I went to a house

Friends are nice to have. Friends with babies confuse me. The more time I spend with children, the less I understand why people want them. I mean, they're funny -- when they play peek-a-boo, for example -- but I can't deal with them for any more than a couple of hours. And they're always snotty and coughing and sneezing and spreading germs everywhere.

Who’s the winner? I’m the winner, baby!

A couple or three weeks back, blogmate and fellow ninja Franki had a game of Guess over at this post. There was a prize on offer, and if there are two things I like, it's (a) showing what a smarty-pants I am and (b) winning stuff for showing what a smarty-pants I am.

Anyways, I looked at the pic and figured, Damn, someone musta already guessed it. But as I scrolled through the handful of comments before me, no one had got it right. I couldn't believe it. But they were common-or-garden conkers, surely to goodness? Maybe these things are not so well known in the U.S. of A., but here in the U. of K. we love that shit. We grow up on them, practically. Never a winter goes by when we don't get fucked-up knuckles from playing conkers as kids, baking them in the oven, soaking them in vinegar and thinking up myriad other ways to create a championship, beats-all-comers, hard motherfucker of a conker.

Anyways, short story long, I won. And yesterday I received my just rewards. Word to the wise, though, Franki: clearly sushi doesn't travel well, since they tasted a bit waxy. Thanks for the thought, though.
;-)

Miss Milla, nooo! We will not let you go!

So, Saturday was the big day. The day of the MIRL between me and Red, and Milla and Zorro. We threw caution to the wind when arranging our meet, and it was decided to get together not in public or on neutral ground; rather, the venue was Milla's house, which is about 42 miles (67 km) away from us. It's funny, when we lived in London, it would take us about 75 minutes to drive 12 miles across London to see friends. These days we can do 42 miles in less than an hour when traffic conditions are favourable.

We arrived at 1.15pm to be greeted by Milla walking down her front path towards us. We met at the gate. The two girls kissed and hugged hello. Then I, too, had my turn. Red and Zorro kissed hello; he and I shook hands in a manly fashion. We entered their home and went straight through into the back garden.

It was a glorious day. You could even say it was a touch too glorious: although we stood and sat in it chatting and drinking for a while, when it came to sitting down to eat, we moved to the shade. I felt bad for Zorro, who loves being in the sun, but it was just too hot for the rest of us. It was hot for Pisko the cat, too, who spent much of the time trying to cool his belly in the shade.

Milla had cooked lasagne, and Zorro barbecued a trout for each of us. With the salads and giant mushrooms and the rest of the food, there was enough for a truly long and sociable lunch. Everything was delicious, but I can't remember the last time I ate so much! There were even two tiramisus: one that we brought with us and one that Milla made!


Don't you just hate self-timer pictures?
Someone always gets cut out of the shot...

We ate and drank and chatted. We talked about work and tattoos and chavs and blogs and travel and home and family and cats and how we met our partners -- essentially, all the most important things in life. And the next thing we knew it was 8pm. Where had the day gone? We chatted some more, but knew that the evening would soon have to come to an end. About 9pm we headed to the front door for the 10-minute goodbyes. It's nice when goodbyes take a wee while; it's like you're delaying the inevitable.

It was a great day we had for our first MIRL. Within minutes we were comfortable with each other, which came as no real surprise. What was a surprise, though, was the fact that we have mutual friends/acquaintances. Milla and Zorro know some photographers that I used to work with quite regularly a few years back. That was bizarre. London is a big city, and yet it's a small world, right?

One of the strangest things was what to call one another. I think everyone was called at least two names and possibly three in some cases. When you get accustomed to someone being a certain name, it can be strange to have to change that thought process!

Thanks, guys, for a great day. Here's to the next time! I keep thinking of other things that I should add to this post. I feel like there's so much to say. But I have to stop somewhere, right. So I'll stop here. Now. End. Fin.

Ain’t mates great?

Sometime back in March it was Buy A Friend A Book week, and my blogmate Karen was kind enough to give me a gift voucher for Amazon.co.uk

At that time, shortly after my birthday, I had a few books that I had yet to get around to reading. Birthday gifts some, but also some Christmas ones. Hell, who am I kidding? I've got books from years ago that I've never got around to...

Anyway, bottom line is, I didn't want to rush out and buy the first thing that came into my head only to have it sitting there doing nothing. I wanted to pick the appropriate gift. And I wanted to pick something as close as possible to the value of the voucher, so that Karen bought me a whole book.

The book I eventually bought, just a couple of weeks ago, was Digital Film-Making by Mike Figgis, director of Leaving Las Vegas and Internal Affairs and one of the biggest proponents of DV in Hollywood.

What a book! I couldn't put it down. For about a week it felt as though I was superglued to that book. In a good way. And it's small enough to carry with you wherever you go. If you are interested in low- and no-budget film-making, this book is an essential purchase. It will now take pride of place on my bookshelf alongside that other low-budget film-making bible, Robert Rodriguez's Rebel Without A Crew.

So, thanks Karen, for buying a friend a book. Sorry it took so long for me to redeem your voucher, but I hope you know it was worth the wait!

Poke ’er? I beg your pardon...

No, not "poke her"; poker! I find there is no better way to make a little extra money.

Every couple of months (despite a rather long recent hiatus), I like to have a poker evening. Time was -- in London, three years back -- that there would be seven of us playing, but one person moved back to Australia and another moved to Manchester, then me and the missus moved out of the Big City, so it's been a little haphazard of late. Still five people is plenty fine.

And we seem to have settled back into a routine: alternate venues, London and Kent. Last night it was the turn of me and Wife to host.

The rules are simple. No limit Texas hold 'em. The blinds go up every hour. £10 initial buy-in, with unlimited buy-ins permitted after that.

So we all coughed up our ten squids and the first cards were dealt. First hand I get pocket rockets -- a pair of aces in my hand. Sa-weeeet. Not that that means anything really in a low-stakes game on the first hand, but it sher looks perdy.

We played all evening, from about 8:45 till 12:45, eating and drinking as we went, chatting, laughing. It's always good fun. One of our number, she loves to gamble, and she loves to drink. She loves to keep buying in. All in all, a lethal combination.

Still, I can't complain, being as I came out THE WINNER! I walked away at the end of the evening with a PROFIT of £41.50, another guy made £2.50, and Red made £1. The other two went home empty-handed, stripped of even their stake money. Now that's what I'm talking about!