So long, farewell, etc etc

*cue a bugler playing 'The Last Post'...

Yes, this is all about goodbye, I'm afraid.

It's been a good few years, and yet this moment had to come. Today, I have decided to blog about bidding people fare-thee-well...

...what?

You thought that Julie's Gems was ending? Oh no, I'm on about a particular instance when I was meeting up with some friends.

...I'd best start again.

My job entails working a twilight shift, meaning that all the evening activities (Magic: the Gathering) had to be knocked on the head. On Monday, however, work had been cancelled, so I found myself free to play some cardboard crack (as M:tG is often known).

A good night was had, a Conspiracy cube was played, as well as a three-way standard, and some very nice trades for decks we were constructing. Not only that, but there was discussion about wedge commanders, Khans of Tarkir, and the merits of using counters or dice.*

However, all things must end, and I gathered my stuff together and dropped by various groups to say my goodbyes.

For none-British people, a Brummie is a resident of the city of Birmingham. Along with residents of the nearby area known as the Black Country (all the coal), including Walsall and Dudley (or Doodlay, as it is pronounced), this is a common way to send someone on their journey.

In any case, my contribution was well-received and served as a good way to end the shenanigans.

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* Ladies and gentlemen, this conversation is currently cruising at an altitude of 20,000 feet over your heads...

Forgotten fatigue

It was late. Even the dog had given up trying to scrounge for titbits. Her snoring accompanied the sound of my keyboard as I tapped away erratically. Hey, I never said I was a secretary. The clocks had been moved forward, and the sun was staying up later, but right now, the sky was dark and cloudless. The moon was showing a crescent. I guess there were stars too, but the street lights blinded my eyes to them.

A sigh from the dog as she rolled over. I smiled. She seemed happy enough. Wish I could say the same. Money's tight. Tight enough that I had to lower my sights for work. Hell, if they were any lower, I'd be getting complaints from Old Scratch about 'invasion of privacy'.

Times are tough all round, sure enough. I'd tap some of my buddies for a loan, but they'd already tried to tap me. I laughed to myself and raised my mug in a toast to my buddies. Pity it was only tea, but the doc says I can't drink booze or coffee. Damn him - I did try some liquor once, a few years back. Just a couple of glasses, nothing much.

Big mistake. Most folks get a hangover the next day. Mine began soon as I downed the second shot. The wife was about as sympathetic as I deserved, I guess. At least she didn't shout.

I drained the mug and grimaced. Hot tea's good enough, but you don't wanna let it chill.

A door downstairs opened. The dog flicked an ear, but carried right on snoring. I wasn't fooled. If it wasn't my wife down there, the dog would have been down there like a furry, snarling bullet, and twice as dangerous. The ear twitched again, hearing a stair step creak. She didn't budge. Like me, she knew what kind of noises people make when they move. You don't survive long 'round here if you don't keep a clever ear to the ground.

Like the dog, I stayed cool. We both knew it was Julie. I glanced at the clock. Her show must have finished.

Julie was slow in climbing the stairs - she'd had a heavy day, and her head was pounding like a dozen jack-hammers. I carried on with mashing up the keyboard as I heard the wife going to the bathroom.

The dog's back legs twitched and shivered suddenly and she whimpered. It must have been a bad dream - she'd had a hard life before me and Julie got her out of it, but that's a story for another day. I pushed the chair away from my desk and rolled over to the dog, "easy girl," I said, and laid a comforting hand on her quivering flank. At the touch, Roxy half-woke and she stretched before going back to sleep. She's a good dog.

As I straightened up, Julie came out of the bathroom and dashed back downstairs, grumbling. I paused to listen. Bad as it's been for me the last year or so, in some ways, it's been worse for my girl. She's been the only one bringing in the dough, and we don't know how long that's gonna last either.

Every time Bill turns up on our doorstep, things get tense. That bastard has a way of turning up right at the wrong time. "Yeah, we're gonna need you guys to cough up some more folding for the rent." or, "The boss don' like it when you's bein' smart. You think savin' water's gonna save yous money? Yeah. right. The boss still needs that bonus, so you guys need to keep him happy. Unnerstand?"

Yeah. Bill's got lots of different faces, but they all sing the same tune.

My train of thought got derailed as Julie clambered back up the stairs. I was puzzled. She'd only been down there a moment, and she was still grumbling when she reached the top. I called out and asked if everything was A-OK...

Dames... who can figure them...

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I hope you enjoyed this little noir pastiche. I hadn't planned to come up with that, but it just seemed to flow out of my fingers that way. 

I had actually prepared a different illustrative image, one that fans of the new Doctor Who series will understand. I'm going to post it here because I actually like it so much and don't see the point in letting it go to waste.

Logic gets cold feet

I hate food shopping on a weekend. I am writing this on a Sunday (just about), having had a very pleasant afternoon and evening playing Magic with some friends. However, before that, supplies needed to be replenished.

Unfortunately for our sanity, it seems that everyone else had had the same idea, with the result that Tesco was packed with seemingly entire families. Why is it that parents spend ages chatting to someone in the middle of the aisles and then become angry with their children, who - for some strange reason - have got themselves into trouble through sheer boredom?

We actually happened across one of our neighbours, and it was a mutual decision on the part of all concerned that we would nod, smile, and then do our level best to get the hell out of there ASAP.

As we passed by one section, we noticed that there were some items that had been reduced in price. That is, Tesco had stopped overcharging for them so much, in an effort to clear some space in their warehouses. One such item was a pack of foot warmers. Essentially a gel pack that warms through chemical means once the pack is opened, just like those available for hands, backs, and various other parts of the body.

Yes, but these are for the feet, yes? That means they need to have a different shape and a new pack. Oh, and a new price...

For 75p, though, I did have to admit that it might be worth a pop, just for the one try. Not for me, you understand - my feet tend to be fine. Julie's feet, on the other hand, frequently resemble blocks of ice. Being the thoughtful husband, I pointed these out, but there seemed to be a problem.

Something about my blank stare must have told Julie that I didn't feel all that up to speed on the conversation, so she generously explained that she had, in fact, been referring to her ankles.

...riiiight...

Fingers of a troll

The last time the two of us went to visit my family in Birmingham, it was for the Christmas break. Since then, I have been up there a few times, but Julie has had to stay behind. Partly due to work constraints, and partly because we couldn't take Roxy with us.

It's a long-standing joke, both between me and Julie and for my family as a whole, that no matter what pains any of us may take to remember everything we want to take on a journey, there will always be something forgotten. Normally, it's a minor thing, but I have been known to turn around to get my wallet...

On our Christmas visit, it was a decent enough journey. Even the infamous M25 was behaving itself.
The only problem with that, though, is that there is no traffic to moan about, and I have to concentrate that bit more.

I am very much a defensive driver; I assume that every other driver on the road is a idiot or a complete arsehole. After a fair amount of time driving since passing my own test, it seems to me that I have a pretty strong theory going, and as a result, I am forever looking around me and trying to second-guess cars that are two lanes away from me.

During these times of concentration, Julie's normal habit is to drift off to sleep. This time, however, was different.

It took a while, but I gradually became aware that Julie seemed to be repeatedly counting something off on both hands...

For miles afterwards, all I could think of was this scene from Bruce Almighty:

Born old birdie

This is a young seagull. It has this dappled colouring until it gets older - it's a defensive camouflage thing. Living in Eastbourne, we see a lot of these. And hear them. Ye gods, the keening of a young gull as it tries to blag food from a parent seriously gets on your ti... er, nerves.

The thing about knowledge, if I may digress slightly, is that until you learn or are told of a nugget of information, it will completely elude you. Furthermore, if you are not interested in certain things, then there is a strong chance that facts pertaining to those things will remain forever beyond your ken.

Julie, until I entered her life, didn't have much interest in natural wildlife. Now, she is just as keen as I am in seeing plenty of it both in the flesh and on TV. However, in the early days of our relationship, Julie was unaware (ie didn't care one way or another) that the speckled birds and the white ones were in fact of the same species. They were both bloody nuisances, that's all that mattered.

When we were out for a walk along the seafront one day, I pointed out one bird very similar to the one pictured above, and commented that it was merely a young seagull. Julie interpreted 'young' as 'baby'.

I'll take your word for that, love.

The Tea Room Trilogy, part 1: The short arm of the wotnot

I love it when a single day out results in a plethora of Gems. Even better - and rarer - is when I can cull a week's worth of Gems from about an hour's time in a tea room.

Visit http://www.duddleswelltearooms.co.uk/ for more information.

Duddleswell Tea Rooms are in Ashdown Forest, Kent (UK). You need to be concentrating on your surroundings though, as it is the epitome of 'blink and you'll miss it'. We were lucky; today was their last day of opening before closing for the winter period. It's a very friendly place, and the food is home cooked and locally sourced. They don't do soy milk, though, so you will need to take your own. The tea rooms are very pet-friendly, and will bring out a saucer with a couple of doggy treats should you decide to stop for a cuppa while out on 'walkies'.

We decided to stop for a drink on our way to Last Chance Animal Rescue to discuss fostering a dog. It was relatively quiet; the staff nearly outnumbered the customers. After sitting at a table by the window, we ordered our drinks - gunpowder green tea for me, as I forgot the 'no-soy' thing.

Chatting away, I became aware that Julie was having a problem with the table. She was trying to lean her elbows on the top so she could have her cup held by her mouth. Unfortunately, every time Julie moved slightly, one elbow or the other would slip off the edge of the circular table.

Uh. If you insist, love.

If you are in the area and fancy dropping in for a drink and a bit of cake (after they reopen), you can search for it on Google maps. Here's a little bit of map for you to get started...

Oral, not aural.

Let's be honest, we've all done it. We have all said something and then immediately wondered why you did. Sometimes, it slipped out and you aren't even aware you spoke until you realise people are staring at you. Sometimes, you are caught up in the moment and an incautious phrase escapes before the mental filters can stop it.

And then there is Julie. Shameless to the end, all manner of things are said at the drop of a hat, with not a regret. Brilliantly, many Gems arise as a direct result of my wife attempting to justify herself or defend something she has just said.

For example...

Indeed.

Hayling Island week: A question of questionable logic

Last week, Julie and me decided to get in the car and just head west. Having looked at the map, Julie asked if it would be OK if we went to a place called Hayling Island, near Portsmouth. I had been thinking of possibly going to Portsmouth itself, but as I'm all for exploring the lesser known places, I readily agreed.

As you can tell, Hayling Island isn't a large place, being just over three miles wide at its widest point. Nor, as shown by the lack of main roads, is it a busy one. Sitting on Britain's south coast, slap bang next to the major port of, well, Portsmouth, it is largely left to its own devices. As a result, the relative lack of tourists makes it a more pleasant place to be.

There is a funfair right in the middle of the lengthy sea front, but off to the sides, you have quieter places to enjoy yourself.
When we got there, the fair was closed and staff were carrying out routine maintenance chores to the various rides, and the car park was near as damn empty. It was free, too, which is always nice. We drove straight in and up to the wall, which gave us a cracking view of the sea and the Isle of Wight to the south-west.

On the journey, we had been enjoying listening to the radio (Ken Bruce on BBC Radio 2, since you ask. Such a nice chap), and doing our usual banter/singing/arguing with the programme. Among other things, this does tend to prime julie for a day full of Gems, so I made absolutely sure I had my notepad and a pen with me.

I wasn't disappointed.

In short order, as we ambled through the fairground, Julie was baffling me with a lengthy ramble, twisting sentence structure and logic to such a degree there was no way I could keep up. Julie finally noticed my brains were about to dribble out of my ears and stopped chattering, laughing.
All I could say was, "...what was...?"

Oops.

Ouch... my I think I sprained my brain...

Watery sponges and cheesy bricks

Every now and then, Julie and myself have a recurrent conversation. It usually takes place after a Gem, or when I have splashed out a little nugget of information. Essentially, Julie marvels that the garbage collector that resides in my skull manages to keep hold of so much detail - usually along the lines of "God, you know a lot of crap, don't you?"

This time around, I was expanding the definition of the word 'acoustic' for my wife. More precisely, that when applied to guitars, it means that they are of the non-electric variety (yes, I know that you can have an electric acoustic guitar, but it wasn't worth throwing that in, because I'd have been bogged down in explanation for another hour). This, of course, is why you had the MTV Unplugged shows and albums - back when MTV was about music, that is.

Luckily for me, I wasn't given a complement of the backhanded variety.
It was more a statement of wonderment.
Wonderment cut with a hefty dose of WTF.

....yes, dear.

The Weekly Wotnot Club

There's a pub near us that advertises a 'Monday Club'. Now, given that this pub isn't the most salubrious of drinking establishments, I would really rather not know what this club entailed. I wouldn't mind betting, however, that it doesn't involve a nice game of shove ha'penny. Shove broken bottle, perhaps.

Putting that aside, it's perhaps just as well we don't really want to go, as I'm not sure just when it takes place.
Well, I was.
But that was before Julie decided to put logic and sentence structure into a drug-crazed TARDIS and send the schedule bouncing around the space/time continuum like a rubber ball on steroids.

My head hurts...

Talking for two

I have a habit that Julie finds annoying - even though she is sometimes guilty of doing precisely the same thing herself.
If I'm out and about and there happens to be someone nearby talking loudly (usually on their phone), then I'll often pretend I'm taking part in the conversation. The beauty of this is that the other person is so wrapped up in what they are saying that they don't realise I'm right next to them taking the piss.

Today, I was taking a gentle stroll along the seafront with Julie. We had just crossed the road, and were passing a couple who were discussing something or other. As is so often the case with even a quiet conversation, odd words or phrases float out and catch your attention. This time, though, Julie was there and was talking too...

Wait, what? I stared at Julie, and asked why she thought the woman we had just passed would have been concerned about a local sporting event.
As it turned out, Julie hadn't intended to give this impression. She just happened to comment upon a sign at precisely the moment the 'concerned' woman move out of earshot.
And confused the hell out of me.

If you want a true masterpiece of talking at cross purposes, though, you would be hard-pressed to find a better example than this clip by comedy duo The Two Ronnies.

Timey-wimey went all wibbly-wobbly

Every now and then, I find there isn't a lot I can say to explain or pad out the details of a Gem. This is one of those occasions.
Essentially, there was a little confusion over what the time was, and Julie had read a clock wrongly. Unfortunately, her reasoning for her failure was rather more 'fail' than 'reason'...

Even now, neither of us can work out just what she meant.

Saturday Bonus - Dead in Bed

I was trying to explain the expression Julie usually manages to evoke from me. You know, it's The Look.

It's a little self-contradictory, as it's an expression without much expression. To put it in one word. 'Deadpan'. Julie, however, seems to have a little trouble with mastering The Look.

There's only one possible response to that.

Clearly in the dark about lightships.

Julie was on form today. Seriously; it was one of those days where I was really wishing I had a voice recorder to get all those little bits I couldn't quite hear properly (even though I heard enough to get the gist of it).
Things were slow at work, so I decided to take a half-day. As it turned out, Julie had finished work and arrived home a couple of minutes before me, so, after a spot of lunch and a natter, we thought we would go for a stroll, seeing as how it was such a nice day. Really nice, in fact. Cold, but really nice. Beautiful blue sky with just a few wispy clouds and not much of a breeze. Like I said, though - bloomin' cold.

Following a spot of tea and a bite to eat in one of our favourite cafés, we wandered up the road towards the seafront. After we crossed the road,* the wind was a tad stronger and the chill bit a little more, so we zipped up our coats to the top. While Julie was sorting herself out, I looked out to sea and saw something that made me realise just how clear the weather was.

This is the woman who has lived in Eastbourne all her life. Mind you, it turns out I was a little incorrect in my terminology. Until today, I had no need to research the lightship. Julie had told me it was out there, and that was all I needed to know. However, a search for images of an 'Eastbourne lightship' turned up precious little, and much of that seemed to have very little to do with the sea, let alone big lights that warn shipping of dangerous areas. I mean come on - what the hell was a picture of a cricket pitch doing in that lot? Eventually, I found something that seemed to fit what I had been seeing from a distance, but found it was a lighthouse.
Eh? Oh yes. A renewed search found a plethora of pictures of the lighthouse - here's one such photo.

Yep - that's Eastbourne & Beachy Head in the distance.

As it turns out, the lightship had been retired back in the 1970s and been replaced by this thing.
Anyhow, back to Julie, whose eyes (and memory) had suddenly decided to work. I suppose it helps if you're looking the right way...

My glasses??
Erm... yes, dear.

That's it - have a great weekend, folks!

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Considering it's Friday 13th, we had some brilliant timing every time we needed to cross a road - not once did we even have to pause before crossing a previously busy road.

Oh, that bloody buddleja

We have a buddleja (or buddleia, if you prefer) in our front garden. It self-seeded, which was quite handy - as far as I'm concerned, that is. There's something of a difference of opinion regarding this 'butterfly bush' (so known because its blooms attract insects and butterflies in abundance). I'm all for it - helping butterflies and other pollinating insects is a good thing as far as I'm concerned - plus, I think it's really quite an attractive plant.

It's a hardy plant too - we've cut it down at the start of a winter season and it manages to grow back the following spring. This year, however, health matters have got in the way of gardening and both front and back (which is now a shrine to cat waste, sadly) are in fairly desperate need of attention. This has meant that the buddleja in the front, while I managed to lop off some of the main stems, has been allowed to carry on doing what it does best.

Annoying Julie.

You see, Julie is all for the bush looking pretty and attracting pretty things, but she's not so fond of it being so
close to the house - the windows in particular. Unfortunately, the front garden is not large, so there's not much option for the poor thing there. It doesn't help that the window cleaner uses it as an excuse to not clean that part of the window.
Julie likes things neat and tidy and in their own place.
I like nature to generally run its course and show its own beauty. Apart from the damn cats. They can take their own aspect of nature and let it run elsewhere. Preferably in their owners' gardens.
So, you see, there is a small conflict of interest.

With that in mind, may I present this particular exchange, one which took place as we were just leaving the house to go shopping. One which begins with me offering a gentle, humorous warning to Julie.

Out came the notepad...

Guest starring the hairy cueball...

A friend and her mother... actually, no, let's start this one again.
You may recall a recent post where a friend and her mother were at a country fair, and the mother came out with a Gem of such magnitude that her own daughter dropped back and tried to pretend she was with someone else. Can't remember it? Tell you what, have a look here and refresh your memories.
Good stuff, yes?
Any way, back to the present moment; as it happens, they were watching the TV, when someone familiar to the mother popped up on-screen.

Not the best description in the world, but if you know who she was talking about, then it makes a little more sense. Say 'hello' to Jamie from the TV show Mythbusters.

See what I mean? Jamie - under the ever-present beret* - is bald as a coot, but doesn't he have a most impressive set of facial hair? So, yes, my friend's mum was actually correct, despite the Gem-standard oxymoron. Jamie is 'the bald bloke with the hair' (yes, I know facial hair is technically 'bristles', but it's still hair).


*I did try to find a picture of Jamie without his beret, but it just wasn't happening.

Where's the whatnot?

Hello and welcome to another working week. Yeah, it's been that kind of day. Anyway, shall we have another little shuffle through the teetering stack of paper on my desk? If nothing else, I can start throwing away some of the ones that have been used. Now, what shall we do, what will we find... hmmm searching, seeking, looking and hunti.. aha - this one appears to be particularly apt...

This one is dedicated to everyone in a long-term relationship. In fact I would go so far as to say this applies to parents and children too. You see, when you live with someone for a long time, you get used to them and vice-versa. Invariably, this will lead to a certain relaxed approach to things, including language. As comedian Lee Evans once noted, women seem to have a mysterious place, the knowledge of which is prohibited to men and boys. This place is called 'Side'. His argument runs thus, if a husband calls to his wife asking where the car keys are, she will say, "they're on the side". Which (bleep) side? There's dozens of them!
However, if two women have the same exchange, the answer is normally, "oh, so they are, thanks." In the meantime, the husband is stood there like a lemon wondering what the hell just happened.*

Julie is even more exclusive. Not only am I not permitted to know where something is hidden, I'm not even allowed to know what it is I'm supposed to be helping her find...

Um, no love. I don't think I do.

*Lee Evans tells it much better, naturally.

Wot is a wonot not?

Once again, a lull in a daily schedule saw us playing our little game of Alpha-categories (henceforth to be tagged as 'Alphagames'), last seen in the post, Mental Mashups. Once again, the category was singer/band names; it's a nice easy one for us and we can rattle through it in a short time, which makes it ideal for whiling away a few minutes when we're waiting on transport links.
Things were progressing normally for a while - Julie claiming that I made up up half of the names I was using (Joe Bonamassa, Ozric Tentacles...), but then it fell to Julie to come up with a name for the letter 'W'. Unfortunately, the 'ramble and repeat' button must have been pressed, because what came out was this:

I'm sorry, but like yourselves, I knew what Julie was aiming for from the start, but you know how it is. You know it's going to be messy, but you just can't tear yourself away.
That and I was too busy alternating between 'baffled' and 'bwahaha!'

Following that, there's only one more thing to do. And that is to join in with us and Shake Your Head.