Right, where were we…

OK, so as anyone who cares can tell, I've been a bit hit and miss over the last week or so when it comes to blogging. And I know that at least two of you care because you left irate comments berating me for doing a bit of a vanishing act. So where have I been? Well, we'll come to that as part of - and you asked for it, so you're getting it - what could be THE LONGEST BLOG ENTRY I'VE EVER WRITTEN!!!

Seriously, I think I'm going to divide this thing into chapters.

Strap yourselves in, bitches: here we go!

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Chapter I: What Sparky did next!

The last you heard from me (prior to the emergency 'technical difficulties' post) I was on a week off from work and had just had an awesome haircut, bought some gardening materials, and was off to a Death Cab for Cutie gig. The gig, it must be said, was great, and Camden wasn't half as scary as I thought it could've been, mainly because the tube station was ideally located close to the venue ready for a quick getaway. To be honest, I wasn't really too fussed about this gig when Yaz first mentioned it to me, but I kind of felt compelled to go with her because she sounded so disappointed when I initially said no, and I've dragged her to lots of gigs where I've said "we really should see [whoever]" and she's gone "who the f**k? Oh, OK." 

So yes, it was great. On the other hand, I did see, and hadn't previously mentioned the fact that I'd seen, Matchbox Twenty at Wembley Arena on the first of the month, and that (sorry T-Bird) was simply *awesome*. Seriously, I have a big ol' rock man-crush on Matchbox Twenty, and almost did a special wee when I found out they were touring. Best Pal Jo came with me to that one, and she loved it too, despite being a tad disappointed that Rob Thomas appears to have toned down the crazy arm-swinging antics that she hearted so much when we last say them together about six or seven years ago. And to make awesome even more awesomer (new word people - add it to your vocabulary, use it, abuse it, teach it to others), they recorded the gig and you could buy it as a download. I totally did. And I totally took some photos.

Here's one.

Look - you can see a tiny Rob Thomas in the beam of light!

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Chapter II:  Things that occurred on the day of Wednes

On the Wednesday of my week off I didn't have any plans, so I just pottered around a bit in the morning. One thing I did notice, however, was the fact that the receipt for my gardening materials listed my Yukka as a 'spineless Yukka' which I thought was a bit rude as I can't think how you would gauge the heroic qualities of a house plant, and it also said that the cashier had verified my age as being over 18 for the purchasing of the trowel. Now, I wasn't aware that a trowel was actually classed as a dangerous weapon, but significantly more alarming is the fact that the woman on the till didn't actually ask to see any ID that verified my age, which I might suggest is a sackable offense bearing in mind that she claims in writing that she did. Nor did she compliment me on my sexy new haircut. 

OK, so I know I'm not 18, but it would've been nice to be asked. Although no doubt then I would've been writing here at how outraged I was that she dared to ask.

A spineless yukka, apparently.

In the afternoon I decided to make the most of the abnormally good weather and head out on my bike. I'd gone out on it the previous Sunday for the first time since the ride in Central London last September and struggled a bit due to lack of bike fitness and crowds of people, so I figured I'd hit the trail while everyone else was at work. And goddamn it was good. The towpath along the Thames was freakin' empty, and I shot along there at something nudging warp speed, remembering the good time-evening rides I did last year, when loads of bunnies could be seen in the grass and bushes. 

And that's when I saw a little grey lump by the side of the path.

I skidded to a stop and glanced over my shoulder. It was still there, unmoving. And because I'm a boy and we like to look at roadkill, I turned round and went back for a closer look. 

Turns out it wasn't roadkill, though; it was a little baby bunny nom-nom-noming on some grass. I was about half a metre away from it, and although it glanced at me a bit nervously at first, it pretty quickly shrugged off my presence and carried on noming. It was cool. I was very close to poking it with my finger, but didn't want to enrage it unnecessarily just in case it massively hulked out or something, so I sat next to it for a minute or so, complementing it on its coolness before heading off.

Bunnies rock.

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Chapter III: It was the best of times … it was the worst of times

Thursday was the day on which Sparky Ma and I had arranged to do one of our much-loved shopping expeditions to Kingston, and I must admit I woke up damn early because I was looking forward to it so much. And because I was up so early I thought I'd jump online and do my blog rounds while kicking back with a cuppa. So I headed downstairs, hit the power button on my computer, then set about making my tea. Turning back to the computer, though, I noticed that the screen was blank. Doofus, I thought, I'd not actually pressed it.

So I tried again.

And again.

And again.

I tried various different ways, and various different combinations of swears, in an effort to fire it up, but to no avail. And then I almost crapped my pants because it suddenly occurred to me how much stuff I've got on it - contact details, photographs, music, various bits and bobs I've written over the years and OHMYGOD MY FREAKIN' BOOK!

I hadn't backed anything up in … months.

Slightly shaky and just a tad worried, I jumped in the car and headed over to pick up Sparky Ma. After the shitty year we've had I decided that nothing was going to stop us from having a great day shopping in the sunshine. And a great day we had; she bought me the new Futurama DVD movie, Bender's Big Score, and I bought her the new Rolling Stones CD, Shine a Light. We had a delicious lunch in Nandos, and two trips to Starbucks for Grande Mistos and cappuccinos.

And I also popped into the Apple Store to quiz a genius on what I could do, ultimately booking myself and my ailing Mac in for an appointment with Dr. Genius the following day.

On the plus side, that evening my Mac did actually boot up, so I seized the opportunity to back up EVERYTHING before it went kaput again. Then I boxed the bugger up and watched The Inbetweeners, one of my new favourite tellybox shows.

Right in the face!

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Chapter IV: Everything stops

At 9:40 Friday morning I heaved my mighty Mac back to the Apple Store from where I'd bought it seven months ago. Dr. Genius tried a variety of ways to jump start it, but nothing seemed to work, so he eventually gave in, and booked it in for a thorough seeing over; it seemed, he said, to be a faulty power supply unit.

So, at 10:10, I walked out of the Apple Store without a computer, seriously wondering whether I should just buy the cheapest MacBook to tide me over. I eventually vetoed that idea, and went for a consolation coffee in Starbucks, where I surfed the net and checked email on my iPhone. 

Thank God for iPhone.

When I got home I thought I might jump on Facebook and play some Scrabulo- Oh bugger. Maybe I could write some of my boo- Shit.

It was then that I realised just how dependent I am on my computer. I actually glanced over at my empty desk with a wistful look and sighed.

Then I watched Bender's Big Score and the episode of Heroes that I'd taped the previous night while sulking.

On the plus side, everyone loves Hypnotoad.

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Chapter V: Half naked weekend begins

I awoke on Saturday to the realisation that I was going to have to make significant changes as part of my life without a computer. So I surfed the internet in bed using my iPhone, then went downstairs to make a cuppa. 

With nothing else to do and nothing good on telly, I decided to fill the gaping hole in my schedule that would otherwise have been taken up by sitting in front of my computer wiling away a number of hours doing nothing of any significance by washing my car, because it was downright filthy and looking a bit miserable. So I filled up a bucket, grabbed a sponge, and set to work.

Saturday, as it turns out, was an incredibly hot day and by the time I started washing my car it was about midday. Within about 20 minutes I noticed that my shoulders were turning red, so I decided my best course of action was to take my vest off because I really didn't want vest tan lines.

About an hour later, and having resolved that next time I should sell tickets to my sexy car wash, I was done, and I still had unbelievably distressing tan lines. I had a shower, sulked for a bit, then read my book, and surfed the internet on my iPhone.

Thank God for iPhone.

I later made my second trip of the week to Homebase where I was again not asked for age verification documents, but was over-charged for a small cactus in a Mexican-themed earthenware pot.

I seem to have a bit of a thing for small cacti in Mexican-themed earthenware pots.

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Chapter VI: Half naked weekend continues!

Determined to rid myself of the damned tan lines I decided to head out on my bike on Sunday afternoon with my manly torso on full display. Somewhat distressingly, the tan lines remain undiminished. I may have to resort to some sort of bottled tan to even everything out. Or failing that, this.

On the plus side, after so much cycling throughout the week, my thighs are f**king huge.

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Chapter VII: Return to work!

Yeah, so, um, that was fun.

Monday evening, though, did rock immensely because Sweatband and I met up for a run up Richmond Hill which was awesome, despite the fact that the towpath alongside the Thames was swarming with little flies and we both swallowed at least three - and to top it off she's a vegetarian. We did do a respectable time, though, and all that cycling seems to have paid off because I was running like a pro-marathon runner after downing a cocktail of internationally-banned steroids.

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Chapter VIII: The wit and wisdom of Sparky Nan

Popped round for dinner with Sparky Ma and and the ever-sparky Sparky Nan. Conversation turned to Amy Winehouse, and the fact that she was recently photographed walking down the central reservation of a motorway after her car broke down.

"What on Earth did she do that for?" Sparky Ma asked.

"Silly bitch," my sweet and innocent grandmother replied without missing a beat.

(Incidently, I note from the motorway signs in that picture of Amy that she was actually not too far away from my stomping ground. Evidently she'd heard all about my sexy topless car washes - rawr!)

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Chapter IX: Back in the saddle

Wednesday evening I got home after beginning a dispute with a well-known beverage manufacturer at work, only to find my iPhone vibrating in my pocket the moment I stepped in the door. 

"Is that Tim?" Said the voice on the other end.

"Yes."

"Hello, I'm phoning from the Apple Store - your computer's ready."

"Oh brilliant," I replied. "I'll come and get it."

"Oh, you can't - we're just closing."

Seething ever-so-slightly, I told the guy I'd be in Thursday, wolfed down some dinner, then as the light was still good (loving the summer evenings), I headed out on my bike for multiple bunny encounters on the Thames towpath. Trust me when I say: those things are *fearless* this year.

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Chapter X: Return of the Mac

After leaving work bang on time I headed over to see Sparky Nan for a cuppa, only to find that she was in the final moments of what she would later describe as a "soiree." It turns out that all the lovely people down the road used the money left over from the collection they did to buy flowers for my Grandad, to buy my Nan a rose bush in honour of him. The variety is called, rather fittingly, The Generous Gardner, and they held a little ceremony today to plant it and remember him. Their generosity left me feeling a tad emotional.

An hour or so later, I was back in the car, and heading over to the Apple Store to collect my computer. Kitted out free of charge with new gubbins and whirring insidey-bits, and boxed up like new, a smiling me headed into the lift to take me up towards the car park. A lift that was soon invaded by two chavvy teenage girls.

"Whoa!" one screeched. "Is dat a noo i… iFone scrrrreeeen? No wait. I means, is dat an i … tee … vee fing?"

"No, it's an iMac."

"Wow. Dat is sick man."

"Well, it was. But it's all better now." That confused the padded tits off her.

 

She soon recovered.

"Is day hexpensive?"

"Depends which one you want. They start at around 800."

"Is dat good, innit?"

"Yes."

And then she followed me out of the lift despite the fact that she wanted the ground floor and I was getting out on the second. 

"Jeen-uh! Dis is da wrong flor, innit!" Her dense mate shouted.

Silly bitch, I heard Sparky Nan say in my head.

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So that's it - we're aaaaaaaall back up to speed.

Good times.