The Golf club

I mentioned in my previous post - under the heading 'Tuesday,' no less - that I planned to write about the hire car I had while Clubbie was … otherwise unavailable. Well, strap yourselves in, because as Nero says in the Star Trek trailer: THE WAIT IS OVER!

So, a few hours after Clubbie received an unexpected and rather unwanted surprise from behind, I found myself wandering into a hire car office to collect a, well, hire car that would be mine, all mine, for the duration of time that Clubbie was off the mean streets of West London being patched up. I fully intended my first words to the people in the office to be a tirade of naughty swears, because not only was I pissed off at the earlier events of the day, but the hire car people had given me a totally incorrect location for where their office was. I had asked on the phone if they were the hire car place near Hatton Cross tube station, to which they had replied "yes"; it was only after Sparky Ma had dropped me off by the tube station - and the hire car place I'd been led to believe was the correct one - and driven off that I found myself asking if I'd been led astray. A quick Google later and I discovered that, yes, the doofus had given me the the completely wrong location.

I subsequently set off on a two-mile hike to the correct location.

So, as you can imagine, I was fully prepared to spout a long list of words that, if written out in an Asterix book, would be represented by exclamation marks, skull and crossbones, and inexplicable swirly things. Fortunately for them, by the time I actually got there the whiplash had begun to settle in and I was properly knacked.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, they redeemed themselves when, upon finding out that I was the victim of the accident rather than the perpetrator, they told me that rather than have a shitty little Chevrolet Matiz (which I'd already massively complained about because quite frankly I would've felt safer driving a Little Tikes Cozy Coupe), I would be upgraded to something a little more becoming of someone of my distinguished status.

And so I got a brand new VW Golf.

And I mean, like, a *really* brand new Golf.

It was a Mark VI Golf GT TDi, which for those of you who don't have a clue what that means, means it's the sixth generation Golf with a powerful diesel engine and a fair few bells and whistles.

Unfortunately, my slightly more favourable impression of the hire car staff took a bit of a knock as I was just about to drive away when one of the guys said to me "I really love this car - try not to crash it, yeah?"

Yes, that's a very intelligent thing to say to someone who'd just been in a car accident.

As it turns out, as I was driving home some wench in an aged Fiat Punto did try to slam into the Golf by cutting me up at a roundabout. Not being terribly familiar with its controls at that point in time, and being unable to locate the horn in a hurry, I made do with pulling alongside her at some traffic lights and extending my middle finger towards her in the time honoured gesture. All in all I found that rather satisfying.

So, the Golf. It was a quality car. It felt very safe, which was just what I needed after the accident. It was gutsy. It was easy to drive. It was … utterly characterless. I think I've been spoilt by driving Minis for so long; as I said when I looked back over all the cars I've owned in March, Minis are by no means perfect, but they've got personality. This kind of makes it sound like I hated the Golf, but I didn't; I was very grateful for the fact that I had a good car to stand in temporarily for Clubbie, but it was so grown-up - so sensible. If I was 40 with a couple of kids and a wife who resented me, it would've been perfect.

More to the point, I admitted to Sparky Ma that I thought I couldn't get enthusiastic about the Golf because its presence merely signified the fact that I didn't have MY car. I honestly believe that if I'd had it as a loan car while mine was in for a service or something, I probably would've enjoyed it a lot more. It also didn't help that a fair few other people were wildly excited by the prospect of me having a new Golf. One in particular wanted to know all about it the day after the accident, and it was only after asking me endless boring questions about how big the wheels were that I was asked how my car was, and if I was OK.

Reasonably unjust prejudice aside, there were actually a few things about the Golf that I genuinely didn't like. The indicator stalks were, to me at least, utterly confusing (although both Sparky Pa and Big Bro, both fans of VWs, have since tried to convince me that I was just being stupid in this respect), it rolled around a bit and the steering was a tad woolly (compared to Minis, at least), the boot lid sounded like it was made from cheap tin when you slammed it shut, and there was a sharp ridge of plastic around the base of the dashboard where it met the transmission tunnel. The leather that was wrapped around the steering wheel and handbrake did a passable impression of styrofoam. Worst of all, though, was the fact that the seat bolsters were made of a coarse, hardwearing material, and every time I released the handbrake I grazed my knuckles on the passenger seat. If I'd had it for more than two weeks I probably would've ended up looking more like an underground bare-knuckle street fighter than usual.

Finally, I'd always been led to believe that diesels were super economical. When I picked the Golf up it was on the red line, so I immediately had to go buy some fuel (annoyingly). Not knowing how long I was going to have it for, I only put half a tank's worth in. In the two weeks I had the car I had to fill it up three times. On the last occasion, the trip computer told me it had a range of 220 miles; three days later, when I returned it, it was back on the red line and at one point I actually thought I'd have to fill it up just to make sure it would reach the hire car place. This was really surprising, because I was only driving to work and back (a round journey of about 25 miles), and I wasn't flooring it or anything; in fact, since the accident I've been driving like an aged nun. If this is how diesels perform in the real world I'm doubly glad I bought a petrol Mini!

On the whole, though, of all the cars I could've had while mine was off the road, the Golf was (without the option of another Mini) definitely one of the better choices. And while I wasn't too sorry to see it go, the hire car guys were definitely happy to have it back.

"Didn't dink it, did ya?" I was asked as I handed the keys over.

Busy times

So this is going to be one of those posts where I start with an excuse as to why I haven't posted anything for a while, then I take you through the last few days to highlight how busy I've been as justification for the excuse, liberally scattering a few amusing anecdotes throughout each day to a) keep you interested and b) make my life sound more exciting.

*sigh*

Here we go!

The Excuse:

So, sorry I haven't posted anything in a while but blah blah blah, yadda yadda yadda, blah. Boobies. Tee hee. Yadda yadda yadda, this is what I've been up to this week!

Monday:

During a lull in the working day, I experimented with some cross-franchise pollenization by making the Yoda action figure on my desk at work pose with the bat'leth that snapped off a Worf figurine that also lives on my desk at work. Sadly the inherent lameness of the camera in the iPhone means that the picture isn't quite as good as it could be, but the inherent awesomeness of the flappy-eared, bat'leth-wielding Jedi dwarf still shines through, I think you'll agree.

Hmmm! Die, a good day it is to, yes…?!

In other news, my overwhelmingly positive, possibly wildly incoherent fanboy-esque write-up of the new Star Trek movie (I wouldn't dare call it a review) somehow got picked up and republished by the Chicago Sun Times website. This made me feel inexplicably special, although for all I know it could've simply been part of a series exposing the mental health deficiencies of certain London-based bloggers.

Tuesday:

An exciting day all round. First of all, a mysterious stranger who took pity on me after recent events deployed what was dubbed Project: CTU (Cheer Tim Up), and it duly arrived in the post on Tuesday morning. Within I found a veritable wealth of delights, the main one being a CD entitled Spaced Out: The Very Best of William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy. One of the reviews on Amazon describes this album as "truly terrifying," although I'd argue that point. I don't know whether it's symptomatic of my brain being slammed against the inside of my skull in the car accident, but I actually really like this album. Yes, Shatner's songs are batshit crazy, but Nimoy's actually got rather a good voice, and The Ballad of Bilbo Baggins not only condenses The Hobbit down to two minutes 22 seconds (which saves me from ever having to read the book), but it also gives me a fair idea of what it would be like to try LSD.

I also like the songs where he sings in character as Spock.

Anyway, the day went from great to awesome at 15:21 in the afternoon, when I received a phone call to say that the repairs to Clubbie were complete and I could go pick 'er up! That led to a quick departure from the office, a hurried return of the hire car (which I'm going to come back to in another post), and a lightning-fast trip to the Mini dealer to be reunited with my pride and joy.

You would not believe what an amazing job they've done in repairing Clubbie. It's been restored completely to its original factory-fresh condition, and quite frankly feels like a brand new car. OK, it felt like a brand new car when I took delivery of it seven weeks ago, but now it feels even newer. And I'm convinced they have new car smell in an aerosol, because the interior reeks of it. I totally need to get my hands on a can of new car smell - I'd be spraying it in my face big time. I wonder if you can get it as a Glade Plugin?

Clubbie back in action on the wild streets of West London. Now, can no one plough into it again, please? Thanks.

The only disappointment of the day occurred when I did my first run in five weeks. After a week off, followed by flu (oink oink), followed by the accident, followed by painful whiplash, my running schedule has crashed and burned like something crashing and, um, burning. Rather than a mighty Elvis style comeback, this run was a rather inauspicious start, mainly because I kept having to slow to a walking pace, wheeze a bit, then spend a few minutes summoning up the energy and the will power to stagger onwards like a middle-aged drunk trying to catch the last bus. I did a total of five shitty kilometres before giving up and going home.

With a bit of luck things will improve from here on in - mainly because the Dysart Dash takes place in just over a month, and after smack-talking Sweatband for what seems like ages, it's going to be really embarrassing if she actually beats me…

Wednesday:

Wednesday was notable for the sole reason that I went to see Star Trek again, and this time I took Big Bro. This was exciting because the last Star Trek movie Big Bro saw at the cinema was Star Trek V: The Final Frontier (AKA, 'the God one'), and I don't think he's even bothered with the last two, even though I've offered to lend them to him on DVD, and helpfully told him when they've been on telly. Because of my paranoid fear that the film would sell out, I insisted that we arrive at least an hour before it started, which gave us plenty of time to walk aimlessly around Staines then hang out in the foyer of the cinema like a couple of tramps.

Despite all this, I'm happy to report that Big Bro really enjoyed Star Trek (and believe me, if he hadn't, I would've known), and for me it was every bit as enjoyable second time round. I'm well-up for seeing it a third time.

Amusingly, though, Big Bro did make something of a school boy error as we left by asking me the question "didn't they go to that ice planet in one of the other films?" I then entered into a 10 minute monologue about how he was thinking of the Klingon prison planet Rura Penthe from Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country, whereas the ice planet in the new film was called Delta Vega, which appeared in the second pilot episode of Star Trek, 'Where No Man Has Gone Before,' although of course then it was located out towards the Galactic rim, not in close proximity to the planet Vulcan.

*pauses for breath*

The result of this was that I genuinely feared that Big Bro might just drop me in the middle of nowhere miles from my house in the dead of night. Fortunately, though, he didn't.

Thursday:

As a direct result of the new Star Trek movie, my inner-nerd has come to the fore a bit more than it has in recent years, and quite frankly this means that I just can't get enough Star Trek at the moment. A couple of weeks back I ordered the novelization of the new film off Amazon; I haven't read a Star Trek novel in years, mainly because they're now all tied together with their own continuity and I don't want to have to read seven books to understand one story, but I'm a sucker for novelizations of films I love, and the sheer fact it is a film tie-in means it stands alone, so I had to have it. Unfortunately last week Amazon emailed me to say they couldn't get it until June, so I decided I'd just buy it in a regular bookshop.

I went to Kingston and Uxbridge last weekend on a mission to track it down, but failed on both occasions, so this week I decided to pull out the big guns. No, that is not a euphemism - it means that I decided to go to Westfield (or West-wizzle, as I have inexplicably begun to call it). What made this expedition unique, though, was that unlike previous jaunts to West-wizzle which I've done after work, I decided to go AT LUNCHTIME.

This was dangerous because I'm convinced time slows down in Westfield, and although I might think I'd only been there for 20 minutes, three hours might've elapsed in the real world.

Anyway, I got there and headed straight for Foyles. Foyles did not have the Star Trek novelization, nor did they have anything by an author named Joe Meno whose books I like the sound of; nor did they have a copy of a book I already own, but I thought I'd look for just as a test. I'm beginning to think that Foyles in Westfield is a poor substitute for the real thing on Charing Cross Road…

Disappointed, I headed over to HMV because they've been stocking books recently and I figured the novelization of the new Star Trek movie was the kind of book they'd stock. I was mistaken. They did, however, have a replica of the new Enterprise that I was very tempted by because it's been a while since I bought a new noisy toy for my desk. I ultimately decided against it, though, because I knew I'd be playing with it all afternoon when I should've been working it was 30 quid that quite frankly I didn't need to spend.

After that, in sheer desperation, I decided to go to WHSmiths. Now, I haven't bought a book in WHSmiths in years, mainly because they only really stock bestsellers, which I tend not to read, but on this occasion I was *holy shit!* amazed to find that they had the Star Trek novelization! Huzzah! So, anyway, I bought a copy, then popped up to Starbucks to get some lunch; I'd just like to say that their new savoury cheese pastry (cheesy croissant really) goes really well with a Grande Misto for a quick and easy lunch.

Friday:

It truly does pay to get to know the staff at your local Starbucks, because on Friday I decided to buy some VIA coffee, and ended up getting a bag of freshly ground Estima blend and a whole wodge of VIA samples thrown in for free. BONUS. I'm going to be awake and off my tits for the foreseeable future.

On the recommendation of a friend, on Thursday evening I'd downloaded the trial version of a game called Peggle on Xbox Live. It's a very addictive little game, but I couldn't be bothered to buy the complete version because I rarely play my Xbox these days. What I did do, though, was buy it from the iTunes App store for my iPhone on Friday afternoon.

This proved to be a timely purchase, because I was meeting Yazzle Dazzle in the evening, but she got delayed at work so I just went to Starbucks in Shepherds Bush and played Peggle for half an hour. I continued playing even when she did turn up because I was a) doing so well at it, and b) massively addicted to it.

I also had a vanilla latte for a change, which was surprisingly nice.

Anyway, the meet-up with Yazzle Dazzle was part of a larger plan to catch up with a load of old work pals. As it turned out, only six of us went in the end, but it was great catching up with everyone regardless. One of the hot topics of shouty conversation (they were playing loud music in the former Edwardian toilet that was our venue of choice) was how good the new Star Trek movie is, and this then led to one of my former colleagues saying how he thought the new Captain Kirk looked a bit like me.

YES! I just need to work out how to capitalize on it now.

OK, Chris Pine - what can I do to capitalize on the fact that I apparently bear a reasonably poor similarity to you? And by 'reasonably poor similarity' I mean if I was standing about 20 metres away from someone who had poor eyesight, and it was a dark night, and they were squinting, they might totally think I was you. Do you think it's possible I could get seated at a nice restaurant McDonalds easily? Do you think I could get some freebies - y'know, like clothes or something? I'm in dire need of some new undercrackers but keep forgetting to buy some.

Don't think this is all me me me though, Chris, this is a two-way street dude! Think of it as a Freaky Friday-style thing, though neither of us needs to be Jamie Lee Curtis. You're more than welcome to experience the awesome lifestyle of a West London-based writer-editor! The bins need to go out on Wednesday night, the house could probably do with hoovering, and there's some washing up that needs doing, OK? Good times.

Star Trek

And so, after two years of waiting, two years in which my hopes about how good it might be were raised, and my dreams of being cast as the new Kirk were dashed, I have finally seen the new Star Trek movie.

And I bloody loved it.

OK, OK, so you could argue the point, as it was mentioned to me by a friend on Facebook, when haven't I liked something with Star Trek in the title? And I would admit that's a fair point before saying that I really disliked the sixth season Deep Space Nine episode 'Resurrection.'

But this Star Trek was different - because, to quote Admiral Kirk at the end of The Wrath of Khan, this Star Trek "made me feel young" again by bringing the original series, my favourite Star Trek, back to life in a brave new way.

As anyone who's read the last couple of posts I've written, I've been a bit subdued these last couple of weeks, but from the moment it started until the moment the end credits played out to the sound of Alexander Courage's classic TOS theme tune, I forgot everything that had been troubling me outside of that cinema screen. For 127 minutes I was quite literally mesmerised by the most enjoyable slice of Star Trek I've had the pleasure of seeing since, quite probably, the DS9 episode 'Trials and Tribble-ations' 13 years ago.

It was that good.

I was hooked from the word go. In a way that mirrors the bank job that takes place at the beginning of The Dark Knight, Star Trek opens with a dramatic pre-credits sequence that introduces the movie's villain and could quite literally stand apart as a short film in its own right. It was a stunning way of reintroducing us to the universe of the 23rd century, and those few short minutes were, quite frankly, far more enjoyable than any of the last four Star Trek films. And I actually enjoyed the last four Star Trek films.

From there the story moved on to introduce us to Kirk and Spock, first as children and then as adults - played by new actors, yes, but still recognisably the Kirk and Spock I admired when I first started watching Star Trek all those years ago - before shifting the action away from the origins of our heroes and on to the Enterprise (and that's the NCC-1701 - no bloody, A, B, C, D, E, or NX) where their confrontations with the Romulan Nero could begin in earnest.

But while the characters, the ship, and the uniforms were all gloriously familiar, this film made no bones (if you'll pardon the pun) of the fact that this is a new kind of Star Trek unbound by 43 years (or 45 if you count 'The Cage') of continuity. Events take place in this movie that left me aghast - not because I was outraged at what I'd seen, but because I couldn't believe the filmmakers actually had the guts to go through with them. For example, when Data was killed in Star Trek Nemesis I kind of just shrugged my shoulders and thought "yeah, whatever, there's another one on the Enterprise," but here I was watching the familiar Star Trek universe being rocked to its foundations and forever changed. It was a bold statement that literally amounted to JJ Abrams and his team saying "yeah, look - nothing's sacred, if it serves the plot, we'll do it," and I couldn't help but think bravo to that.

But while the Star Trek universe was changing before our very eyes, some things were staying comfortably the same. Well, ish. The Enterprise itself, though recognisable, was definitely different from Matt Jefferies' iconic original. To be honest, I'd not been too sure about the design of this newest version of the Enterprise when I saw the first pictures, but on the big screen it looked just about perfect - a stunning blend of the old and the new, both inside and out. Also perfect were the Starfleet uniforms that successfully revived the style and vibrant colours of the original series, while at the same time making them appear modern and practical for a crew living and working aboard a starship; it was a delight to once more see a Star Trek vessel full of colour.

The casting could not have been more perfect; Chris Pine and Zachary Quinto ARE Kirk and Spock - I cannot give them any higher praise than that. Other stand out performances for me included Karl Urban, who admittedly was a little underused as Dr McCoy, but he was utterly perfect for the role and I can only hope he gets more screen time in the next film, the beautiful Zoe Saldana, who showed that Uhura can do more than just say "hailing frequencies open," and Anton Yelchin, who greatly surprised me with his wonderfully humourous performance as Chekov. And of course, it was a sheer delight to see Leonard Nimoy reprise his role as Spock again.

So for my money at least, JJ Abrams' Star Trek was a great success and everything I hoped it would be. It was fun, action-packed, and dramatic; it charted a brave new course for a franchise that has, in the last few years, become moribund and over-familiar. It reignited Star Trek and my passion for the universe that Gene Roddenberry created all those years ago.

May it well and truly live long and prosper.

Trek prep

And I am … done! What do you mean 'what am I done with?' My Star Trek prep!

Of course.

*Tut*

OK, so a few weeks back I decided I was going to do some prep work in anticipation of the new Star Trek movie. My original idea was to watch the previous 10 movies in order, but I kind of stumbled straight out of the starting gate with that one; I have to be in a particular frame of mind to watch Star Trek: The Motion Picture (which peculiarly tends to manifest only around Christmas), so I decided to skip it and begin with Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan.

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An aside:

Now, strictly speaking, I should've started my prep work 736 days ago. WTF?! Let me explain: there are 726 episodes of Star Trek, and 10 movies. If I'd watched one episode or film per day (in chronological order if I was being super-precise) it would've segued nicely into tomorrow's screening of the new movie and I could've legitimately called myself the uber-fan. On the flip-reverse, it's likely I would've had no life in that period. Either way, I was clearly too busy doing other things in May 2007 to think about that. Such as dressing up as Superman, for example.

Call myself a Star Trek fan? *Tut*

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So yes, I began with The Wrath of Khan - or TWOK to those in the know. Now, I love this movie; Khan is the perfect villain (even if he is prone to displays of "two-dimensional thinking," he has a torso the envy of men half his age), there are some superb action sequences, and it's eminently quotable. It's my favourite of all the Star Trek movies to date.

I followed this up with, of course, Star Trek III: The Search for Spock, which does exactly what it says on the tin, and Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, also known as the one with the whales/the one with the flying poo. Each of those films is enjoyable in their own right, but together they make what I would be so bold as to say is one of the most enjoyable sci-fi trilogies in Hollywood history.

I subsequently skipped Star Trek V: The Final Frontier, not because I don't like it (in contrast to many fans, I actually do think it has some redeeming qualities), but because I was running out of available time to continue my prep work. I thus went straight to Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country, the last film to feature the entire original cast, and a sterling effort to boot.

It was at this point that you could say I got caught in some kind of temporal anomaly because the next film I watched was … Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. Eh!? Yes, I went back to TWOK again. Why? Well, long ago I'd given Yazzle Dazzle a copy of the film on DVD and in the intervening years she'd not bothered gotten around to watching it, and I told her she'd be unable to judge the new Star Trek movie without having first seen the best Star Trek movie. And so, last weekend, she popped round to watch it - and I'm happy to report that she thoroughly enjoyed it. Rather than paint fake eyeballs on her eyelids and snooze through it, she paid proper attention to it - laughing in the right places, "ooo-ing" and "aah-ing" appropriately, and even going so far as to engage me in further discussion about the Genesis Device.

Amusingly though, she didn't think that Spock actually died at the end, even going so far as to say "I'd probably be getting a bit choked up if I thought he was going to die" when he was doing the whole "you have been … and always shall be … my friend" bit after saving the Enterprise. It was only when they shot him into space in a photon torpedo that she went "oh…" and then proceeded to quiz me about how he'd come back to life. Although I technically couldn't hide the fact that the next film in the series is called The Search for Spock, as far as she's concerned he's dead; I mean they could find him, poke his body with a stick a bit, then go off and do something else, right?

I'll probably have her round to watch it at some point so she can get properly up to speed.

Anyway, after that I watched the Star Trek: The Next Generation episodes 'Unification Parts I and II,' because it's the last time we see Spock prior to the new movie, and Star Trek Nemesis because it's the most recent film, and it deals with Romulans like the new one does. I must admit, I remember actually quite liking Nemesis, but on this viewing there were some bits that really stood out as being quite … well, bad. I've decided, after seven years, that Shinzon is quite an ineffectual villain, but on the other hand the battle between the Scimitar and the Enterprise is quite exciting (except for the bit where the Scimitar deploys its thalaron weapon, which requires seven woefully undramatic minutes and the deployment of lots of ridiculous prongy bits). I also hated the fact that Picard gets all gung-ho and has to take Shinzon out himself; hell, why not just beam some cannon fodder red shirts over there - that's what they're employed for!

That done, the last part of Star Trek prep took place tonight when I dug out the four issues of Star Trek Countdown, the official comic book prequel to the new movie, which takes place in the TNG era. I'd only read it one issue per month as they came out (January-April), so it was nice to read it again in one sitting so its fresh in my mind ready for tomorrow. The thing is, there's so much backstory in Countdown that I kind of can't see how you'll be able to fully get Nero's motivations in the movie without a) having read it first, or b) there being some mad-bonkers, long-winded piece of exposition. That being the case, I spent some time today emailing several buddies who are coming along tomorrow with links to Memory Alpha synopses for the comic books (Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV - don't say I never did anything for you).

So, the upshot of this is that I'm all fired up and ready for the new movie; I have my ticket and I'm counting down the hours … although I could've seen it today. Best Mate Jo wangled a couple of tickets to a preview at Paramount's London office, but I turned her down because I'd already arranged a big group outing for Friday, and would've felt bad if I turned up tomorrow and said "oh, yeah, I saw it yesterday," and because I really want to see it on a massive screen, not in some little screening room.

That being the case, Best Mate Jo dragged her Best Mate Caz along to see it. Neither are Star Trek fans - in fact Caz *hates* it, and Jo's always rolled her eyes and tutted whenever I've mentioned it over the duration of our friendship. But moments after it finished, they called me and literally screamed down the phone at me for about a minute; I just about made out the word "AWESOME" being shouted multiple times and "OHMYGOD I FANCY CAPTAIN KIRK!" before I got bored and hung up.

The gist of it was that I think they liked it.

After finally catching her breath, Jo called me back and said "I can't believe you didn't come!"

"Don't worry," I replied with a knowing wink as I engaged my smut subroutines. "I expect I will tomorrow."

Retail therapy

The thing about having a shitty couple of weeks is that they give you carte blanche to do something crazy like, ooo, impulsive retail therapy, which to be honest, is my favourite kind of therapy. Especially if someone else is paying.

Unfortunately, no one else is paying in this instance, but I've given it a good bash nonetheless. I heard something on the radio a while back that said retail therapy is a short-term high, whereas eating chocolate gives you more of a long-term high. Well, I'm sorry, but I knocked back two easter eggs, a mini Flake, and a full-size Yorkie bar, and they didn't make me feel half as good as I did surfing the internet for things I don't need but really, really want. Which leads me to the concept of buying drugs. I wouldn't buy drugs, but for people that do, do you find you get the high of buying the drug itself (i.e. the retail therapy), followed by the high of actually taking the drug? It's a theory that just occurred to me. Answers on a postcard, filthy drug-takers.

Anyhoo, the upshot of this is that I've bought some lovely stuff and don't feel at all guilty about it because I can just write it off as an attempt to make myself feel better. A bit like fiddling your taxes, I s'pose. And what have I bought, you ask? Well…

• The soundtrack to the new Star Trek movie. I do love a good soundtrack, and apparently this one is tops. I'm just waiting on it to be delivered - Amazon say it's en route!

• The novelization of the new Star Trek movie. I've got all the others, so I might as well have this one.

• A Junk Food Star Trek t-shirt, because I've always liked their t-shirts and while I've shied away from wearing anything with Star Trek emblazoned across the chest in the last 10 years or so, I love the retro design on the front of this one and decided I had to have it. And I've just noticed that eight quid's been knocked off the price since I bought it, but I actually don't really care because I just wanted to spend money.

• Some Dr Denim jeans. I did make a saving here, because as part of a Bank Holiday deal 10 quid was knocked off the asking price, and although I don't *need* anymore jeans that kinda swung it in favour of splurging.

So the jeans were delivered today, and after trying them on I'm happy that they're every bit as awesome as I hoped they'd be. There's nothing really radical about them, but I like the stitched line across the front that makes them look like they're riding lower than you think they actually are. It's a bit like that craze of wearing your trousers down so low that your bum cheeks hang out, without the bum cheeks actually hanging out. I couldn't do that look for fear my trousers would suddenly descend of their own volition. Also I don't feel the need to flash my pants to all and sundry.

Anyway, so the jeans are lovely, and they go with my new Junk Food Star Trek t-shirt just fine. But one thing did take me aback just a little. There's a card attached to the jeans that says, and I quote:

"These jeans have never been washed, which means that they will dry bleed in the beginning and may shrink 1-5%."

Dry bleed? is that like a dry-slap?

"Dye stuff may rub off on light coloured clothing and furniture."

So, ladies, I wouldn't recommend trying to dry-hump me on the dancefloor if you're wearing that nice new white dress.

"To achieve a beautiful vintage patina, you should wear these jeans for six months before washing them. But you don't have to if you don't want to."

Yes, so don't wash them for six mon- hang on a sec?! WTF?! Let me read that again!

"To achieve a beautiful vintage patina, you should wear these jeans for six months before washing them. But you don't have to if you don't want to."

Gadzooks, it does say that! Don't wash them for six months?! Outrageous! Now, I've checked the Dr Denim website and that says bugger all about the whole not washing your jeans for six months thing. But I did find a blog by some dude who's done the no washing-your-jeans-for-six-months-thing and written all about it, which is interesting. One of the things he says is that you should 'rest' your jeans in the freezer every now and then.

Now, I like to follow instructions properly in all walks of life (such as, say, stopping my car at an appropriate distance behind the car in front), and I must say I'm intrigued by the idea of following Dr Denim's advice and not washing my jeans until November, if only for the fact that I'll technically always have a pair of jeans ready to wear. But on the flip-reverse, I'm not sure I want to be known as the eccentric young gentleman who stashes his jeans between a box of two Birdseye chicken kievs and a bag of Aunt Bessie's frozen mashed potato.

Thoughts?

*Sigh*

It feels like ages since I last posted anything (although in reality it was just last Thursday), and to be honest I've not really felt like it. The accident last week really knocked me for six; first of all there was the utter shock of it actually happening, then there was a period where my brain just kind of shut down and went into some kind of safe mode where I could only deal with specific things I needed to do, such as 'get home,' 'call the insurance company,' and 'fall to pieces.'

Actually 'call the insurance company' was a good one. In contrast to many others, I've actually always been really pleased with the company I insure my car with; unfortunately, they lost points this time round when, having gone through all the details of the accident and really needing to go sit down and have a cup of tea so sugary that the spoon would literally stand upright in it, the lady on the other end of the line said "ooo, before you go, could you just hang on for a sec so I can put you through to someone who'll conduct a customer satisfaction survey?"

I literally went: "WHAT?!"

And she said: "A customer satisfaction survey."

And I said: "Um, no."

And she said: "Oh go on - it only takes two minutes."

To which I replied: "Um, no - I've just been in a car accident and I'd really like to go and sit down."

And she said: "*Tut* Oh, OK. Well, have a nice day."

And if I could've reached down the phone line and throttled her I really would have.

Another person who looses points is a friend of mine who DROVE PAST THE SCENE OF THE ACCIDENT and didn't stop to see if I was alright. What he did do, though, was text me about half an hour later to tell me that I was doing a good job of clearing debris off the road and could consider a new career as a road sweeper if push came to shove. Nice. And he wasn't the only one; upon hearing what happened, another friend sent me a text with a sarcastic comment. My response to both was something along the lines of 'you can f**k right off'; I'd like to see how they'd like it if the same thing had happened to them, although it's certainly a novel way of gauging who your real friends are.

Anyway, over the course of the last week I genuinely feel like I've gone through something like the five stages of grief; I flew through denial on the first day, anger … well, I'm still feeling that a bit, bargaining … no, I think I skipped that one, depression, yes, still hitting that one rather a lot, and finally acceptance - I accept it happened and there's nothing I can do it about it now.

On the plus side, Clubbie's in the best possible place and will be repaired to absolute factory freshness (I cannot thank the people at my Mini dealer enough - they are utter stars). As for me, well, I have a loan car that I cannot get at all enthusiastic about despite the fact it is a decent car, and waaaaay better than the shitty little toy I was going to get given originally. I think my lack of enthusiasm comes down to the fact that people keep asking me how I like it, and how they 'bet it makes a nice change to what I normally drive.' Um, no, not really; in an ideal world I'd never set foot in the loan car, and if I'd wanted a car like it I would've bought one in the first place.

As for me, well I'm not going to beat around the bush: I hurt. Sometimes I get up and I hurt straight away, other times I get up feeling normal, then the pain gradually hits around midday and gets worse as the day goes on. Either way, by the evening I just want to lie down, which I inevitably do. It's been a long weekend in the UK, and I've spent the vast majority of it horizontally, either laid out on the sofa, laid out on the bed, or, if I'm round Sparky Ma and Pa's, laid out on the floor. Unfortunately, laying oneself out anywhere doesn't really help the pain go away, but on the plus side it does give you a different perspective on the world.

What I'm really annoyed about, though, is the fact that I can't go running. I'd taken a break because of the muscle strain a few weeks back, then I got flu (not pig flu, thankfully), then I got whiplash. All that good training I've done this year has been for nothing; my Nike+ dude is taunting me, my Nike+ 2009 resolutions have been shot to hell, and the Dysart Dash is less than two months away! This was supposed to be the year in which I ran it like a cheetah, but now I'm looking at the prospect of playing catch-up big time. I'm not happy.

I saw the doctor last week and he told me to buy some Tiger Balm to rub on my back and neck. Tiger Balm is an ointment that comes in a tiny tiny pot, costs rather a lot for the amount you get, and makes your skin feel like it's on fire. I was immediately disappointed to find that, while it's packaged to look like it's some mysterious ointment from the Far East, it's actually made in Manchester. Anyway, I'm not convinced it's actually doing anything, but I must say I'm getting rather addicted to the sensation it gives, although I do live in fear that I might at some point forget to wash my hands after applying it and accidently get some on my penis.

So, the result of this, dear reader, is that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the lack of posts, I'm sorry for the lack of enthusiasm. But don't fear! With a bit of luck my enthusiasm levels will be boosted in the next week or so. Why? Well, a) I'm hoping the pain will get better, b) there's a chance that Clubbie may make a triumphant return, and c) there's a little thing called the new Star Trek movie…

Highs and lows

Let's start with the lows, shall we? And by low I mean without a doubt *the* worst point of the year so far: without going into too much detail, Clubbie got massively smashed in the back while stationary in traffic on the way to work on Tuesday, and is currently in Mini hospital undergoing rather thorough repairs.

Beyond that I'd rather not, and probably shouldn't, go into any specifics.

*sigh*

And highs? Well, my subsequent utterly foul mood was lifted for a couple of hours the day after the accident by a wonderful performance from Priscilla Ahn. I got tickets to go see her headlining gig at Bush Hall after seeing her support Jason Mraz at the beginning of the month (where I was won over by her boob song) - and I was not disappointed by her full-length show. First of all, not only were the tickets an absolute steal for 12 of your English squids, but she is a supremely talented singer - a beautiful voice, wonderful songs, some lush acoustic guitar goodness, and a brilliant thing where she records her voice on stage and loops it back to make it sound like she's got a whole bunch of backing singers on stage with her. She had to cut her first song short a few seconds in after breathing in some dust, and swiftly apologised for being "unprofessional"; unprofessional? Far from it - it was actually a rather endearing moment from a performer who engaged wonderfully with the tiny audience (around a 100, I'd guess), and appeared somewhat humbled by the fact that we'd actually bothered to go see her.

I didn't get too many photos, but here's a couple.

Here's Priscilla with her guitar…

…And here she is with her ukulele.

I really recommend you go check out her Myspace page, and may I be so bold as to suggest you get her album in your life? I bought it off iTunes at the weekend and it's fantastic - perfect for sunny, chilled-out summer days. And just to encourage you, here's The Boob Song (which sadly isn't on the album).

Secondly, Bush Hall - awesome venue! I'd never been before, and was stunned to find that it is located in startingly close proximity to the Nandos I've frequented rather too much over the last six years or so. It's an old Edwardian dance hall (a phrase which makes me imagine a crowd of people in their Sunday finest rather sedately doing the ol' 'big fish, little fish, cardboard box' dance routine) hidden behind a rather innocuous-looking shopfront, and there are proper tables and chairs for you to sit at while you watch the performance. It was well sophisticated.

Check out the chandeliers. There are even cherubs above the stage if you look closely!

If you're interested, you can check out some more information about the venue and its history, and see some better photos, HERE. I definitely want to go see some more gigs there - and next time I'd be tempted to wear a jaunty hat, a cravat, and a monocle so I appear as sophisticated and upper-class as the venue itself.

An open letter to anyone who wishes to preach doorstep religion

Let's be frank, based on the fact that I've been suffering from pig flu, everyone's favourite, topical, pork-based illness, this weekend has not exactly been the best couple of days in recent memory, topped off by the fact that I appear to have lost the ability to sleep. To make matters worse, having only gotten to sleep at around 5:30 am on Sunday morning (the sky had started getting lighter and there were tweeting birds in the trees), I was rudely awakened at 9:00 am by someone ringing my doorbell.

Although I woke up in a shot, I made the executive decision to ignore whoever it might be, mainly because unless it was Autumn Reeser come to whisk me away on a Caribbean holiday I'd probably have started my day with a tirade of four-letter words directed towards the little bastard who was insisting on jabbing away at my doorbell like it was Lindsey Lohan's crotch and they were checking to see if she still had any feeling down there. If it wasn't for the fact that I felt clammy and gross (as a result of pig flu, I hasten to add) I probably would've gone at them like a complete mentalist, but instead I shut my eyes and hoped they'd go away.

Only later did I discover that the perpetraitors of this most heinous of crimes was - brace yourself - some f**king Jehovah's Witnesses.

*deep breath*

OK, I like to think that I'm a very tolerant and understanding chap, and my general feeling towards most things is that as long as you're not hurting anyone you should pretty much be allowed to do what you want. But banging on MY front door stupidly early on a Sunday morning to try and engage me in conversation about YOUR religion is overstepping the mark. It's overstepping the mark BIG TIME.

As an extension of the tolerance noted above, I like to think that I'm respectful of other people's religions (except, perhaps, Scientology, because that one's bat-shit crazy). That doesn't, however, preclude me from pointing the finger of blame for many of the world's problems at organised religion. Don't believe me? Just look back through history - the Crusades, for example; the work of missionaries sent to foreign countries to convert people to a religion other than their own; the ongoing problems in the Middle East - just a few examples of how religion has caused problems rather than solve them.

That being my take on things, I'm happy for everyone to get on with their own beliefs while I formulate my own (if you're interested, I am, strictly speaking, Church of England, but my family is not at all religious, and I've only ever been to church once - when I was in Beavers and they threatened to chuck me out if I didn't go to Church Parade. Bastards). So, as you might imagine, I was a little bit pissed off that some Jehovah's Witnesses thought I might like to waste some of my time listening to them try and tell me why their views are better than mine.

In hindsight, I really wish I had gotten up and started talking to them - mainly because I would've been shouting at them from my bedroom window and I probably would've succumbed to temptation and thrown a shoe at them or something. Anyway, they left evidence of their visit in the form of a cheapily-printed leaflet telling me how I should get involved in Bible study in order to live a better and more rewarding life free of sin. Well, I hate to break it to you, chaps, but I already have a bible: it's called the Star Trek Encyclopedia, and while it is in dire need of an update (rather like the Bible, I s'pose), it's a damn sight more entertaining, and, dare I say it, less fictional than the one you want me to study. It's also full of pretty pictures of starships.

Anyway, if I know anything about Jehovah's Witnesses it's that they're persistent little buggers, and will no doubt be back. And if they do, I think I'll argue with them for at least an hour, then slam the door in their faces before discretely following them to their home. I shall then return to their abode later that evening at a time that is - god forbid! - greatly inconvenient to them, armed with a full 13 binder set of The Official Star Trek Fact Files, at which point I shall begin lecturing them on the concept of Sto-vo-kor and Gre'thor, the Klingon equivalents of heaven and hell. Let's see how they like them apples, eh?

Notes from my sick bed

And when I say 'sick bed' I really mean it. I've spent an unnaturally long period of time in bed this week.

It all started when I got back from the Star Trek premiere on Monday. I'd developed a little bit of a sore throat throughout the day, but figured it would go away with a hot drink and an early night. Um, how wrong could I be? I woke up on Tuesday morning and *really* felt like I wanted to take the day off work. But, because I'd taken the previous week off as holiday, I thought it looked really bad that I'd take sick leave so soon - almost like I was struggling to get used to the whole work thing and, y'know, just needed a couple more days or something. So, I struggled into the office, drank two bottles of Lucozade, and generally looked a bit miserable. Tuesday evening I got home at around 17:40, and went straight to bed. I woke up four hours later with a temperature and decided this whole sleep thing was probably for the best and nodded off again.

Wednesday morning I woke up feeling a bit better, but still not exactly top-of-the-shop, but headed into work again because I still figured the whole holiday/too-soon-to-take-time-off-sick rule applied. I even worked longer in the evening to make up for the fact it took me three hours to get into work on Monday because of bad the worst traffic jam I've ever experienced in West London. And when I got home Wednesday evening seemed to be going OK until about nine o'clock when I plummeted off the healthy cliff like Wily Coyote taking a tumble down a gorge in a Roadrunner cartoon.

I didn't really sleep at all well Wednesday night because my throat was so sore I found it difficult to swallow. I considered using a pint glass as a spittoon at one point, but the idea of disposing of a pint of spit the following morning kind of put me off; I mean, what do you do with it? Flush it down the loo? Tip it down the sink? Drink it?

Having only gotten to sleep at around four Thursday morning, I thought screw the holiday/too-soon-to-take-time-off-sick rule. At about 9:30 I called work to tell them I was gross and ill and not coming in. Unfortunately, I'd not taken into consideration the fact that I might not be able to talk, and I basically responded to my colleague who picked the phone up by honking at him like a mix between a goose, Pingu, and Dierdre Barlow from Coronation Street. I eventually got my message across, after being reassured that I sounded "horrific," and went back to bed.

I eventually got up in the afternoon, caught up on the episodes of Heroes and Gossip Girl that I'd recorded, then went back to bed.

I went back to work on Friday because although I was still feeling rough, someone was leaving and I thought it would be nice to say goodbye. Anyway, long story short, we spent a lovely afternoon down the pub, had a great lunch, and I was admonished by lovely boss lady for my whole concept of the holiday/too-soon-to-take-time-off-sick rule. She also instructed me to take some Echinacea because apparently it's a miracle cure, so I'll probably give that a whirl. On the downside, about 17:30 I started feeling uber rough again, and headed home as quickly as I could for round four of high temperature, night-sweats (nice!), and generally feeling crap.

Anyway, the one saving grace of this whole thing is that I woke up this morning tightly wrapped in my duvet, with a sterling idea for a new short story. I'm not entirely convinced that I'd like all my story inspiration to come after feeling horrific for a week, but on this one occasion I'll take it.

Stalk Trek

I don't know whether you know or not, but there's a new little independent art house film coming out soon that's got a few folks a little bit excited. It's called Star Trek, and if you've been reading this blog since, well, it began, you'll know that I'm a wee bit excited about it.

OK, a lot excited about it.

OK, on the verge of needing to wear a man-nappy excited.

Does the term 'nerdgasm' mean anything to you?

Anyway, today was the UK premiere of Star Trek, and since all my efforts to get tickets to actually stroll down the red carpet and then watch the film with the celebs failed (despite lovely boss lady offering to buy me and my colleague in all things Star Trek tickets if we could find them - don't they know who I am!?), I had to make do with hanging out with the rest of the civilians safely cordoned off behind the barriers.

To be honest I was very blaise about the whole thing; I rocked up town just before six, then headed to Foyles to buy a book (The Lie by Chad Kultgen, if you're interested), at which point I almost had a go at the till monkey - first of all because he was monosyllabic and I actually like to hear people tell me how much cash they want me to fork over before I fork it over, and then because when I asked if I could have a bag to put it in he half-shoved it into one and then pushed it towards me. Outrageous! Put it in properly - isn't that what you're paid to do? I read a column by Mary Portas the other week where she criticized Foyles' staff and I tend to agree with her.

Where was I? Oh yes, Star Trek. So, after buying my book I strolled back to Leicester Square, met up with Marcosy, made a crack about how I hoped this Star Wars movie would be better than the last three (tee-hee - it's funny because it's a Star TREK movie!), and then stood behind a huge wall of tall people - and within mere minutes the stars began to arrive. Now, the last time I saw people at a film premiere was when I stumbled upon the X-Men 2 premiere a few years back. Somehow then I managed to get pretty close to the front and ended up seeing loads of stars. This time? Not quite so easy. I seriously think that at these sort of events the old school photo rule of thumb should come into play - y'know, tall people at the back, shorties at the front. We're all civilised, intelligent people, right? It shouldn't be too difficult to work out. As it was, I spent about half an hour on tippy-toes, and poor Marcosy saw practically nothing - because he's a midget.

Anyway, despite the hustle and bustle of the crowds and the inherent limitations of the iPhone's camera, I did manage to take a few not so bad pictures - and here's a selection of them just for you.

The Empire Leicester Square all decked out in Star Trek finery!

Here's director J.J. Abr- oh, it's the back of his head. Hmmm… J.J.! Turn around!

That's more like it. Here's director J.J. Abrams!

New Spock Zachary Quinto turns up. Sorry about the shaky-cam - I was really stretching for this one.

And here's new Kirk Chris Pine. I was very tempted to whack a massive arrow on this to point him out, but I can't be bothered. He's the dude in the suit standing side-on.

The lovely new Uhura, Zoe Saldana… (and, to the extreme right, a dude in a TNG era Starfleet uniform)

…And the new Dr. McCoy, Karl Urban (not to be confused with Mr Nicole Kidman, Keith Urban). Note also that Chris Pine is taking a photo of the crowd - yes, the new Kirk has a picture of my outstretched arm taking a picture of him; good times!

Here's another pic of J.J. - he was working the crowd good and proper.

The new Scotty, Simon Pegg, turned up in a kilt. I'm actually amazed how well this picture turned out because I just reached out and snapped it blind.

New Sulu, John Cho, was there too, but I didn't get a picture of him, perhaps because I was laughing too much at the guy behind me who kept saying "look - it's Harold from Harold and Kumar! What's Harold doing here? HAROLD!"

I also didn't see ex-Hulk Eric Bana, but I discovered later that I'd somehow snapped a pretty decent picture of him. This is what happens when you stand behind tall people and just wave your iPhone above your head like a mentalist.

Eric Bana plays the villain Nero in the new Star Trek movie. Don't make him angry - you wouldn't like him when he's angry!

All in all, then, a not too shabby effort. I'm glad I went - glad I got a chance to see the new stars of Star Trek even if it was from afar, and it was exciting for me - a Star Trek fan of 25-plus years, who has stuck with the franchise through the good times and the bad - to see a big crowd of everyday, non-Trekkie people hyped up about a new Star Trek movie. I was a little bit disappointed that the promoters didn't make the security guys wear red, though.

Anyway, to sum it up, I'm *really* excited about the movie now … Only 18 days to go!

Blinded

You know how I was saying in my last post about what a great day I had on Friday? Well, truth be told, it didn’t actually start out too well; in fact, I had a bit of a disaster.

Let’s back up a bit.

About two years ago, well over a year after I’d moved into Sparky Towers, I finally got round to decorating the bathroom. It had been a manky lilac colour that the silly bitch who lived here before me seemed to be utterly obsessed by (I kid you not - the only part of the house that wasn't coated in it was the bedroom), and I painted over it with a classy white. I was very pleased with it, and with myself for having the enthusiasm to actually do it. The thing is, though, that I didn’t quite finish it; I’ve never gotten around to putting down any new flooring (it still has the old grey carpet), and I’ve never gotten around to putting a towel rail up (making do, instead, with the airing cupboard door handle). Worst of all, though, is the fact that I’ve never replaced the horrific roller blind that was put up in front of the window; it was green, which was totally out of place with the rest of the decor, and had turned a bit gross after getting damp when I showered.

You can see it HERE, in a video clip I made about a year and a half ago. Note how I said then that I intended to replace it “sooooooooon.”

Bizarrely, I’m actually wearing the same hoodie as I was in that clip. I didn’t realise I’d had it that long. Hmmm…

Anyway, let’s get back to Friday.

So, Friday morning, I get up and wander into the bathroom ready to carry out my ablutions before heading out for the epic shopping expedition. I reach for the cord to roll the blind up, but as soon as I pull it I hear a bit of plastic snap, and feel the cord go slack. The next thing I know the blind is unravelling before my very eyes like a cat unrolling a toilet roll. By the time it reached it’s full length there was a huge excess of material looming out over the bathtub. I rolled my eyes, decided that nothing was going to ruin my day, and left it.

When I got home in the evening I decided I’d better do something about it. It was quite clear that there was no way to fix it, so I decided I’d find a way of securing the fabric in place so I could shower without fear of putting on a nudie show for the neighbours, and probably get round to replacing it properly in about six months. Unfortunately, the moment I touched the fabric it literally peeled away from the roller, leaving me with three separate components: a roller (attached to the window frame), the cord that was formerly used to raise and lower it but which was now effectively just a bit of string, and a metre and a half of manky green fabric.

Bugger.

Knowing that I needed to do *something* to get the fabric back up over the window so that I could at the very least have a shower, I eventually decided to drape it over the roller and tape it to the window frame so that it wouldn’t fall away. It wasn’t a pretty solution, but it worked.

Look with your eyes! It's manky, it's green, and it's taped to the window frame. Ugh.

Problems arose on Saturday morning, however, because I quickly discovered while showering that tape doesn’t like moisture, and it started peeling away. I subsequently spent the duration of my shower squatting in the tub while hastily reattaching bits of tape as they peeled away. Knowing that I didn’t want to have to go through that every time I needed to wash my bits, I decided that something needed to be done. So, Saturday afternoon, I headed down to the Staines Massive, and bought a new, white, venetian blind, and this morning Sparky Pa popped over to help me put it up. I was very impressed; we did it in a little bit less than an hour, and he didn’t swear once - even when he knocked the bath tap with the blind and we both got damp shoes.

Look with your eyes! *Claaaaaarrrrsy.*

So, good times, over two years after decorating my bathroom, another phase is complete! Just got to sort out that towel rail and flooring now…

A week well wasted

Hello. I'd intended to be watching Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home right about now as part of my prep work for the opening of the new Star Trek movie, but I decided I'd put my own needs aside for the time being and write a new post for you. Why? Because I love you. Yes I do.

Patronising, eh?

OK, so I don't know whether I mentioned this or not, but I've had this week off work. To be brutally honest, I actually haven't done much with it at all. Let's have a quick run-through:

Monday:

Easter Monday, to be precise. Accepted an offer from Big Bro to help me wash Clubbie. Big Bro recently bought a new car too, and because he loves his new car with something approaching (and subsequently zooming waaaaaaay past) utter obsession, he's turned into some sort of car washing guru. No longer is a mere bucket and sponge sufficient! No! There are stages. Many, many stages. Mind you, after two hours, Clubbie was gleaming so strongly that three kids who live down the road were treated for seared retinas and are currently sporting heavily-bandaged eyes.

And despite Big Bro's sweatshop-style car-washing technique I still found the time to lark around.

Although I was quickly admonished for slacking and forced back to work under threat of violence.

Tuesday:

Got my hair cut by usual lady for the first time in aaaaaaaages, and it looks awesome; badgered some delightful lady in the bank and wasted 10 minutes of her day by asking her inane questions about how the drop in interest rates will affect my mortgage when I come to renegotiate it.

Wednesday:

Big Bro's birthday - huzzah! Though he had a dickie tummy, so it wasn't quite so huzzah for him.

Thursday:

Whipped Clubbie in to the Mini dealer to have a fuse replaced. It was done in the time it took me to read the Daily Mail (i.e. about three minutes), and then I headed over to Sparky Ma and Pa's where I somehow succeeded in convincing Sparky Pa that I was an iTunes genius by helping him move his library from one computer to another.

Friday:

A-ha! Friday - the day I'd been looking forward to all week! Why? Because today was the day that Sparky Ma and I had scheduled in our traditional raiding party shopping expedition to Kingston - and for the first time in a long time we both went there with money, not so much to burn, but definitely to spend. And spend we did. After 7-8 hours (according to the car park pay machine) my haul consisted of the following delightful items (and the reasoning behind said purchases):

• Ode to Sunshine by Delta Spirit: I can't remember where I first heard about this band, but I really like their slightly ramshackle sound having had a listen to their Myspace page and downloading their session on Daytrotter. Mum bought this for me as the traditional 'thanks-for-taking-me-to-Kingston-gift,' bless 'er! It's a great album, though I'm not to sure about the slightly dodgy-looking chap on the cover…

• Two Topman Deep-V t-shirts: Yes two; a white one and a grey one. I bought a black one last summer and wasn't sure I actually liked it for a long time because it shows off quite a lot of the ol' chesticals, if you know what I mean. Just recently, though, I've really grown to love it in all it's chestical-bearing glory, and seeing as you can get two for a tenner, I thought I'd pick up a couple more. The white one was a complete bitch to find, though, as it was rammed on a single rack alongside white round neck tees, white regular V-neck tees, white baseball tees, and white notch tees; it was like looking for an albino something-or-other in a blizzard. The grey one was equally difficult to locate, but for entirely different reasons; I initially didn't think they had any, and in sheer desperation grabbed for the one grey t-shirt on a rack of many-coloured t-shirts - and what were the chances, it was the one I wanted in my size! The serendipity!

And if you're wondering what they look like on, think something along the lines of this:

Altogether now: KHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!!!!

• A G-Star bag: for ages now I've been looking for a new bag for work; the one I've got at the moment is perfectly fine, but it's become apparent that I actually don't need to take that much stuff to work each day and I've only really stuck with it because it carries an A4 writing pad easily enough. But on those occasions when I want to do some writing at lunchtime it's a bit, well, cumbersome to lug around. Anyway, I saw this bag and thought it was nice, but quite expensive. Sparky Ma soon talked me round, though, and before I knew it I'd bought it. It's waaaay smaller than old work bag, but will be far more convenient for if I'm heading out up town and want to carry a few bits with me. On the downside, it's not big enough for an A4 writing pad, but as I've just about filled my latest one up, I thought I'd go for…

• A Moleskin 240pp ruled notebook as used by Earnest Hemingway: I've wanted one of these for ages, because what's good enough for Earnest is good enough for me, and it fits in new bag PERFECTLY. It was £12.75, which is a bit steep but I figure it'll make me look more sophisticated and authoritative when I'm jotting story ideas down.

• iPod headphones: I've come to the conclusion that my ears secrete some kind of unnaturally toxic ear grease when I go running because I consistently have to buy new headphones every year after the rubber bit turns all manky and drops off, which in turn means that my headphones keep falling out. So these are the latest in a long line of headphones, and will undoubtedly require replacing sometime around April 2010.

• Some Lush soap: because I dropped the last bit down the plug hole this morning.

Today also marked the three week anniversary of me owning Clubbie (we're going steady), and Sparky Ma's first trip in Clubbie (she was a bit freaked out about the whole stop/start thing at first, but that soon turned into thinking it was cool, then getting so used to it that it totally became a "meh, whatever" sorta thing).

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm still feeling the effects of the phat Nandos we had for lunch, so I'm going to go lie on my bed like a python that's eaten a hippo or something.

Coffee'd out of my face

Remember a few weeks back I regaled you with the tale of how I obtained a load of samples of Starbucks' new VIA instant coffee? Well the story kind of didn't end there. A few days after nabbing all those samples, I picked up a card in Secret Starbucks that gave you the URL for a survey about the new instant coffee, and promised a free £10 gift card and box of VIA to the first 500 people to fill it in.

I'll have some of that, I thought.

Unfortunately, the questionnaire was a rather long-winded affair, and when I got to the end after 25 minutes (yes, I said 25 minutes!) I got a message that said something to the effect of "sorry, we've met our quota for this survey, no freebies for you young sir!"

I quietly uttered a very specific, somewhat colourful response, and continued on with my day.

Last week, however, I received a phone call from a market (I said market, not meerkat) research company asking if I'd like to take part in a focus group for Starbucks.

Is the pope catholic?

Before I could be signed up for the group, however, I had to answer a lot of inane questions, most of which I'd already answered for the online questionnaire. I'm sure these questions are very specifically designed to glean an insight into Starbucks' customer base, but to give you an idea of the sort of thing I was asked, the final question was: if you could choose a superpower, what would it be, and why?

(If you're interested, I chose the ability to fly because it would make it so much easier getting around town, although in hindsight some sort of sexy pheromone secretion to make me irresistible to the ladies might've been a good idea; at the very least it would have skewed their research in a new and interesting direction.)

After noting down all that exciting information, the guy at the research company mentioned almost inconsequentially that I'd be paid for my time: BONUS! Ha! The fools - talking about coffee with like-minded caffeine addicts? Do they not know that I'd do this sort of thing for nothing?! On the downside, I had to do some homework. Poop.

My homework assignment turned up in the post towards the end of the week, under the guise of a 'coffee diary.' I shan't bore you with a complete run through of what I needed to do, suffice to say that it actually wasn't too much of a chore and I didn't have to take my clothes off. Two assignments did stand out for me, however.

Assignment the first was to write a short story based on my first time drinking Starbucks VIA. Bearing in mind that I was getting paid for this, you could actually say that it's my first commissioned story. What an auspicious start to my novel-writing career. Anyway, I didn't just want to write something boring like "I poured some water on it and it made coffee and I drank it and it was good." No; I decided that I'd try and subvert it a little bit. My initial thought was to write some kind of epic Starship Troopers-style science-fiction story in about 200 words; I had it all planned out - the opening lines were going to be:

I had to stay awake - I could hear the Pytherion sneeze-beast looking for me in the distance, and I knew that if I fell asleep it was more than likely that I'd wake up to find a leg missing. All I had in my ration pack was a sachet of VIA and a small camping stove. This little packet of coffee was all I had to see me through to dawn - all I had to keep me going until reinforcements arrived.

It's even more hella-cool if you read it in the voice of Cartman.

Ultimately I decided to go with a less fantastical style just incase they thought I was a mentalist, although I did give it a little bit of a film noir-twist. So, ladies and germs, may I present to you my coffee story:

It was not the best of times nor the worst of times; it was not a dark and stormy night. It was just an average day, and all I wanted was a decent cup of coffee. I looked at the small packet in front of me, picked it up and squeezed it gently, feeling the consistency of the powder within. This couldn’t make a good cup, could it? This little thing? I tore it open and breathed in the warm aroma that I’d freed from its confinement. It sure smelt good, but I still had my doubts. I heard the water in the kettle bubble to its boiling point, dropped the VIA in a mug, and poured the scalding liquid on to it. The powder and the water swirled together into a rich dark form spilling up to the rim of the mug. The smell I’d been entranced by just seconds before intensified and I found myself holding the mug close to my face as I drew in long, deep breaths. But now it was crunch time. I raised the mug to my mouth and took a swig. It was rich, bitter, smooth - everything I like in a cup of coffee. I settled back in my chair and took another mouthful. A guy could get used to this…

Awesome huh?

Assignment the second was to make a collage of what VIA means to you. Yes, you read that correctly: a collage. I've not made a collage since I was about seven, and seeing as I'm not in the habit of keeping copydex glue and glitter in the house, I decided to make mine in PhotoShop.

Good innit?

Actually, no it's not, but it served its purpose. Let me walk you around it:

• There's a picture of Hammersmith, because I drink coffee there every lunchtime.

• A smiling cat - because coffee makes me smile. I don't know why I picked a picture of a cat smiling, but I'm sure it'll have an interesting effect on their research data.

• The Rolling Stones - because I often equate drinking coffee with listening to music.

• A couple hugging - because a hot cup of coffee is something to snuggle up with.

• A coffee postcard that I found a few years back. I think it speaks for itself.

• A pic of Yazzle Dazzle hiding behind a coffee mug, because drinking coffee is a social thing and it's a vital part of our friendship.

• Some books. Coffee shops/book shops - they kind of go together, right?

• Some woman writing - because I often have a cup of coffee on the go when I'm writing.

• A contented Panda - because I like to chill out with a cup of coffee.

• Some dude running - because coffee perks me up (not like that, saucy).

Anyway, I did all this, and this evening I headed off to the focus group, which was very conveniently being held in a Starbucks I'm familiar with because I drive past it on the way to work everyday. I was the first to arrive, and told the woman conducting the group that I was quite pleased with my collage. She looked at me and asked if I was being facetious.

Without going into too much detail, the group was quite interesting (I've done one before, and experienced them from behind the scenes as well) and we had a bit of a lively debate about the pros and cons of instant coffee. We also had a coffee taste-test in which we sampled a cup of VIA versus a cup of Kenco, and although we all thought from our previous experience with VIA that it was at the very least OK, it was only when we tried it against a competitor that we realised just how good it actually was (and before anyone says that they tampered with the Kenco to make us favour the VIA, they didn't; they opened the jar in front of us, and we actually had to make our own).

Bearing in mind how much time I spend in Starbucks and how much cash I throw their way, it was good to feel that my thoughts on the brand were both valued and important. There were two representatives from Starbucks present, and I felt like hugging them and asking them to give Howard my best. Unfortunately, I didn't get to show off my collage (they took our coffee diaries to laugh look at later), but on the other hand they did bung me an envelope full of cash, so swings and roundabouts, eh?