I was excited about the prospect of a pre-work tipple when the L&NW opened in New Street Station last week but, alas, the bar is dry until 9am. The exterior photo shows an empty house at about 8:30 am which should have tipped me off. Had breakfast, though, and that was a typical Wetherspoons meal (minus the beer, of course).
I made the journey back for lunch later in the week and the fish was sublime. Surprisingly so, in fact. I guess it hasn’t been open long enough for the staff to develop an outbreak of the fuckits.
The house was packed, though, and that doesn’t bode well for other visits except for the departures board conveniently mounted in the middle of the lounge and the gates to my usual platforms just across the concourse from the doors.
Can’t remember why I was taking the bus that morning but I sat behind the classy babe in the Cocksucker hoodie early in the month.
Completely unrelated note…I have a friend from the Olden Days who was best friends with the sister of this inexplicable phenomenon of the Athens music scene back when there was one. This is someone I absolutely adored — as did everyone who knew her at the time — and for a while the feeling seemed mutual. We keep in touch, such as it is nearly 40 years hence. I came across another old mate’s interview that had a story that involved this woman (along with said declaration of adoration) and sent her the clip from the full interview and, because it didn’t name her specifically (but being there at the time you would know that it couldn’t be anyone else), she demures from acknowledgement of this description.
This breaks my heart, as I deeply love and admire –not just her, but — the three character/customers in the anecdote. A few days before I accidentally found the interview, I was chatting with some very neurotic and socially stilted professors at UniBrum — whom I also desire to just cuddle but don’t tell them that — about social anxiety and they were completely baffled by my claims of PTSD relating to having to socialise with people … yknow… PEOPLE, who are the worst (“YOU? psshaw!” was essentially their response which, had they seen me stifling back the wretches from that insane instance of honesty not even an hour later, might have been followed up with sympathy or, more likely, the kicking I so heartily deserve).
It hurts me even more that someone special feels this than, selfishly, it hurts me but gives me comfort that I’m not alone in being seen as cooler than — and by — people I think are cool.
Oh, well, there’s the Christmas season approaching and the lab Xmas ‘do’ that both of them are bailing on (cowards) that I will be going to suffer through; and, old friends are out there being old and friends; and, I’ve said my piece.
Happy Thanksgiving for giving me the story or, for most of you, wading through it, here. Back to The Monthly:
Running remains catch as catch can, but I will probably finish the year with just over 2000 miles — largely on the backs of the big canal runs from Liverpool and Coventry and the training regimen leading up to them.
Five hour duck at t minus 30 minutes. Stuffed it with ginger, orange wedges, and fresh thyme then knitted up with metal skewers I bought for my first TG bird with Jackie back in 1986 (I don’t count the co-worker version of Thanksgiving in 1985 when we broke into the Spring Street Mellow Mushroom — rest in peace — and made some calzones and sandwiches for other Mushroom employees likewise at loose ends for the holiday).
The annual Thanksgiving blowout was especially nice in the new kitchen. Menu was roast duck, cornbread dressing (a heart-attack-to-be considering the offal and 6 eggs in the mix plus 2 more to make the cornbread in the first instance), parmesan-and-tomato asparagus, brie and Stilton with port to finish, and a sweet potato pie for dessert.
Been using this recipe since Amsterdam in 2002, but it only got added to The Book in 2012. Should remember this but always have to double check the leavening agents.
Black Friday involved filling a 6 yard skip with the rubble and scrap from the last 6 months worth of refurbs. We go into December with no major projects remaining in the house…just detail work, albeit a lot of it.
Oh, the cat gained a middle initial and surname. Since we’re raising him Jewish (he’s too destructive to introduce to a Christmas tree), he got an appropriately non-goyish last name. The middle initial is sometimes for Bernie (as in Sanders) and sometimes for Baldrick (as in, “I have a cunning plan”), so he is now known as Jimi B. Katz.
The hard lifting done on the kitchen replacement, we moved toward completion (with just a wee bit remaining to do) starting with painting enough to cover the exposed bricks and new plaster but leaving the rest to transpire moisture (yes, I am still banging on about the house ‘breathing’).
Ikea boxes, durable foods, dishes, and cookware were scattered all over the veranda, living room, and dining room much to the delight of the kitty. He has been a massive help as our supervisor during the ordeal but the effort sometimes wears him out:
Last Sunday, we finally mounted the first cabinets on the wall and shifted a bunch of the pile of kitchen shit back into a less temporary place. A little progress on this occurred each night thereafter heading into our 5-day-weekend push to finish. Doors, shelves, lighting for the worktop beneath the tall cabinets, and the over-the-fridge cabinetry were mounted during our usual television-sloth periods Monday and Tuesday.
Thursday, the tiles arrived for the wet- and cooking-side of the galley and the sprint was on.
With wall cabinets hung and under-cabinet lighting installed, we moved on to the base cabinets as the population of Ikea boxes in the rest of the house dwindled.
Jimi, ever the helpful one (the cat is absolutely bomb proof and fears nothing/has interest in everything and just wants to be like his dad), supervised cutting the worktops.
We still have to source skirting boards and coving but most of it has already turned out how we hoped. Better than, to be honest.
There was one major fuck up in the whole effort. I blame Jimi since, as I mentioned, he took the lead on the work tops. After carefully cutting an opening for the sink and tap, I flipped it over to discover the meaning of chirality when those features were on the right side but rotated 180 degrees (sinister when I wanted dexter).
The replacement arrived a week later. The built in dishwasher door was also a struggle since there wasn’t a cabinet on the left to mount the door hinge on. We used some spare panelling to fashion an enclosure for it:
Trim panelling up and knobs in place, all the remains are the aforementioned skirting and coving installs and regrouting and sealing the quarry tiles on the floor. At last….
There is a spices/oils/vinegars drawer between the stove and small cabinet; the wee door on that worktop is to hide and provide access to the boiler plumbing.All that remains are minor details to be completed over the Hanukah break (Jimi is still too destructive to bring a Christmas tree in the house so we’ve decided to raise him Jewish).
The temperature has dropped precipitously since I was out this morning so I started shifting plants inside for the winter. The avocado is almost too big for the laundry window but I don’t want Jimi eating the fungi that have fruited in recent days so there it goes.
I really abused the date palms since sprouting in some sharp, builders’ sand and never giving them nutrition nor drainage. Before bringing them in from the chill, I reset them in some orchid compost and topped it with some standard potting soil. The shock may kill them or, I hope, they will grow like mushrooms.
Been especially busy with the kitchen refurb which is nearly done. Running was down despite finally healing from the Achilles sprains. I let the monthly kebab effort slip. October was an unmitigated disaster, on paper, but relatively good otherwise.
Oh my fucking Lord. Get thee to the Gyros Guru at your earliest convenience and have one in the Greek style (not a euphemism I don’t think but the guy will take care of you regardless). Yum yum yum. No web site,but you should eat here at least three times per week.
The World Trade Center in Atlanta is frighteningly huge but the footprint of the National Exhibition Centre here in Birmingham (where the Crufts Dog Show takes place) is bigger than the adjacent airport. I was here for a laboratory trade show but really in need of some breakfast and, as the Wetherspoons me and the spouse drank in after the home show we attended a little over three years ago was already ticked off the list, I made the ten minute hike around the building to The Atrium for a Doom Bar and an English.
Endless British Pub Crawl (Part 3) 