Weddings: Ours, At Last

After months of detailed planning, hardly anything was left to chance and the event went off brilliantly well -- at both the magnificent St. Bride's, Fleet Street and Dartmouth House.

We returned from our honeymoon tour of Italy late last week to take receipt of the wedding photos (online and password-protected I'm afraid), which are a delightful reminder of a day that disappeared all too quickly in a blur.

Suffice it to say that Pippa and I were overwhelmed by the efforts made by our friends and families and generally overjoyed with everything.

But now over three weeks have passed, so I’ll err to the fresher reportage of my old mate and excellent deliverer of the John Cooper Clarke reading -- the irrepressible nortfolkdumpling. Link to the right and scroll to 11th July posts.

There are pics here too -- thankfully.

Been Away Awhile

Just now returned from the wedding and honeymoon in Italy after a rather protracted abscence.

For obvious reasons I didn't travel with a laptop, so didn't maintain an on-going update here. But I do have a few hastily scribbled notes -- some of which are a wee bit illegible on account of the Pinot Grigio. But heck, I was on holiday.

Suffice it to say, there is much to write about and pictures to post over the coming days (sic).

Also, I'm about to embark upon an epic adventure in battle with the foul and wasteful Thames Water (TW), which insists on randomly digging-up the pavement outside our house and whose aging pipes I blame completely for our rising damp.

Oh, btw: Stop the press. Italy is very hot in the summer. Its cities are also very ancient -- so much more than ours. But surprise surprise, Italy's water system runs very efficiently and its verdant fields are throughly irrigated. And there's noticable abscence of its utility cos digging-up its roads every few metres.

I know Italy's football league is utterly corrupt, as is its government -- but then so's ours. ..And the food's generally better.

There are lessons here and vitriol aplenty...

Thieving Little..

Well after six months we've finally become victims of north London crime.

In the dead of last night our three topiaries and lovely Columbia Road planters were half-hinched from outside our front window / light well. (They had grown and filled-out a lot since this photo from my March entry).



Some four foot high and full of earth these beauties would have been rather heavy and awkward to maneuver -- which suggests malice aforethought. The heist would have required detailed and careful planning and the involvement of more than one n'er-do-well and a sizeable get-away vehicle.

Mine and Emmie's walks will now extend beyond the park. We will become an eagle-eyed 'dynamic duo' patrolling the neighbouring streets in search of our planting and in defense of all good law-abiding amateur horticulturalists everywhere.

So, garden robbers of N16 -- you've been warned..

Who's Behind The Wheel?

Everyone's having a 'pop' at our so-called chavs flying the Cross Of St. George flags from their cars and white vans.



Personally, I have no problem with people showing their excitement for the World Cup and publicly demonstrating their support of our albeit depleted team. OK, it's a bit silly, but then this silly competition does make even the most sober of us a little wobbly. It'll all be over in a few weeks and all will return to normal.

It's their look out if they want waste their burger money by needlessly guzzling petrol (the flags cause drag and therefore drink more petrol, sort-of like driving along the motorway with the windows open).

What gets me is the idiots that clog the roads day-in and day-out, football or no. Who are these menaces to society?

It's the: I'm So Proud Of The Fact That I'm A Parent And Aren't I Clever To Have Managed To Have Procreated? Don't You Just Envy Me For My Bundle Of Joy? I'm So Smug In My 4x4 With Sorted Professional Hubby And Happy Suburban Nuclear Family. Oh, Please Drive Carefully As Babba Is Soooo Precious To Us, And Forgive Me For Not Paying Attention To The Road, Traffic Signals, Other Road Users Or Pedestrians Because I'm Yabbering Baby Boo-Boo-Talk To Babba In The Car Seat On The Backseat...'



Let the bloody kid drive the damn car. It'll probably do a better job than you, you prat!

It's Coming..

World Cup fever is truly here.

The last week of anticipation and countdown has been almost unbearable.

Yesterday's opening ceremony gave the world the bizarre spectacle of hundreds of German chaps in lederhosen seemingly fornicating with large bells. And who ever said that our Teutonic friends lack humour. Fantastic!

The weird ritual of mass man-on-metal copulation clearly did the trick for the host nation's team -- which won an amazing opening drama against Costa Rica.



And today, at 2pm our campaign begins in earnest against Paraguay.

While I'm fearful that we probably won't win and will be summarily expelled from the competiton on penalties in the Quarter or Semi Finals, I, like the many millions of my countrymen and women can still dream of glory.

I was born in the year that England last (and first) won the World Cup, and 40 years on, maybe there's a mathematical symmetry at play..?

We do, of course, have probably the strongest national team assembled since '66, and even without the recovering Rooney, the well balanced squad is almost to a man at-peak-performance (with the obvious exception of Campbell).

Unusually for a Saturday, I've been up since 5:00am -- like a kid at Christmas -- and I know it has nothing to do with work or wedding stress. I literally can't wait.

To co-opt the now famous song -- I still believe.

Evensong

Naturally, we're trying hard to make it to St.Bride's as often as possible -- usually a couple of time a month. It is afterall the place where we'll soon be married. But it is a truly lovely place and something we both feel strongly connected to. It's so nice to be on the electoral roll there and to be part of the parish's open and welcoming community.

Not only is St. Bride's a wonderful example of Wren's genius, but it's a spectacular building of quiet and peace.

But worthy of note is that the choir is amazing and Evensong is when they really shine. Afterall, this service is really all about them and their songs of praise. The musical selection at Evensong is always challenging and a real test of their ability and importantly, they never fail to delight.

As the 6:30pm on a Sunday slot is rarely well attended it's like having a private concert. And with outstanding acoustics and the idyllic setting one cannot help but feel very privilidged.

OK, they come at a price, but are so incredibly talented, their contribution to our own little service will be phenomonal.

Weddings: Other People's 2.0

We're just back from a lovely wedding in the Bedfordshire countryside -- made more glorious by the fact of it also being a truly sweltering day.

It was a great opportunity to not only review our own checklist of things that really really really need sorting, but to be reminded of what all this stress and expense is actually all about.

Thank you very much Frances and James for inviting us to your splendid nuptials and giving us a lovely day. But moreover, by providing us with a timely reminder of why we're doing the same in only four weeks.

It all makes perfect sense.

Karma Police

I'm not superstitious, but there's something going on.

Last night, instead of behaving and doing her usual pee and sniff around the garden, Ems bolted for freedom over the fence and into the neighbour's garden.

Now this isn't a unique occurrence as she is an inquisitive dog by nature and our fencing remains atrocious. But I have trained her (or at least I thought I had), to only go out long enough to empty her bladder and return directly to the house before bedtime.

Simply, it's just not cool to be calling -- as quietly as possible -- after a willful dog at 11:00pm. A combination of needing to train her and my anger meant that she got a relatively light smack on the bum and a telling-off.

But this morning we awoke to a house sans electricity.

Bad karma or just unfortunate coincidence?

A nice man from London Electricity came round very quickly and the lekkie was very soon restored.

All well so far and reparations made with dog with long walk in an empty park on this lovely first day of true summer morning.

But just now, while selecting Razorlight on the iPod my beloved framed original A1 B&W signed print of The Clash by Bob Gruin fell off the wall. The strong wire hanger snapped. Also, I notice that the frame and picture have buckled due to the dampness of the wall behind.



Joe clearly disapproves of the Razors and my lapse in effective animal husbandry.

And my karma is clearly in a dire state.

I'm heartily sorry Mr. S and will remain under complete control for the rest of the weekend.

About Blinkin' Time Too

One of the things about keeping a blog is maintaining a frequency of posts.

Well that's been practically impossible for the last few weeks with one thing and another..

Anyway, enough of that. Let's keep this thing going.

Why have I been 'offline' for nearly three weeks? Well, we're four weeks away from the wedding, and you wouldn't believe the shenanigans that goes with that. (OK, you might). Also, work for us both has been very busy and frankly, we're both knackered and find ourselves standing together at logger-heads with the rest of the world about this or that -- or that's how it seems.

How selfish of us to think of this one day in our lives to be soley about us and us alone.

Enough dammit. There's always a few minutes in most days to compose a word or two. It might not change the world or indeed, how our lives play out, but at least I'll have an outlet to vent.

Clive's World Order is back, and back with bile a-plenty.

Gloves off.

Miss. P's Violent Education

Aside from the customary and indeed, frequent discussions of wedding-related matters (it's only seven weeks away), P and I continue in our programme of advanced 'getting-to-know-you-as-we'll-soon-be-life-parters.'

For me, this intails ingesting a lot of information about bags, shoes and accessories. I, of course, do her a disservice here as she does have a Masters in Political Science from LSE and a brain the size of a planet. She's about as far from a frock-obsessed air-kissers as Prince Naseem is a cautious driver. But then she does rather like bags and shoes and girlie things.

As a man, I'm a far simpler proposition. My profile to the right of here pretty-much covers it all. My taste in clothes runs to the classic -- which means I buy a single pair of Northampton-made English shoes (brogues, half-brogues and Oxfords), and all I do is re-sole them every year for the next 20. However, I do have a penchant for jazzing-up my outfits with stripey shirt -- especially those from Mr. Smith of Nottingham. But like my affection for food (covered some months ago here), my taste is fairly simple.

[I must add at this point, that P has just this minute brought me a plate of pan-fried aubergines -- yum.]

But I digress.

In recent weeks P's getting-to-know me has been about film and televisual entertainment. Sometimes this has proved to be a test for my beloved's delicate sensibilities.

With the wonders on-demand TV, I am indulging in re-sitting the entire six series of Cold Feet -- something that P completely missed first time around. ..Something to do with having a full and active social life, and being sans TV I belive. This, we agree, is fine programming and something for which we Brits have to be rightly proud of. Jimmy Nesbitt is an all-round top fella and even his Yellow Pages commericals are entertaining.

But on a more sinister note and with the football season over and nearly a month until the World Cup, the poor woman has had to sit with me as I run through my annual viewing of 'Godfathers I & II' and general first-class C/bloke features. Last night's Goodfellas I think, might have been a test too far. While she enjoyed the film overall and appreciated Scorsese's craft, the violence of it made her occasionally wince and the machismo was too much. Fridays for girlfriends and Saturdays for wives. I ask you..

Once Upon A Time In America, Scarface, Taxi Driver and Mean Streets may have to wait a while and be metred-out in more palatable doses over time.

So to re-dress the balance, tonight Matthew, I think it's Amelie or Chocolat.

E-uch! Rooney or no Rooney. Roll-on 10 June and the Paraguay game.

Aaaagggghhh!

Just one of those days, but dammit, I'm being tried.

London traffic is impossible. The city is basically a car park in the bits of road that are serviceable. Everywhere else it's under constant construction.

At work there's always an enticing 'rabbit hole' to bolt down, or some eejit being, well, an eejit.

Our wedding is progressing, but slowly. Painfully so.

And then there's the house and its attendant garden. I know the garden needs hacking, but I know nothing about plants and shrubs and have no idea where to start.

Finally, there's Emmie who needs attention and activity (me too).

Oh, and with Emms comes the green, and it's my self-appointed civic job to remove litter as we go. And each day, it's like painting the Forth Bridge.

Is cloning still illegal?

Weddings: Other People's

My cousin Maurice got hitched yesterday to his now wife Jo.

They were incredibly lucky with the perfect sunny, warm Spring weather. The set-up was perfect too with a lovely pub for a pre-nuptial sharpener just across the road from the old church in the idyllic village of Cookham Dean where they live.

The reception was at the phenomonal Inn On The Green and delivered what in my humble was the best wedding food I've ever had. It started with scallops, followed by impeccable suckling pig and finnished with tart tatin. Superb.

The speeches were great too, and the Best Man recounted a long forgotten, but wonderfully entertaining story of an unhappy 12-year-old Maurice's letter home from 'the back streets of Toulouse.' This is a classic tale of early-teenage angst and deserves to be published here at some point.

Anyway, here's a photo of the happy couple and one of us -- another happy couple with all this to look forward to in only a few short weeks.

Us


Them

The Final Countdown

S***! The wedding is only 10 weeks away!!

I think we're in good shape against the 'big picture,' but there's still so much yet to do. And all of it detail -- and details aren't my strong point.

And all these wee details come at a price too, of course.

OK, we're in good shape financially, but still there will be the inevitable surprises.

That's why I'm now looking around at what we might have to hoc, barter and sell. And after a somewhat gruesome feature in a recent weekend supplement, there's apparently a roaring trade in body parts.

So please feel free to browse my eBay pages at:
http://www.ebay.co.uk/clives_liver_kidney_bigtoes_indexfingers_earlobe

But I jest. It's really not so dire. Afterall, I was just named Employee Of The Week at my supplementary evening job at the Bayswater Road branch of McDonalds.

And with this on the CV, the sky's the limit and I'm hopeful that I'll interview well next week for Mr. Patel's coverted paper round.

Home Alone

I'm home alone this evening and in a bit of a fix food-wise.

Usually, this doesn't present a problem as I'm rather self-sufficient and will typically sort myself out with a pretty simple but relatively healthy (baked-beans-based) meal and settle into re-running series 1 of Spooks on on-demand TV.

I could go for the easy and obvious beans option, or be more adventurous and look deeply into the big well-stocked, if unfortunately-named continental silver fridge (think: Red Dwarf), and rustle-up something exotic.

The only problem is that I've just been given an Easter egg and am sorely tempted to indulge in a marathon, self-indulgent, teeth-fizzling sugar frenzy.

Clearly, I'm missing adult company and conversation (take note Miss P).

To make a point I could go 'hog wild' on the Cadbury's, get a serious rush going, tear-up the house and blame it all on the dog..

Two Wheels Good?

Someone in my ear-shot recently remarked upon a growing menace to London's public health, using the term to categorise this blight as 'London's Vermin.'

No, this isn't the Capital's beleaguered pigeons. Nasty, diseased little buggers they are, they aren't too smart and just don't know any better.

The gentleman in question was referring to cyclists.

Since 7/7 and the advent of CC cyclists are appearing from everywhere.

Don't get me wrong. I applaud this move to two wheeled transport. It's efficient, it's healthy and it's practically free. I used to cycle everywhere when I lived in Amsterdam.

But there's a critical difference. Amsterdam is a city designed and regulated to encourage the cyclist over and above all other forms of transports -- apart from the city's clanging, but excellent trams.

London's streets, as they are, just aren't equipped for cyclists. There's too much traffic outside the Congestion Zone and not enough road provision from cycle lanes.

With this in mind, I'm sympathetic to London's valiant cyclists. Really, I am. But being a put-upon minority is no reason for stupidity and arrogance.

London's cycling fraternity -- to a man, woman and the occasionally unwashed 'May Day Maniac' -- hit the road with a complete disregard for The Highway Code and consideration for other road users or pedestrians.

They fail to recognise (or stop at) traffic lights; don't stop at pedestrian crossings; they go the wrong way down one-way streets; many have iPod headphones in their ears; and most seem oblivious to the legitimate manoeuvres of other road users.. The list of daily offenses goes on. Oh, and of course, they get in the way of buses and taxis thereby slowing down the already crawling traffic.

Much of this is annoying to the majority, plain stupid and (durr) very dangerous.

So what can be done?

Well, the ever-increasing Congestion Zone is a lot clearer of traffic so cyclists should head into it.

But if Mayor Ken is so keen to encourage more engine-free two-wheelers onto the streets, he should invest in more cycle lanes. Equally, he should actively encourage acknowledgement of the rules-of-the-road and re-institute the Cycling Proficiency Test of my childhood (you get a nice badge too).

Finally, and most importantly, cyclists must acknowledge and act upon their own responsibility as road users and be considerate of all of us with whom they co-exist in this overcrowded city. Either that or plan ahead for hospital visits -- or worse.

And I Only Have Three Friends..

Well I just can't count, clearly.

'My lot' overwhelemed our house-warming party last night with folk flocking to N16 from all over the capital, and RJB and PJ from coming as far a-field as Holland.

Between 6:00pm and midnight we had about 35 people through the Stamford door -- not at all bad. Not least that with a lot of diary conflicts on Pip's side, the high proportion of guests were ostensibly my friends.

We're agreed that Alex and Katie are always going to be the couple that keep us up just that little bit later than we should and the people with whom we share that one or two glasses more than we really need. They then are the cause of our slightly sore heads..

A very big and sincere that you from both of us to all that made the effort to join us in celebrating our mega-mortgages.

C&P

Homes And Garden (Other People's..)

This is Claire and Alex's newly remodelled living room. Their whole house has been refitted, and has taken nearly five months. OK -- the job was late and way over budget, but heck, if this pic is anything to go by, it's well worth it.

Top work Atkinsons and congrats on your completely 'new home.'

Environmental Fascism

Dear Resident,

I am writing to let you know that from 27 February 2006, it will be compulsory for all households to separate their waste for recycling.

...Blah, blah, blah. Two more pages of condescending politico-blather from Comrade Jessica Crowe (any relation to arsehole Bob?), Deptuty Mayor and Cabinet Member for Environment, Hackney Council

Not only is this riddled with gramatical errors, it's patronising, authoritarian and frankly annoying.

I'm generally a well-balanced and reasonable man, and not one to construct a persecution complex of endless directed-at-me conspiracy theories.

All right, a lilly gilded, and I will admit to slight Meldrew tendencies.

But one thing that continues to really get my goat is Hackney Council. Not only am I paying two sets of monthly council taxes in an obscenely high band to one of the most expensive councils in the UK, but I seem to get precious little in return.

It's been a few months since my last rant about street cleaning and rubbish removal, and of course, nothing's changed. There are still enough discarded and rusting fridges, washing machines, PCs and TVs to make Albert Steptoe salivate with glee.

What are the council doing to remove this blight for our streets? Absolutely bloody nothing, of course.

I know because I call them often enough to remind them that our little part of N16 is fast resembling a neglected and underprivileged trailer park in the Deep South. I'm then politely reminded that 'Travellers' have rights too and this is a multi-racial, culturally diverse and all-round Eden of enlightened co-existence.

OK. I'm fine with this -- in principal. I canvassed for Kinnock between the wars don't you know. But, dammit, let's get the street cleaned.

But no. That's too simple. Simplicity doesn't provide enough opportunities for politically infirm career eejits to form committees, quangos and focus groups and have long pompous, self-serving meetings.

So instead of cleaning and clearing the streets, Hackney is gung-ho for recycling. Again, I'm broadly in support of this worth initiative. But -- surprise, surprise -- there's a gaping disconnect between concept and practical application.

Hackney now insist that we all adhere to a regimen of using colour-coded plastic bins for our recycled waste. Green, blue and brown for bottles and cans, paper and garden cuttings.

Again, great. Colour-codes are perfect for my Pooh Bear-sized male brain. Signpost something clearly enough, and I'll get there in the end..

The only problem is that these delightful municipal containers are amassed outside everyone’s front doors and littering the streets.

Simply, a lot of people just don't have the room to house these things, so instead keep them outside their homes to further serve the community as ready bins for anything that the idle passer-by chooses to lob in -- bottles (broken), beer cans, fast food packaging, spittle, vomit.. The list goes on.

Solution: More big recycling centres and more frequent emptying of said. This would not only ensure that we dutiful citizens comply with the junta's latest insane directive, but also means that our streets are clear, tidy and free of obstacles.

This is a photo from the recycling section of Hackney's own Web site -- I'm guessing that it's intended to make these dumb receptacles seem somehow desirable..?



I think you get the point.

I'll Be Mostly..

..Sitting with my feet up :-)

The Difference Between Country And The Blues

Country
Man drives his pick-up truck home from working double shift in a hot and smelly factory. He finds his small battered house empty with only the dog on the mat and a note from his woman that she's left him and taken all their belongings.
Sad. That's country.

Blues
Man finds his pick-up truck gone after working double shift at a hot and smelly factory. He walks 10 miles home in the cold pouring rain only to find his small, shabbly house empty with a note to from his woman to tell him that she's taken all their belongings, his truck *and* his dog.
Tragic. That's the blues