more hours in the day, or a large "never have to work again" lottery win, please. Thanks.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Frankenbaby
Babies skulls aren't one piece of bone but consist of a number of plates that can slide and shift, primarily to allow them to squeeze through a particularly narrow exit on day one. Unfortunately, since babies tend to lie on their backs a lot, this can cause the rear of their heads to go a little bit... flat. Aidan's been going that way, and while it does normally go away on its own, but we thought we'd try one of those special cot pillows that are specially shaped to the curvature of the skull, in the hope that it would make him a bit more comfortable in his cot. Lo and behold, he went down with much less fussing last night, and we actually got a bit of sleep. He's still in growth-spurt mode, and he needed feeding twice in the night, but being able to put him back in his cot afterwards without half an hour of rocking is a godsend.
This morning he was keeping eye contact with me as I moved from side to side, and smiling when I pulled faces, so his wee brain's developing right enough. Getting a bit of feedback from him makes it all worthwhile.
Labels: diary
link | 3 comment(s) | links to this postTuesday, August 19, 2008
ZOMG
Exceptionally tired today. The wee man's going through a growth spurt, and has been since Friday. This is, apparently, normal at six weeks, and involves him demanding to be fed continually. He eats, falls asleep, wakes up, and screams to be fed again. It should only last for a few days, but it's exceptionally stressful, especially for his mum who has to actually feed him. Once fed he sleeps on her lap, but using these periods of respite to catch up on our own sleep is problematic since any attempt to move him into his cot wakes him up and the crying starts again.
Allegedly this happens just before a major phase in his development, and is him fuelling up for a few days where he will sleep a lot more while his body and brain make use of all the nutrients he's stuffed himself with. I. Can't. Wait.
Labels: diary
link | 0 comment(s) | links to this postSunday, July 20, 2008
The Normality Illusion
So, day 11 of parenthood, and while we can't be described as feeling "normal", there is the sense that we're beginning to adapt to our new life-with-child and that we can cope after all. Today has, in fact, been much like any other Sunday, plus nappies. We popped the wee fella into his pram and went down the street for a massive fry-up, and then round to Tchai-Ovna for tea and chat. I was concerned that at this stage we wouldn't want to leave the house due to the hassle of moving him around, but it's really not so bad, and he's quite relaxed once secured in his pram.
It's really only getting up in the morning after too little sleep that I'm finding hard, and going back to work will be an effort, but so far things are going fairly well. I had a couple of nappy disasters early in the week, but I'm getting better at those, as well as learning how to get him calmed down when he's screaming bloody murder. Thankfully, this isn't too often, and in general he's a pretty chilled out kid. At least, for the time being. He's still at the stage of sleeping most of the day, and only has short periods of open-eyed alertness. In the first couple of weeks there's not a whole lot of interaction you can have with a baby, but their brains are sooking in information from the world around them the whole time and building the foundations of language and motor skills, even if it seems like all they are doing is stare into space. I am looking forward to being able to play with him a bit more though.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
At Home
I don't want to give the impression that anyone is still in the hospital, so I'd just like to note that mum & baby were released from jail on Sunday. Thus, we're in that sleepless new parent stage that must be a bit like recovering from a head injury, I would imagine. Everything is a bit fuzzy, and we're not sure what day it is, but we are enjoying having him, even though he doesn't do much yet.
We are very gradually getting into a routine, so hopefully we'll be feeling a bit more human soon.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Baby Jail
So another day has passed without a release from the Southern General. Aidan was finally allowed to go back upstairs to be with his mum, but they want him to spend 24 continuous hours with her to ensure that everything is ok before they will let them go. Hopefully this time tomorrow they should be home. And not a minute too soon.
Now the staff at the Southern Gen have, on the whole, been wonderful, being full of good advice and caring magnificently for the new mum and her boy. However, if there's one complaint to be had about the place, it is the food. Now, NHS food is legendarily bad, and I'm sure there's nothing original in bemoaning the fact, but honestly... you know what R was given for her first proper meal after giving birth (tea and toast in the delivery room notwithstanding?
A cheese sandwich.
Now, I quite like a cheese sandwich now and then. My favourite is to grate the cheese and mix it with mayonnaise and chopped up Pimento peppers. Yum. Onion is also good - the celebrated "cheese savoury" of many a Glasgow sandwich shop. Hell, even just cheese and a blob of Branston Pickle makes for a fine snack. I'm not a snob about the humble cheese sandwich, but the one served to R that morning consisted of cheese, bread and... well... cheese and bread, basically. The archetypal cheese sandwich, perhaps, but not what you want to see after a day-and-a-half of pushing a baby out of you.
The staff are endlessly apologetic about the quality of the fare, and it's really not their fault. They just don't have the funding to provide anything better. We are, of course, immensely grateful that the NHS exists, it's just a shame that it has to struggle in so many areas.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Aidan Update
Aidan and his mum are spending another night in the hospital. Yesterday evening he started puking up green goo. Newborn babies are generally a bit pukey anyway, but for it to be green is not good, since this could potentially indicate the presence of an intestinal blockage. He was taken out of the postnatal recovery ward and brought downstairs to the neonatal unit where he can be continually observed. This has been quite hard on R, since until then he had not left her side, and I must admit the sight of an empty cot beside her bed wasn't especially pleasant for me when I arrived at the hospital this morning, either. She can, however, go down and see him at any time, and if he awakens and cries a midwife will fetch her at any time. It's still hard for her to have to go back upstairs afterwards, however.
Fortunately, other than a tiny blob this morning, he has been mostly free of green vom and is feeding and pooping like a star. Providing he can hold off on the Exorcist act for 24 hours he should be released into the wild tomorrow. Fingers are crossed.
Thanks everyone who has sent messages of congratulations in the last few days. Sorry I haven't been too good at getting back to folk, but things have been a bit hectic, as I'm sure you can imagine, and most of my time has been spent at the hospital.
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Waiting Over
Introducing Aidan Allen McChesney.
Born today at about 1840 (so much for expecting him in the early hours), he weighed 9lbs 11oz and is doing well.
I know I'm a cynical, moany old bugger at times, but nothing can turn a man into a blubbering mess like seeing his son being born. link | 6 comment(s) | links to this post
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
The Waiting Game: Part Deux
You know the scene. It's been in a million movies and television shows. The parents-to-be are sitting at home, when the woman clutches her tummy, turns to the man and goes "honey, it's time." Cue panic, running around the house to gather everything they need for the hospital, before a red-light jumping race to the hospital while she lies in the back seat moaning in agony.
This is bollocks.
R's been in labour since about 12.30 am this morning. It's now about 10.30pm and we're at home watching telly. Which is not to say that labour is a breeze, just that it's not the sudden cataclysmic event one tends to imagine. Early labour is a very gradual process that can, potentially, last for days, and consists of contractions with ever-decreasing periods of calm in between. The prevailing philosophy in this country is that the mum-to-be should spend as much time at home as possible. Really, there's not much that they can do until close to the end, and it's infinitely preferable to wait in the comfort of your own home than in an NHS hospital ward. Apart from the contractions, which are painful, you could be forgiven for mistaking it for any other Tuesday night. During the quiet periods we've time to watch telly, put our feet up and write blog posts. Sleep, however, is out of the question.
We have been over to the hospital twice already today, in order for them to keep an eye on things, and the best guess is that this baby's going to make an appearance some time tomorrow morning.
That's when the panicking begins.
Thursday, July 03, 2008
The Waiting Game
Blogging is a bit like exercising for me. I'm always glad when I do it, and if I get into the habit I find it easy to do so fairly regularly, but one little blip and I lost momentum, making it awful hard to start up again. See that last little run of posts which suddenly fizzled out.
We've been in something of a pre-baby limbo of late. R is getting mighty sick of being pregnant and I cannot say that I blame her. Late pregnancy is a pretty miserable time full of indignities that nobody really mentions until you bring them up yourself, when they go "oh yeah, I had that." The good news is that her passenger is in the correct position and "engaged", meaning that he's ready to go as soon as the time is right, which could be any minute now.
I expect to have loads to write about in the near future, then. I also expect to be too knackered to bother, but you never know.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Almost-Father's Day
Neither of us have gotten much sleep this past week. The latter stages of pregnancy are often less than fun for the mother, with the baby pushing on the stomach causing acid reflux. During the day she's mostly been able to keep it under control with heroic doses of Gaviscon, but she was only able to lie down for a couple of hours before it flared up again. One site I discovered suggested raising the top of the bed by about ten centimeters, which is how I found myself measuring out two piles of paperbacks at 3am on Saturday morning.
Thankfully, it seems to have worked, and we now sleep with Lewis Carroll under one leg, and Hunter S. Thompson under the other. The dreams are a bit disturbing, but at least we're sleeping.
Four weeks to go, then, until the estimated due date, and the likelihood of his arrival increases with each passing day. We've been trying to keep the flat relatively clutter-free in case we have viewers, (Though after three weeks on the market we've had a grand total of one viewer. What recession?) so most of the baby's things are in my parent's loft for the time being. Since his birth is drawing near, we're feeling the need to be more prepared than we are, so this afternoon we went over there and picked up the car seat. The cot and things can come home while R is in the hospital, if necessary, but the car seat is something I'll need practice with, and don't want to be dicking around with for two hours in a hospital car park. It can live in the boot of the car until then.
On the way back, and I'm slightly ashamed to admit this, we went to XScape at Braehead. For dinner. And kinda enjoyed it.
Chain restaurants, neon, teenagers, I should have hated it. I'm going to get kicked of the curmudgeon's union for this, but it was actually surprisingly fun. We watched some skiers on the real slope inside, ate some ribs, wandered around the world's most depressingly sane crazy-golf course, and were gratified by the fact that, even though most amusement arcades are populated either by ranks of fruit machines or the same ubiquitous racing/shooting coin-ops, the unique clatter of an air-hockey table is still never far away.
Friday, June 06, 2008
Steamy Knees
Some time ago I wrote about a certain den of vice, iniquity and hand-jobs that stood at the end of the street I used to work on.
Four years on, and the most hits I get on this blog are from searches on the name of that very same establishment.
On an entirely unrelated note, tonight we're going to visit my mum in hospital. She's just had one of her knees replaced with an artificial one. Whether it will enable her to sprint at super-speeds and leap thirty feet into the air remains to be seen.
Labels: blog, diary, glasgow, site
link | 2 comment(s) | links to this postWednesday, June 04, 2008
Doom
So there's approximately five weeks to go until we have this baby. Here are some of the things that some of our nearest and dearest have said in response to R's ongoing pregnancy ...
- "Look forward to never getting any sleep then."
- "I hope he pisses in your face."
- "So you'll be stuck at home for the rest of your days, a slave to a mewling infant who will howl for attention every minute, penniless, never having a moment to yourself, completely and utterly friendless, OH MY GOD WHAT HAVE YOU DONE YOU HAVE RUINED YOUR LIFE!!
... and these are just from my mother, who has gone on continuously about us having children since the day we got married, but only, apparently, out of revenge for the nightmare that was giving birth to and raising her only son. Every time we go over to visit, she delights in recounting horror stories from 32-and-a-half years ago.
We do have a few friends who have been positive and excited for us, however, and this means a lot. On top of which, we've been going to weekly antenatal classes. Up until tonight, these have been led by a midwife called Susan. Susan is very good at her job. She is approachable, friendly, honest about the child-bearing experience, but positive without sugar-coating anything. She tells it like it is, not sparing gory or unpleasant details, but you still come away feeling like this is something that you can deal with. Something that is worth doing.
Tonight, however, Susan couldn't make it. Susan's replacement had, I suspect, been talking to my mum immediately before the class. She was pregnant herself, with child number three apparently, though hearing her talk about the experience of becoming a new parent one wonders why she would go through that more than once. Like all the doom-mongers of the last eight months rolled into one, she told us about how we'll be tired, about how the baby's nappy will need changing constantly, about how there's a good chance of post-natal depression. On and on with barely a chink of light to be had while the rest of us in the class gave each other worried looks that said "is it too late to back out?"
I know that having a baby isn't easy. I know there will be late night crying, nappies that smell like they came from the arse of satan himself, trying times, sleepless nights and stress. Everyone in that room knew it. None of us in that class is a teenager knocked up by her ned boyfriend. We're all about the same age, we're all grown-ups, and we've all been living with the knowledge that we're going to have a baby for some months now. We don't need told how much it's going to suck because we're all worrying about it already. What we need is a reminder that there will be good things, that we haven't made a huge fucking mistake. I don't care if you believe it or not. Even if you think we're hastening the starvation of the world by selfishly reproducing, it's a bit late for us to change our minds now. If you see us in the next five weeks, do us a favour and don't go on about how shit it is to have kids. R might be getting big, but she can still cause severe testicular injury when provoked. link | 2 comment(s) | links to this post
Sunday, June 01, 2008
Salesman
So our first viewer did turn up today, though he was an hour and a half late. I won't curse him too vehemently, however, since he did seem really keen on the flat. We've always had an image of the sort of person who would be keen to buy our flat: someone fairly young who would be keen on living close to the pubs and restaurants of Shawlands, and who would be looking to rent out one of the rooms to a flatmate. The guy that came round today fitted that template perfectly. The fact that we've got a bathroom and a wee shower room makes it ideal for a pair of flatmates, and it's a great location. I realise the chances of selling to the first person to walk in through the door after only a few fays of it being on the market are pretty slim, especially with the housing market being what it is, but you never know.
R had her baby shower today. She was pretty despondant at the thought of not having one, and we were both so chuffed when Victoria from the choir offered to put it on. She seemed to have a grand time, and we got a good haul of cute baby items. Thanks so much to all involved for pressies, but, most of all, for being there for Becca.
While she was out, and after our visitor was gone, I got to have a rare Sunday afternoon on my own. Got to put my feet up, play some of Mario Galaxy, and do a spot of writing, something I haven't done for far too long.
Labels: diary
link | 1 comment(s) | links to this postScrubber
So other than the usual sleeping, eating and working, and getting Poster 0.2 out of the door, most of my time lately has been spent cleaning, tidying and moving furniture around, in an attempt to get our flat into the sort of condition that might entice someone else to buy it. With expert timing we have, of course, put it on a market that is the slowest it has been in a decade. It is nice to have it tidy and clutter-free at last, so at least we have a nicer place to live even if it takes us a while to sell, and we aren't in too great a hurry.
Today we had our first visitor. Well, we were supposed to. Although it's in a pretty decent state, you can't really keep your grubby fingerprints off of the place you live, and we spent all morning in cleaning mode, only for the guy to fail to turn up. Apparently he forgot and is coming tomorrow. Well, that's today now. These light summer nights make the evenings just disappear, fooling you into thinking that it's earlier than it is. It was a glorious, sunny day, of which we were glad, since I think our flat looks its best with plenty of light coming in, but never mind.
Only six weeks until the baby's due date. R is uncomfortable and wishes it was over with, but other than the inevitable hearburn and back-ache is basically fine. Fortunately the estate agent will let us take the flat off the market for a couple of weeks when the baby arrives if it hasn't sold. I don't think we'll be in any state to clean and show visitors around for a while.
Labels: diary
link | 0 comment(s) | links to this postFriday, May 02, 2008
Shoes of Evil
I went shoe shopping last night. I hate clothes shopping in all its forms, and shoe shopping especially. Shoe shops are especially grim and unpleasant places for me. Overbright, over loud and staffed by unhelpful aliens, it's all I can do to get in and out as quickly as possible with the minimum of damage to dignity and wallet, and with a pair that will keep my feet dry for another six months before they fall apart. I usually only have about three pairs of shoes: one formal pair for weddings, funerals, job interviews, etc; one pair of good walking boots; and a regular casual pair that I wear 99% of the time. The latter were on their last legs (as it were), and so it was necessary for me to brave a local branch of Schuh. Pretty much every pair in their men's section was either hideous to look at, hideously expensive, or both. I suppose I could have shopped around (other listings magazines are available) but that would just have prolonged the experience, so I settled for a relatively un-hideous and fairly reasonable pair of plain-black Converse all-star wotsits. I was feeling pretty good about achieving my mission without spending too much cash, until at home R reminded me that Converse are owned by Nike nowadays and are therefore teh evilz. Not that my wardrobe, such as it is, can be said to be otherwise sweatshop-free, but I can't honestly claim ignorance in this case. Just panic.
She also pointed out that they'll probably last me about ten minutes before exploding, and are therefore something of a false economy. They are fucking comfy, though.
Labels: diary
link | 0 comment(s) | links to this postThursday, May 01, 2008
Floated
When we're in the West End. we often pass by Willow Trading on Great Western Road. I'm not really a fan of that kind of shop. They're often pushers of expensive placebo, snake-oil and new-age bullshit, a perception that was cemented the time they tried to sell R a session on a Vega Machine. But a couple of months ago I was struggling to think of an unusual present for her birthday and remembered that they had a flotation tank. She had expressed some interest in trying it, and a bit of research on the web suggested that they genuinely helped relieve stress, and were especially theraputic for pregnant women who may be experiencing back problems, so I popped in and bought her a gift certificate, good for a single "float".
It took her a while to get around to using it, but when she finally did last week she came back absolutely raving about the experience, and had returned the favour by buying me one as well. I know I come across as a miserable old cynic, but I prefer to think of myself as just being quick to spot a scam, and I can understand that there might be some benefit to being alone with just your thooughts and no other outside stimulation for a while. Given that R came back clearly more relaxed, I was keen to give it a go, so after work last night I went over there and redeemed my coupon for one float.
I was shown into a pleasant, private room with various toiletries, a shower, and a hatch set into one wall. As explained, I locked the door behind me, stripped off, took a quick shower and inserted the provided earplugs, before opening the hatch. Although if you Google "flotation tank" or "isolation tank" you'll most likely find images of a free-standing pod, this was more like a small room the size of a walk-in closet, filled with about ten inches of water heated to body temperature and loaded with Epsom salts. Climbing in and lying on my back, I found sinking, or even touching my bum to the floor, quite impossible, the salt in the water providing enough buoyancy to keep me floating gently on the surface at all times. Closing the hatch left only a thin outline of the door from the light in the room, which soon turned itself off leaving me in complete darkness, unable to tell if my eyes were open or shut, and with no sound but my own breathing and the odd watery gurgle.
Physically it was very pleasant and comfortable, though I could see how someone of a claustrophobic bent might feel a little panicked at first until they settled in. In keeping with the spirit of it, I tried to relax as much as possible, which took some time. Every time I thought I was as relaxed as I could be, I would notice some other muscle group that was still tensed in some way and would have to turn it off. Finally I achieved this as best as I could and started to enjoy the feeling of warm weightlessness. Relaxing my mind was a whole different matter. The leaflet I had read upon arrival suggested that the floatee shouldn't try to suppress his or her thoughts, but just let them come and go. All the same, I found it difficult to get out of my natural cycle whereby I'm usually fretting about something, and worries about whether I was getting enough out of the experience and how much time I had left and whether I was "doing it right" just self-perpetuated. Eventually, however, some of the negative "brain chatter" went away and I got into a state similar to that which occurs before sleep - though I was in no danger of actually nodding off and could appreciate it in a more "conscious" way. Scraps of voices floated through my head, as well as thoughts about my life as it is at the moment, but most noticable was the music that seems to be endlessly playing in the background of my mind. It didn't seem to be anything I had heard before, but wasn't consciously being created. It was enjoyable to "listen to" for a while, but difficult to actually silence. I've "dreamt" music in the past and never been able to recreate it in the "real world" due to an inability to recall it (not to mention lack of talent). I suspect that what I heard while in the tank is no exception, but it's interesting that it's in there.
I was brought out of this meditative state by ambient tinkling which are played into the tank to announce the end of the session, and was quite surprised to find that an hour had passed. Once out of the tank, and feeling a little wobbly, I showered thoroughly to get the salt off my skin, dressed, and left. Once back in the outside world I actually felt a sort of giddy euphoria, and had to fight to stop myself from giggling at nothing. At the same time I felt extremely relaxed, and my head felt clearer and more focussed, an effect that has continued, if slightly diminished, today.
I suppose what I experienced was really just a form of meditation, made easier by the tank removing all external stimuli and makiing that level of introspection easier. Really you could just go to some classes and learn to do meditate at home without having to fork out thirty notes to float in a cupboard full of salty water, but in any case it was an enjoyable experience and something I'd be happy to try again.
Or maybe I've just been suckered in by a lot of hippy-drippy nonsense. If I start blogging about the benefits of aromatherapy, you have permission to come round and slap me.
Labels: diary
link | 0 comment(s) | links to this postMonday, April 28, 2008
We Got The Love
It feels like summer is actually starting at last. Yesterday was warm enough to dispense with a jacket, even in the evening when coming back from the Arches. We were at the "last-ever" Triptych party performing with the choir. What an odd, but amazing evening it was. Originally we were supposed to be the first act on. This would have seen us performing to about five people, probably, but we were still excited to be playing such a high-profile gig, and The Arches is one of my favourite venues - favourite places, even - in Glasgow. For whatever reason, however, the organizers decided to shuffle us to a much later slot, and we found ourselves sandwiched between Four Tet and Candi Staton. How cool is that! It also meant that we had a large crowd to sing to, whose drugs of choice (mostly alcohol I'm sure, but the lass with the saucer-pupils who lunged at me and wanted to scratch my beard because "it looked itchy" sure wasn't in the grip of Tennants lager) made them pretty appreciative. At one point a guy down the front loudly announced that he wanted to shag the entire choir. This was nice of him to say so and I look forward to my turn. Sound-checking at 4 and playing at 10 made for a long day, but what an exciting one.
We got home exhausted, but pretty happy. Unfortunately, some time during the night I managed to get my head into a bad place, woke up, and couldn't settle down again. We recently bought Super Mario Galaxy for the Wii, which is a delight on a par with SM64 so far, so a bit of time spent running around tiny planets and collecting stars helped sort me out, but I'm absolutely knackered today.
Wiggles, and by extension his mum, is getting pretty big now, and kicking really hard. The other night I was resting my hand on R's belly when he gave me quite a whack. Hope this isn't the beginning of a lifetime of parent-son conflict.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Twittering
I signed up for Twitter aages ago, but only because I had a vague notion of writing a Poster plugin for it. I never really got the point of it, oddly enough, until I started using Facebook, and enjoyed watching my friend's status updates and wished that I had a little app that would let me see them all at once and update my own. Which is basically what Twitter is. D'oh. And I only made that connection today after mar-c basically said the same thing. I'll probably get bored with it within a week, but at least I can sort-of see the point of it now. I've added a widget to the left sidebar there to show my latest updates. Well, it's quicker than actually blogging.
Baby-wise, R is getting pretty big and the little fella is kicking harder and harder, which is uncomfortable for her, but does allow those of us out here to feel him sometimes. It really brings home the fact that there's a little person in there, and we really can't wait to see him, even though we're both stressed out of our minds. We really need to get out of this flat, but we still haven't put it on the market, though we're getting close to having it in a sellable state, I think.
Flat-improvement will be put on hold this weekend, however, since we're going to a friend's wedding. I will be kilted and everythink. Not as some statement of nationalistic pride, but because it's a bit of a laugh, to be honest.
I haven't abandonded Poster, though updates have slowed due the inevitable encroachment of real life and responsibility and that. Version 0.2 will see the light of day soon, however.
Anyway, just dashing this off in a few stolen minutes before I go back and finish the dishes. Such excitement!
Labels: diary
link | 0 comment(s) | links to this postWednesday, March 26, 2008
This Weekend We Were Mostly Being... Tourists
One of R's friends from Americaland is staying with us at the moment. Actually, that's a lie, since she's off on a three day coach trip of the highlands and islands while we're working, but you know what I mean. It's always fun to play tourist when we have guests, though I am an appalling tour guide, and even the simplest questions about places I have been many times completely stump me. On Saturday and Sunday we "did" Edinburgh, though it was bitterly cold and windy, the highlight of which being, of course, a trip to Monster Mash. Yeah, there was a castle and stuff as well, but I've seen that plenty of times before, and it pales into insignificance next to the sausagey goodness. I wish their Glasgow branch hadn't closed, though I see from their website that they now have a restaurant in Singapore, of all places!
I had Monday off, so we spent that in Glasgow, toddling around Pollok Park and attempting to attract the miserable-looking highland cows, but they were having none of it and stayed put in the center of their field, after which we went into town and took in the GOMA and Necropolis. The weather remained the same as the weekend - biting cold wind and flurries of snow, which quickly gave way to blue skies and sunshine, which quickly gave way to more snow. Actually, it was quite pretty when the snow started, and it was far preferable to being rained on.
Labels: diary, edinburgh, food, glasgow, scotland
link | 1 comment(s) | links to this postTuesday, March 18, 2008
What's Goin' On
This weekend was a very relaxed one, in which we did a lot of sitting about and eating food. A good thing for our gradually cracking sanities, yes, but not one for getting things done, which needs to happen at a faster rate than it is. A friend of R's from the states is coming over on Friday and staying with us for a week, and the flat is, as usual, a tip. We did buy a futon for the spare room the other week, but it's still unbuilt. The rest of this week's evenings will likely be spent cleaning and making habitable our home. As we're planning on selling it soon anyway, having guests is actually quite a good motivator.
The car is with the car doctor today having its exhaust replaced. With a bit of luck, once that's done it'll be fit to take us out of town so we can see a bit of the countryside while our visitor is here. Glasgow is, frankly, getting on my tits.
To the person that found this blog by searching for "feeling poorly as fuck" recently: Sorry to hear that. Have you seen your GP?
Labels: diary
link | 0 comment(s) | links to this postMonday, March 10, 2008
BrrmBrrrmScreeech!
Man, I hate driving. Partly because I'm not very good at it, and partly because I find it exceptionally stressful. Admittedly both of those things reinforce one another. Also: I know bugger all about cars, lacking as I do many of the manly genes that promote skill at DIY, interest in football, and a love of the automobile.
Why, then, did I go and buy one the other week?
Well, obviously when Wiggles comes, he (and he is a he, we discovered last week) is likely to have little short stumpy legs and will lack the skills necessary to use them for locomotion. In order for the little fella to get from A to B he's gonna need some wheels, and while we do have a pram on order, they are somewhat limited in range and speed.
So, I picked up a cheap third-hand Renault Laguna from a bloke that lives nearby. And, y'know, it's fine. I think. It's a wee bit noisy so I'm going to have someone take a look at that. But it goes and has lots of room in the back for a child and associated accessories.
And I am quite excited about being able to get out of town at the weekends. Though I am not remotely excited about trying to navigate around the city with only a vague set of instructions from Google Maps to point me in the right direction, given that someone seems to have gone before me and removed all the street signs. To compensate, and for the sake of my blood pressure, I have ordered one of those magic boxes with the lady inside who tells you where to go, leaving me free to concentrate on not crashing.
Labels: diary
link | 0 comment(s) | links to this postTuesday, February 19, 2008
I'm Not Dead ...
... but you wouldn't have noticed until quite recently. Since the start of the year I've been in a sort of horrible funk, just sleep-walking through life. I'm not very good at this time of year. The dark really gets to me, and this has been compounded by weeks of horrible rain. February has been quite crisp and sunny so far, the days are getting a little longer, and I'm beginning to feel a little better. I do have a bit of a cold, but it's nothing compared to the one that has been plagueing R since before Christmas. Apparently it's common for pregnancy to slow down your immune system, making it harder to shift colds and the like, and of course she can't take anything for it. All I can do is make her steamy bowls and keep going out for tissues. It shouldn't be affecting her passenger, though, and everything seems a-ok on her part. We are almost exactly half-way there, and are going for our final scan in a couple of weeks.
In preparation for impending parenthood (and utilising the services of the cathode-ray babysitter), we thought we'd put on CBeebies the other night and have a look at what televisual fare is on offer to the younger viewer. We ended up watching an episode of In The Night Garden, a frankly terrifying programme for toddlers from the makers of Tellytubbies. In common with that show, it features oversized fabric characters larking around in a rural setting and talking gibberish. The most unsettling character is Iggle Piggle, a sort of blue teddy-bear and nominal star of the show whose continual lopsided grin can only be described as deeply sinister. Its only saving grace is Makka Pakka, whose endearing catchphrase ("Makka Pakka!") and altruistic demeanour (he wanders the wood washing other character's faces with his oversized sponge and soap) have charmed us suffiently to overcome the unease provoked by his colleagues and has gone to make "In The Night Garden" a regular teatime fixture in our house. Sadly, he is much under-utilised, and more often than not an episode will focus on the nightmarish antics of the Tomliboos, or a tale involving the Pontipine family going for a walk and losing their children along the way (Mr and Mrs Pontipine are surely some of the most negligent parents on our screens and set a terrible example for those parents who may be watching along with their kids.), rather than our undersized cave-dwelling hero. I intend to write to the makers of In The Night Garden and insist that more exposure be given to Makka Pakka forthwith. Nothing less than his own spinoff series will suffice.
In the meantime, if anyone would like to buy one of these and send it our way, it would be greatly appreciated. For the baby. Yes. The baby.
Labels: diary, pregnancy, television
link | 2 comment(s) | links to this postThursday, January 10, 2008
Back...
... in Scotland. I've been awake for far too long but I'm trying to stay up for as long as possible to avoid that horrible feeling when jet-lag leaves you completely out-of-sync with the rest of the world. Coffee has helped a little so far, but R has already fallen by the wayside and I'm fading fast.
As is traditional, we left blue skies and warm sunshine in Texas and came home to cold grey rain. The cats have been well looked after but gave us the usual "where have you been?" bollocking when we got in. The place is ankle-deep in cat hair, and a major cleanup operation is going to be required this weekend.
Fading... fast.... resolve.... weakening..... must....... nap.....
Labels: diary
link | 0 comment(s) | links to this postMonday, January 07, 2008
Happy New Year
I know it's a little bit late in coming, but we are still on holiday in Texas, staying with Rebecca's sister and her husband. Today is a quiet one. R is out shopping with her mum, and I'm taking the opportunity to stay home and be tremendously geeky by firing in to version 0.2 of Poster, which will have all sorts of snazzy new features, and provide a more adaptable platform for the even snazzier features I have planned for version 0.3 and above.
I'm not making any resolutions this year, since the arrival of the baby is likely to have a similar effect to taking my old life and putting it in a blender, and free time will be at a premium. Anyway, I'm terrible at keeping them. Let's take a trip in the backintimeotron and look at my resolutions from last year...
Resolution: Make more music.
Outcome: Bugger all. In 2007 I did even less musically that I did in 2006.
Resolution: Lose some weight.
Outcome: Cancelling my gym membership as part of a pre-baby belt-tightening operation, plus two trips to the USA involving a lot of sitting in cars and eating large breakfasts have resulted in me being the heaviest I've ever been. Attempts to take up running seemed initially promising, but shitty horrible weather has limited that somewhat.
Resolution: Procrastinate less.
Outcome: Bit of a general one that, but despite my failure to achieve the resolutions listed above, I feel that I did achieve that to a certain degree. Completing NaNoWriMo in November gave me a nice sense of being able to see a large project through, and I'm pleased to have gotten out a version of Poster which is farily usable, if currently feature-poor.
Resolution: Blog more.
Outcome: Hard to tell without actually counting all the posts I made in 2006 and 2007, but I think I achieved this one.
Anyway, resolutions or no, things are gonna change in 2008 whether I want them to or not.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
I've Seen This Happen In Other People's Lives
Today we took a trip to the Dallas Museum of Art, primarily to see a piece by Phil Collins. Not the baldy chocolate-salesman but the Turner-nominated artist-type fella, who happens to be based in Glasgow. For The World Won't Listen he travelled to Colombia, Turkey and Indonesia, and filmed Smiths fans singing karaoke versions of the songs from the titular album. The installation consists of three screens, each showing a performance from one of the three locations, synchronized such that each one is singing the same song at the same time. There are barriers between them, so that you can concentrate on a single performance if you want to without the others bleeding through, or you can wander along the back and experience bits of all free. There are some great performances, some rabid Morrissey wannabes, some who are obviously having a lot of fun, some who seem genuinely moved by the songs that they are singing, and some that are just comically bad, but all are engaging with songs written in rain-sodden Manchester, thousands of miles away from their home, but which have a universality that's carried them around the world.
The DMA is hosting the piece in its completed form for the first time, but I dare say it will turn up elsewhere, and Glasgow seems like a likely candidate since it's where the artist makes his home. If it should turn up near you, I'd highly recommend it, particularly if you are now or ever have been a Smiths fan. You'll leave with a smile on your face, at least.
Boxing Day
Or, as they call it in America, "the day after Christmas." Snappy, huh? We are in Texas over Christmas and New Year. I promised to write, in detail, about my Boxing Day as part of the Day In The Life meme that's going around my friends who blog. I should have really done it "live" yesterday, however much of it was spent driving around, so I will attempt to reconstruct it from memory. However, I cannot do so without first announcing something that I haven't discussed on here.
After suffering a miscarriage earlier in the year, R is now pregnant again. The first six weeks or so were pretty nerve-wracking, since the last pregnancy had failed at about that time, but she's now about twelve weeks along, and we have seen a healthy little passenger on the ultrasound screen. We are both elated and terrified, which is, of course, totally normal, and having to adjust to the idea of becoming parents in the new year. Anyway, that somewhat influenced our decision to come back to Texas for Christmas, even though we were here last Christmas and in the summer, since after this holiday we are going nowhere for quite a while.
Jet lag and the remains of the cough that a nasty cold has left her with woke R up at about four, but she managed to come back to bed and doze off again for a little while until about eight, when her hunger alarm went off and she announced that she had to have breakfast asap, so we got dressed quickly and went out. The previous couple of days had been sunny and relatively warm, but now it had turned grey, dreich and cold, and felt almost exactly like Glasgow had before we left. We got in the car, and drove to a nearby branch of Corner Bakery, where we had coffee (decaffinated for R), scrambled eggs, potatoes and the crispy bacon that Americans miss so much when they come to the UK. The debate between American bacon and our pink, fleshy kind is not one into which I will be drawn. I like them both for different purposes. I wouldn't put American bacon on a roll, though, as it's likely to shatter and send lethal shards of hard bacon into the head of an innocent passer-by. And nobody wants that.
Fed and satisfied, but feeling a little unhealthy from our fatty breakfasts, we went to Whole Foods, an absolutely massive grocery store by our standards but fairly normal here, and bought some fruit, before heading over to R's mum's house and picking her up. Whever we come over to Texas we always go and buy clothes at Old Navy, since they are dirt cheap to begin with, and even cheaper with the exchange rate being what it is. And, of course, Christmas being over, the sales have started, and a lot of stuff has half-off again. They aren't the greatest clothes in the world, but I'm someone who's happy so long as his body is covered, warm enough, and comfortable, so they do me fine. R needed some maternity clothes, since although her bump isn't particularly obvious yet, it is making itself felt and her regular jeans are becoming too tight to wear. She got some preggie pants, and I a few pairs of boxers and a couple of jumpers.
After clothes shopping, R felt it was time to eat again, so she got some drive-through chicken nuggets (I'm done dropping company names. Don't want this blog to sound like a long ad for all the shops and services in the Plano area.) which she ate in the car. I was still stuffed from breakfast so didn't order anything of my own, but she has a passenger to feed, of course. Once sated, we drove back to her sister's house.
Between the eleventh and fourteenth week of a pregnancy, there is an ultrasound scan that can be performed which can detect an elevated risk of Down's Syndrome in the developing foetus. It's called Nuchal Translucency Screening, and cannot be done outside of that window of opportunity. We could have it done in the UK, but by the time we get back we will be just on the cusp of fourteen weeks, so we decided to pay to have it done while we were in the US. R's sister-in-law works as a nursing assistant, and was able to get us an appointment for that afternoon, so after a quick stop we headed over to the hospital. I had never been in an American hospital before, and the experience was a surreal one. Yes, I had expected something a little bit more modern than the tatty cash-starved NHS can provided, given that they are basically businesses that can set their own prices, but this place felt more like a hotel, and a posh one at that. No unpleasant, plastic bucket seats for this waiting room. Instead we sink into plush sofas and watch the time on a pseudo-antique grandfather clock. It is certainly comfortable, but there's something obscene about such opulence in a country where those without insurance are left crippled by unmanagable debt for the crime of falling ill, and I'd take the scuffed lino of the NHS any day. Anyway, we're soon called into the scanning room, and the sonographer is a pleasant enough lady who asks lots of questions about Scotland. "What do they think of George Bush over there?" she asks. When we tell her that he's not too popular, she seems relieved, and tells us that a lot of her co-workers are hard-core Republicans and that she feels she can't express her own viewpoint without getting shouted down, which seems like a shame.
We had a scan just the other week, but it's easy for the idea of R being pregnant to become vague and abstract again without direct evidence. It's all brought home again when we see the little fella/lass on the screen. Everything seems fine, and the sonographer lets us hear the heart hammering away, but it's not lying in the correct position for her to take the measurements she needs, so there is a fair bit of faffing around until she is able to do so. Fortunately, when she does so it looks like everything is fine, which is, of course, a relief.
Elated, both by the good news and by seeing the wee yin again and knowing that, as far as can be told, he or she is doing well, we headed home. We thought about going out to see a movie, but R felt too tired and a bit nauseous so we decided to skip it and stay home for the evening. I played a bit of Zelda on the DS, getting stuck on the Isle of the Dead, ate some chicken soup that R's sister made, took her mum home, watched the Snuff Box DVDs that I'd burned to bring over, then went to bed. I read for a little while (The Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie.), before turning out the light and going to sleep.
And that was Boxing Day 2007. Both banal and quite exciting.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Fog
Last night we went out after work to do a bit of late Christmas shopping. Fog had descended over Glasgow, and gave the lights a soft halo. The air sparkled, implying snow, and we actually felt a little bit of seasonal cheer for the first time.
But fuck me, it was cold!
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Christmas
When I was a boy, Christmas was a big cart full of exciting magical surprises, shackled to a tiny, geriatric snail. Nowadays it feels more like a lorry full of concrete with an annoying siren on top, that you can hear and be mildly irritated by from a long way off, but then comes roaring over the hill when you least expect it, giving you only a fraction of a second to leap out of the way, and every year that lorry gets upgraded with a bigger, faster engine and even more concrete.
I used to be such a fan of Christmas as well, even well into my adulthood. I am worried that my growing Scrooginess may be an early symptom of turning into my dad.
We are going back to Texas this year, and even though the date is approaching quite rapidly and causing a little last-minute panic, I am looking forward to it. Even the actual travel isn't too bad. It's a long flight, but sitting about reading, playing my DS, and having food brought to me - even if it is some of the worst food known to man - sounds like a good way to spend a day to me, though the inevitable airport security faff I could live without. Rest assured, I shall be nailing my passport to my forehead. We wouldn't want a repeat of the Munich incident, would we?
Don't try robbing our flat when we're away, as we have a cat-sitter keeping our little furry brats company, who is an expert in the deadly arts. Possibly.
Labels: christmas, diary, travel
link | 0 comment(s) | links to this postMonday, December 17, 2007
Parp!
Not the sound of my bottom, you will be relieved to hear, but my nose, as my body as been colonized by an unwelcome cold virus and converted into a snot factory. R has it as well, and worse than I do, so at its height on Saturday I just about managed to do some half-hearted flat tidying before spending the rest of the day slobbing about on the sofa. My head started to clear a bit on Sunday, just in time for an appalling gig with the band-I'm-in-what-is-not-the-choir, but much of today has been spent blowing my nose and annoying my workmates.
Christmas is just around the corner, and I have only bought a couple of things so far, so I must get my finger out. The work Xmas party was on Saturday, and while it was, as you'll be sick of hearing me moan, exactly the same as every other work Xmas party ever, I did quite enjoy myself. I think because it was in a reasonably small venue and so felt more like our party, rather than one set in a huge hotel function room shared with twenty other companies. And while the DJ played the standard work Xmas party set, he at least kept the cheesy banter to a minimum.
Labels: diary
link | 0 comment(s) | links to this postSunday, December 09, 2007
Mixed Successes
Well, for all my claims of busy-ness, this weekend has been a bit of a mixed bag. We didn't go to the movies on Thursday after all, since R was feeling characteristically green. Instead I spent most of that evening going through an iTunes library that suddenly seemed to be entirely populated by the unlistenable and unpopular and picking out tunes that people might like to hear at Friday's choir Christmas party.
Said part went pretty well in the end. I had the easy job, DJ-wise, since I went on relatively near the end when everybody was already pissed and dancing. No warming-up required, I just put on lots of dancefloor-friendly crowd pleasers that I thought would go down well, and people kept on dancing, so I feel justified in calling my first attempt as a DJ a success. Havng a sympathetic audience made up of pissed-up friends with broadly similar musical tastes helped a lot, I have no doubt, but watching folk shake their asses to Can was a definite highlight, and I got home pretty drunk and elated.
Saturday and Sunday have, so far, been mince, and I have failed to finish the story I wanted to get in for Tuesday's writing class. It's already too late, since they have to be submitted in time for them to be emailed out to the rest of the class so they can read them in advance. Oh well. I can churn out a 50,000 word novel in a month, but having to write a story that other people are going to read and critique has re-awakened my inner editor, and he demands more quality than I have in me to give, I fear.
Labels: diary
link | 0 comment(s) | links to this postThursday, December 06, 2007
Dear Santa, please bring me more hours in the day.
Well, November, and the task I had set myself during that month, may be over but I am no less busy. The choir we're in has gigs coming up, a reactivated and reconfigured version of the on-again-off-again band I'm in also has a gig next week, my writing class ends next week and there's a short story that I'd like to get finished and critiqued, I haven't done any Christmas shopping yet, nor signed a single card, there are two Christmas parties coming up, I volunteered to DJ at one of them, the flat is a tip, we're going to see The Darjeeling Limited tonight, we're going through to Edinburgh at the weekend to check out mar-c's exhibition at the National Museum, and I've started work in earnest on the next version of Poster. Phew. It's nice to be active, but I'm feeling a wee bit overwhelmed at the moment.
On the subject of DJ'ing at a Xmas party, it's the choir who are having it, and I won't be the only one playing records (or queueing up songs in iTunes more like) so it should be quite informal and fun and with no need to resort to the standard Xmas-party playlist that I get to hear every. bloody. year. at our work do. Having said that, I volunteered in an overcaffeinated rush of self-confidence, and now I'm feeling a bit nervous about it. Any advice you can give someone whose closest experience to DJing a party is bring a mix-tape to play on a long car journey?
Friday, November 30, 2007
I am an novellist!
To clarify, then, since when I posted it was very late and I just wanted to have one celebratory "woohoo!" before going to bed: Since shortly after midnight on November 1st I have been participating in National Novel Writing Month, the ill-named international event whereby participants attempt to write a novel of 50,000 words or more by midnight on November 30th. Last night I liimped over the finish line with 50,021 words, uploaded it to the official site for validation and the link to a "well-done" page and a printable certificate, and turned in, elated.
The novel itself is an awful mash of ill-formed characters, clunky prose, bad dialogue, heavy-handed cod-philosophy, and plot strands that look meaningful for a few pages then wither away to nothingness and are never mentioned again. It is, in short, a mess, but it's my mess, and while I won't be thrusting copies into the hands of whoever I come across (and I certainly won't be posting it here), I am quite proud of it, and of myself for making it to the end. I've always been one for taking on big projects then getting bored a little while later and letting them die. On every computer I have ever owned, including my current MacBook, there have been fragments of stories, novels, video games and applications, and if I still had my ZX Spectrum and assorted tapes you would find the same. I no longer trust myself to finish any project, so I am pleased to have proven myself wrong, if you like, by taking on a task that actually required some discipline and getting through it, despite the inevitable distractions of movies, video games, and personal hygene.
Although the finished product isn't what you'd call a great work of literature, I think the process of writing it has been very useful and will benefit my writing in future. If there's one thing it has brought home, it is that if you are stuck with a piece of fiction and aren't sure where it should go next (usually the point at which I put it away thinking that inspiration will just strike when I'm not thinking about it, which it never does), just write through it. Don't be afraid to be silly or to write bad prose or (as I did) add a talking cat. So long as your story is moving it will get somewhere, and you can go back and choose a better route once you know where it's going.
If was to do NaNoWriMo again, and if I have time in November 2008 I'd like to, I'd maybe go into it with a bit of a plan, rather than the very vague idea I had when I set off this time. It's not cheating to make notes about your novel before Nov. 1st, so long as no actual content gets written. But at least I got there in the end, and if I can write a bad novel, that's one step closer to writing maybe a good one someday.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
A Day In The Life
MooshiMooshiSan, frustrated at her friends not updating their blogs, has suggested that all and sundry document today, Wednesday the 7th of November, as completely as possible.
I was woken up at about six by Lucy, the largest and pushiest of our two cats, miaowing over and over again in the way she does when she wants fed. Lucy's breakfast alarm seems hard-wired to go off in the early hours of morning to matter what. God knows why. Rather than stagger out of bed at 4am to feed her, we have one of those cat bowls that have a lid, which springs open on a timer. Normally this is enough to get her to shut up and let us sleep through the night, but not this morning. I figured that I'd forgot to set the timer, but when I got up the lid was open and there was still food in it. I tried giving her a bit more, but nothing seemed to shut her up. I also tried going back to bed and closing the bedroom door on her, but predictably that just resulted in a combination of miaowing and scratching, so in the end I just gave up, wide awake and with no chance of getting back to sleep.
It did give me the opportunity to go out for a run, though. I hadn't been out at all last week, and felt that I had lost a bit of momentum. Sure enough, I didn't manage to go as far as I had been able a couple of weeks ago before falling into the run/walk/run pattern, but it was good to get back into it and get my heart rate up. At home, I took a shower, got dressed, and make myself a bowl of muesli and a glass of orange juice, and a bowl of microwave porridge for R. Once I'd eaten I still had some time before my train, so I checked my mail and RSS feeds, and played a turn on Facebook Scrabulous (to which I am incurably addicted) before heading out the door.
At work I put on a pot of coffee, and got fired into finishing off a job that would have been done weeks ago had it not been for various other issues popping up and taking priority. It felt good to finally knock it on the head, but I am only cautiously relieved, since it's entirely possible that I'll be revisiting it once it goes into the product and testing get their claws on it.
At lunchtime I nipped out and bought a pasta-salad thing from M+S, then back at my desk checked my RSS feeds again and did some work on my NaNoWriMo novel. I'm doing fairly well, having passed the 10,000 word mark, but the last couple of days have seen me slow down. Yesterday I managed to hammer out approx. 700 words on my lunch break, but no more later in the day due to attending my writing class, and a gig immediately afterwards. At lunch today I only managed about 400, but every little helps. I'm generally aiming to reach 2000 each day, which should get me comfortably past the 50,000 word mark by November 30th. The novel itself is, of course, complete bollocks, but it's an enjoyable experience and I'll be pleased if I make it past the finish line.
The afternoon in work was mostly spent tidying up some annoying little issues. At home R and I hummed-and-hawed over what to have for dinner, and whether to go out or not. In the end we settled for spinach quesidillas, which R made, and which were, naturally, awesome. We needed a few items so I went out to Tesco. The lady in front of me in the queue bought a bottle of vodka and a packet of cigarettes, and paid from a Hello Kitty purse.
After dinner we watched TV for a little bit. R intends to go with one of her friends to Ikea tomorrow, so we spent some time looking through the catalogue at chairs and bathroom cabinets. Then I did the washing up, and sat down to do a bit more on the terrible untitled novel. Current word-count: 12,688.
Finally, I updated this blog, and went to bed. Probably. I expect there might be time for a little Zelda:Phantom Hourglass before I turn out the light, however.
And that, dear reader, was my boring Wednesday.
Labels: diary
link | 0 comment(s) | links to this postThursday, November 01, 2007
NaNoWriMo
Like an eejit, and as if I didn't have enough projects on the go already, I've decided to give NaNiWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) a crack this year. This means attempting to write a novel of 50,000 words or more between 00:00:00 on the first of November and 23:59:59 on the 30th. To achieve this, authors will have to produce a minimum of 1667 words every day in November. And, before you say it, of course the finished product will be a load of mince. First drafts of novels usually are. First drafts dashed off in a month certainly will be. There's no time to edit, to go back and fix things, to finely craft your prose. All of those things can be done in December. For now it's enough just to write and keep writing.
The task is pretty daunting, but might not be as hard as I had worried it might be. I managed to spit out about 660 words last night in half an hour before turning in. It's quite liberating to no longer have the luxury of going back and tinkering, and to just keep pressing on, so long as you're writing something. I did have a couple of pints earlier in the evening, which may have helped oil the gears somewhat.
Anyway, if I update this place even less in the coming month, that'll be why. If you are also giving it a pop, or just want to be nosy and take a look at how I'm doing, my profile on the official website is here.
I do plan on getting a first release of Poster out in the next few days, however... watch this space!
Labels: diary, poster, writing
link | 0 comment(s) | links to this postSaturday, October 20, 2007
Guy Fawkes' Month
When I was young, I would hear of calls to have fireworks banned, and thought that they came from miserable old killjoys.
Back then, however, I don't remember there being armies of neds firing rockets down the street in the middle of October.
I am an unrepentant, card-carrying killjoy. And what of it?
Labels: diary
link | 1 comment(s) | links to this postFriday, October 19, 2007
Music Hall Star
Have I ever mentioned the choir that me & the missus are in? I can't remember. Anyway, I won't name names because I don't want to be Googled, but earlier in the year we both joined a non-religious choir that specialises in reinterpreting country and rock songs in a choral stylee. It's good fun and we've played numerous shows, from wee gigs where all 40-odd of us are crammed into a corner of a pub, to big festivals.
Anyway, last night we took part in a fundraising event in aid of the Britannia Panopticon. Opened in 1859 as a music hall on the top floor of a Merchant City warehouse building, it entertained the masses of Glasgow, saw both the young Stan Laurel and Cary Grant tread its boards before they became famous, played host to freak shows and a zoo (!), served as cinema for a short time, and finally closed in 1938. Surprisingly, rather than be repurposed as offices or flats, as most buildings in the city center, it seems that the Panopticon was simply boarded up and forgotten about. The ground floor is currently occupied by a rather tatty amusement arcade, and from the street you would never know it was there. Go up the dusty flight of stairs at the back of the amusements, however, and it's like taking a trip back in time.
The Panopticon was "rediscovered" in the late 90's, and efforts are afoot to restore it to something like its formal glory. Or, at the very least, keep it from falling down. Time has not been kind, naturally. Paint and plaster is flaking from the ceiling, the balconies are very much out of bounds to visitors, and a cold draught blows through it. The dilapitated state of the place does, however, give you a sense of how old it really is, and you can easily imagine how it must have looked in its prime. To think that it lay dormant and unseen for so long.
The Panopticon is not generally open to the public, but if you want to see the inside then various art and fundraising events take place on a regular basis, and there are a couple of videos on the Youtubes. It's well worth visiting in person if possible, but dress warm.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
The Running Man
Or rather, the Running, Walking For A Bit, Running A Little More, Then Returning Home Gasping For Breath And Clutching His Side After Only Fifteen Minutes Man.
For various reasons, all of them financial, I cancelled my gym membership a few months ago. I was never a religious five-times-a-week attendee, but I have been missing it, and a general feeling of unhealthiness has been growing lately. As has my belly, since I've put on about half a stone in the intervening time.
Yesterday we got a card through the door to tell us that the water to the flat would be turned off for a few hours starting at 8am. This, plus the truely awful DiMaggio's pizza I ate for dinner last night, gave me enough motivation to force myself out of bed a bit earlier this morning and do something I'd been talking about for a while, but never managed - to go for a run before work. I got my shorts and trainers on, and slipped out into the cold, dark, and thankfully deserted Oct