Monthly Round Up, April 2022

“Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc“(the motto on the Addams family crest).

“We Gladly Feast on Those Who Would Subdue Us” is the translation offered by Gomez Addams for this ridiculous, pidgin Latin motto. The one in the photo is Polish and hard to disambiguate from these choices:

Honor Wszystkim Dzielnym Policjantom (All Honor to the Brave Policemen); Historia Wieku Dwudziestego Pierwszego (History of the Twenty-First Century); Hitler Wraca Do Playboya (Hitler Returns to Playboy); the most probable, Polish vulgar anti-police slogan, generally accepted as “Cock up Police’s Ass” (several variations); and, my fave, Hefalumpy W Domu Puchatka (House of Pooh’s Heffalump Movie). I really should learn one of the Eastern tongues in this neighbourhood.

The month started quite promising before I ate some Salmonella-rich chicken, undercooked and left on the counter for a couple of hours. That, and an upper respiratory infection that is equally devasting (Jackie landed that one, too, so it’s not just my dietary adventures) have kept me from any physical activity more than wandering to the store or, ghost-like, around work (3 of the 7 days work has been open since Easter). I lost 3½ kg (a little more than 7 pounds, Americans) and to date have only gained 1 kg back. More stats:

170.9 miles (but stopping abruptly on the 20th), 4 Commutes, 2 Rail Runs, 1 Fish&Chips, 1 Kebabs, and 3 pubs.

Still weak as a kitten, I’m going to ease back into things from the 1st of May and treat my would-be 24-30 hour run planned for the end of June as a however far I can get in daylight run (about 14 hours worth).

Speaking of kittens, the boss’ cat littered two weeks ago and these are my choices (I want all three, but Jackie insists on only one and she WAS the voice of reason in the Easter BBQ chicken castastrophe):

Big John’s, West Brom (fish and chips)

Still in recuperation mode, I picked up some more Big John’s fare on the way to buy something less dodgy. I’ve lost 3½ kg (nearly 8 pounds) from the combined food poisoning and throat/upper respiratory infection and decided to lean toward fat and protein. More vinegar would have helped because something needed to cover the pong of the cooking oil. (Note: the heavy grease stain on the lid was photographed less than 30 seconds after leaving the shop.)

So, neither their pizzas, their kebabs, nor the fish and chips are worth stopping in (the chicken is pretty good, though).

Metaphor

Told to go home from work, Monday, I stopped to pick up some groceries in Carter’s Green. Metaphor 1) The clocktower has been stuck on 10:30 for months but still continues to chime on the quarter hour and count off the hour as each one passes.

There’s a 15 metre space between the clock tower and the YMCA with miles of open air on the other side. This brings me to metaphor 2) how did this happen?

Or, I’m just trying to make everything about me.

Big John’s, West Brom (kebab)

Before I continue, this donner and chips portion was surprisingly good. My reaction to it was not at all a surprise.

As I just mentioned in The Court House post, I am still recovering (with the gods’ grace, rest, and more careful choices) from a truly serious bout of food poisoning from which I am 6 pounds lighter than I was on the first day of symptoms (Wednesday). Thursday’s symptoms included a truly frightening fever and explosive, continuous diarrhoea. Friday, the fever was much more manageable and I felt like I could actually travel a couple of hundred metres away from either a toilet or some fresh underwear…and I was suddenly starving.

Still a bit weak and unable to concentrate enough to cook anything more complicated than a mug of bouillon, I thought I should treat my WELCOME microbiome to food it is familiar with to help it fight of the salmonella.

I didn’t want the garlic mayo but the chilli sauce was superb. The meat was nothing special but not too greasy and the chips and salad were decent. For about 15 minutes.

The pitched battle that ensued in my stomach would have been heard by anyone else in the house (in fact, the neighbours and passing pedestrians might have wondered what the strange noises were). I spent 2 of the next 3 hours — in multiple trips — dehydrating myself before regaining autonomy.

Again, nothing to do with Big John’s. Just too soon. I’ll probably have another of these at some point.

Oh, the chilli sauce was a good marker: my retention time for the meal (first in to first out) was 1 hour 40 minutes…my butthole is a fairly sensitive detector at present.

The Court House, Dudley

Pub #2487:

I’ve spent a lot of time over the years, with varying levels of success, trying to not shit myself in bars and pubs. We had planned this return trip to Dudley for a little bargain shopping and tourism on the last day of the holiday and The Court House became another in that long list of venues in which I wasn’t wholly confident of my continence.

This time, however, it was (and still is as I finally get around to updating things) a bout of food poisoning — I have always been slack about food safety but I might just take suggested internal temperatures seriously from now on.

The house is huge and gorgeous inside. You can’t tell from the contrast of the photo but we had a great view of the castle as well as the horseracing at Ludlow on the screen nearby. I don’t know if the mild I had was medicinal or if it fed the salmonella, but it was quite tasty and the last nutrition besides lemon and water with a little honey and salt mixed in for the next 24 hours (followed by a small bowl of plain, brown rice to cover the next 24).

We plan a return visit. It’s the kind of place to bring the weekend newspapers and settle in for a winter day.

Easter Closure

The Uni closes for the Easter Bank Holidays (Good Friday and the Monday following) then stays closed until the next Thursday. Jackie took the two extra days off, as well.

The last thing I worked on Thursday was this dual linear ion trap in an LTQ-Orbi

House refurb took the lions share of our wee holiday, of course. Good Friday involved breaking and removing some of the dining room tiles down to grade for the major relevelling project that continues through the next two weekends. We had a nice rabbit stew (traditional Easter meals of bunnies, chicks, and ducks started at that point) and shifted everything from the dining room and veranda into other locations in the house.

Mourning becomes…

We booked a room in Dudley overnight while the initial cure of the limecrete levelling layer proceeded then finished the last section (and corrected another low spot) Easter morning. Ridiculously tired at that point, I wrote off the long run for this week.

Our room in Dudley used to be a law office

Replacements for the double glazing that had breached in the last year or so arrived Tuesday and we fitted those as well. Then, we had the first barbecue of the year (burgers) and while the coals were still hot I threw on some chicken pieces. This was a big mistake.

Couldn’t find a plaque, near the Dudley bus station

It is now the Friday after Good Friday and I am on my second day of shitting my pants due to the bacterial gastroenteritis I got from the not-quite-fully-cooked chicken. The near constant explosive diarrhoea came with an outrageously high fever and a complete loss of appetite. I manage to eat a small bowl of rice last night and the fever came down a bit but I can’t get more than five minutes away from either a toilet or the underwear drawer. Resurrection, indeed.

It is a good abs workout, I’ll admit and I’ve lost 6 pounds over the last 48 hours. However, I don’t recommend it to anyone.

Offer to anyone in the buurt: there’s some leftover chicken going unloved in the fridge if you want it. Or, whilst searching for diarrhoea meds at the supermarket website I was presented with these other options:

Rail Run #53: to Dorridge

To get to the canals for Sunday’s run, I left early and ran the most direct route to the city centre possible. That it was Sunday and early were the only reasons I could do this because the pavements would be filled with bipedal cattle just a half hour or so later and most other times I might try this route.

To get home, I bailed out of the canal paths at Knowle and put in more than two 7-minute miles (the 20 prior miles were all 9-9:30 ones) to catch a train at Dorridge, thus logging one more of the outermost stations on this Rail Run lark (Coventry, a ridiculous distance away from both work and home, is the only one left). And, so it continues.

Pick up Coventry in the next few weeks then start squeezing in from there….

Canal furniture between Brum and Knowle

One policy I try to stick to is not speaking to non-runners about running because I know it would bore the shit out of them. I know this because I’m surprisingly, to most people, polite when I am burdened with listening to a runner talking about running.

But, since only about 100 people regularly check in and I’m certain I know about 50 of them through other, less embarrassing vectors I’ll just plough on with another mapped and self-indulgent photo dump from a Canal Furniture Run (also a Rail Run but a good, running-whilst-exhausted effort that also verged on the spiritual).

As usual, if you are the sort of anorak about these things that I am then the complete collection of newly documented is either at the pinpoints on the map or (easier, for most) in a gallery in this post. They are all kind of cool, but the ones I point out were the ones that really grabbed me on the day.

Right, so I have already put up some of the graffiti…first, the drunken cock (eagle? maybe?), then the Terrence McKenna memorial where I’m already planning on bringing a camping chair and some mushrooms down for a summer afternoon off work, just watching people pass this location which is adjacent, more or less, with a sublime anti-suicide work.

There are some phenomenal bridges on this stretch but the best of the footbridges is this iron arch at Bordesley Junction. Others were beautiful until you tried to keep a stride on the corrugated surfaces. I expect to be struggling along when I next pass here probably 45-50 miles into a 111 mile tour:

Other bridges of note: the Great Barr Street iron bridge is really best seen standing under this massive pipe about 7 feet over the towpath:

While not especially flashy, this massive hunk of brick and whatever it is filled with (I’m hoping some rebar is involved) at Dovehouse Lane is nothing short of monumental:

Active wharves were distracting until reaching the largely rural stretches in suburban Olney and Solihull:

There are several stretches of canal front property in states of dereliction as the nationwide housing crisis continues. These didn’t appear occupied but someone has worked on them in the last few years:

The locks were mostly like the ones I’ve shown at one time or another. Holy Trinity in the background is the best thing in that collection:

So, here’s the section of The Map that was covered here:

Link to the whole Canal Furniture Map as of today

The promised gallery of esoterica is here:

And, I leave you with Hunter S Thompson reincarnated as a bee:

Crown & Anchor, West Bromwich

Pub #2486:

Still hungry from all the fish I didn’t eat at the Classic Fish Bar a few blocks away I decided it was close enough to supper time, anyway, to move on to aperitifs when the Crown & Anchor presented itself.

Sizzling pub chain pubs have almost nothing to distinguish themselves one from another once you get inside the building…same table of 6 aspirationally (but not actually) middle class bimbos boozing it up, a lot of deuces with couples anger eating silently across from one another, at least one family with two or more feral offspring loudly and not necessarily figuratively pissing all over everything to mark their territory, and a line of real ale pumps that have lain dry for months if not years.

It was quiet in the garden save for the minor drug deal I watched at another picnic table.

And, yes, I’d go here again, even with the spectacular Royal Oak just around the corner. That’s how shit the Classic Fish Bar is: it makes a Sizzling pub palatable.

Classic Fish Bar, West Bromwich

Fuck this place. 

Two guys in there.  Six pieces of cod languishing in the hot box. Guy #1 asks what I want and I point at the pile of fish and say ‘piece of cod.’ He repeats it and continues to fold pizza boxes while the Guy #2 (this numbering is arbitrary) finishes his conversation with what may or may not have been another customer, then gives me a dirty look and goes over to shave some doner off the elephant leg, sticks it in the steam bins and goes off to stare out the window.  I left with the impression that they must have another business this one fronts for because they aren’t paying the rent with their earnings from the hospitality trade.

“Classic” my sweaty taint.

A general rule is that a restaurant can do one cuisine well so you shouldn’t get precooked shit where they make three vastly different kinds of precooked shit. With that in mind, I should thank these assholes for their gross incompetence and all around assholery.

But, I’m still hungry. 

Dickheads.