More lost things...

Well, I've been continuing the search for lost things. A camera and a V5 this time. Why do I remember what I've lost and yet not where I've put it?

Hah! Still, this gem slipped out from yet another pile of paperwork. Written "oh so long ago" inspired by a Gary Larson cartoon...

Edgar's found his Purpose.

Edgar's found his Purpose
He's got the whole damn lot.
He's turned the key on reason,
and now he knows what's not.

Edgar's found the remedy
to turn back missing time
Till the day before is dawning,
And everything seems fine.

Well that solves everything then. Using the word 'got' was a deliberate jibe at my English teacher who went to great lengths to impress upon us it's redundancy. That and the abhorrence that is the word 'nice'...

Bump, scrape, grind.

Wonderful weekend last summer.
Alice. Me. The ol' Fordor.
Field. Tent. Tap. Beer.
Morning. Bounce, splash, scrape, charge. Lovely day.
Up, breakfast, Curboro' sprint, Castrol R. Super.
Drive home, non-stop, heat, sun, exhaust fumes, bad head. Not dead. Neighbours barbeque, bath. Wiped out.

Seemed like a good idea when it was still wet n' cold n' winter. Curborough VSCC Sprint, just a few miles from a friends backyard. Why not go up early, have a day or so bumping the ol' Cee-dan around the Staffordshire countryside, go to the sprint on Sunday and drive home? Most pleasant.

Went back through that way yesterday. Rain. Wind. Sleet. Snow.
Really hope to do that all again this year!!

Fat boy. No slim.

Last years new years resolution. Downsizing me. Didn't happen. All this sitting at a screen for too many hours in a day is still increasing the cuddliness.

No amount of gigging (too near the bar) or digging (too near the fresh produce) has changed my current configuration. Homemade cider, wine, cheese, and the general sweet excesses of Christmas have not helped. One bit. Well - in the absence of scales, I suspect that to be the case...

Still. The sudden cold spell has sent me out into the garage beating on chill steel for another entropy suspension mission. Another Model A - a pickup this time. On a charge to complete it for the summer months and press it into usefulness upon the allotment. If only as an oversize wheelbarrow for this years courgette mountain.

Been learning myself some fresh skills, beyond pounding curves into 18 gauge steel, too. Unfortunately it's involved more screen sitting, but the self esteem boost during my darkness travelling to windowless office world is worth it. Probably.




So. This years resolution? Carry on happily ignoring my failed shape shifting and get to recording the new songs what I writ last year?
Tune in next year I guess and see where that gets me....

Cucumber sandwich darling?

Thirteen long years ago, summer of 1996. Home from an Irish tour, gig free weekend, best buddy Mark n' me threw a few things in the band bus and headed to the Cotswolds. Prescott hillclimb. Pitched up atop an empty field and went to watch the Vintage Sports Car crowd throw vintage cars up the hill. The Orchard, Esses, the Circle and across the finish. Rained on the Saturday so we picked a dry bank at the Esses where I snapped off a roll or so of poor pictures on my OM10. Evening found us camped beside Dick Buckland and his Lomax driving friend. Dick was a huge influence when we were designing our Trifid - and he'd somehow managed to park up beside us.
Night fell. Laying in the pits between Bugattis, Bentleys, and wonderful vintage specials, listening to the sounds of a dixieland jazz band wafting down the hill from the evening entertainment. Bumped into James Diffey, wonderful bloke who'd befriended us at local trials. Now sadly left the planet and despite the fact our paths crossed seldom, the world notices the loss. Sunday sun brought 'god's beautiful people' out in ancient grand tourers. Champagne, crystal and cucumber sandwiches.
We vowed to make this our annual pilgrimage.

Promises, promises.


So. Thirteen long years. And we went back. Mark in his Standard 9 special - I took the Cee-dan packed for camping.

Cheese n' wine in the campsite. Stayed a week and travelled to the Forest of Dean, much of Gloucestershire, a few teary memories of a Cotswold holiday long past, and a torrential trip back. Loving it. How long to the next time, and how much water to pass beneath life's bridge - time only knows.

Blue Peter Badge

Found! Not lost at all, just hiding. Had the loft insulated which involved emptying out three, five, nine, sixteen years and beyond of assorted boxes, hand-me-downs, old carpets, old stereos and general it'll-come-in-handy-one-day schmutz.

Amongst it, one baby backpack, decorated with a handful of badges. There it was all along, my Blue Peter badge right between a small Austrian cowbell and a Golden Shred golly. Next mission to find the letter from Biddy Baxter...