Black Dog Blog

Archive for the ‘family’ Category

My brother's parents¹ keep a tiny weekend house in the Lake District. We went there with a couple of his other friends overnight yesterday. As it happened, I hadn't been there before (not often invited, usually busy).

During the course of the afternoon I proved myself the most adept fire-builder — which was amusing, since two of them claimed first-hand experience lighting fires, whereas I had to approach the thing completely from theory. Nevertheless, the thing lit up at my hands, and a good job it did, because it was below freezing overnight. I also beat an electric pump at inflating mattresses. Old-fashioned footpower for the win?

Also, we melted the nozzle off one of the air mattresses with a hairdryer. On reflection, when I suggested the idea, I should have specified that the thing be set to cold air.

The sheer number of stars in the night sky, out there as we were among sheep-infested hills six miles from the nearest village, was very nice to see.

We got in a little stroll this morning; just ten or twenty minutes or so, because two of the party were not best suited to the exercise. Yes, turns out some people are unfit even compared to me. n00bs!

I seemed to spend a lot of time teaching people things², ranging from how fire works ("small stuff burns faster and hotter; the big logs are the ones that will last all evening, but they need to be much hotter to catch fire, so we have to start with small…" …at which point I trail off, unable to compete with Nuts Magazine, and just get the damn thing going. Fire. Fiiiiire. Pretty pretty fire) to how sheep work ("why is that one's leg bright orange? Was it born like that?" "At a guess, I'd say it was antibiotic dip." … "You don't actually think sheep speak a language, do you?" "Not a syntactic one, but if you mean can they recognise bleats? Absolutely"). (Yeah, I don't know either.)

So, yes, turns out some people know even less about countryside than I. Pah! n00bs, I say!

Also. In general, much as I like 1960s music and classic rock, I've heard enough Magic-FM, Smooth-Radio, Late-Night-Love-Letters, Stuff-Even-Radio-2-is-Too-Embarrassed-to-Play utter shite over this day and night to last me quite some years.³ I had to sneak some headphones on and blast some DragonForce during the car journey or I would have gone quite, quite mental.

¹ Yes, brothers with different parents. It's an honorary thing. No blood-letting was involved.

² "The only one who could ever reach me was the geek-talkin' sonuva teacher man", etc.

³ "Do you not think it's choonage, Herms? You biiiitch!" Sadly, my tolerance of other people's music is not reciprocated when I should want to put on Symphony X.

I woke up at some time after 11:00 this morning in bed with someone strange wrapped around me.

However, because I don't drink and I spent New Year's Eve with trusted friends at a safe location within walking distance of home: it was my own bed, I had a clear head, the house was secure, nobody had soiled themselves and the strange individual was the family cat¹, who had been at home listening to Jools Holland and Radio 2 for most of the night in order to block out the fireworks.

I don't own a fighter jet yet, but still, I call that a win for New Year. Happy 2010 to you all, my dear sweet little bitches.

¹I have the aforementioned chattel thoroughly alpha'd and well trained, which is why he woke me at 11:00 by snuggling up next to my head and begging wantonly for a tummy tickle, instead of at 05:00 by sitting on my chest and drooling into my eye, which is what he does to his supposed 'owner'.

Herm: In vain my lap you knead (Piper: prrrrrr) – Don't purr.
Your prayers I do not heed (Piper: prrrrrr) – Don't purr.
'Tis true I smile, but don't suppose
A curling lip forbearance shows.
Oh no.
I'm very cross indeed – yes, very cross. (Piper: prrrrrr)
Don't purr.

Herm: Your disrespectful cheek (Piper: prrrrrr) – Don't purr.
Provokes my dogly pique (Piper: prrrrrr) – Don't purr.
You break my Law. You are my foe.
I smile because I hate you so.
You know.
You very portly freak. You portly freak. (Piper: prrrrrr)
Don't purr.

Piper: My disrespectful cheek (Herm: Don't speak!) – rub rub -
Prrovokes your dogly pique (Herm: Eek!) – rub rub -
If that's your frank critique -

Herm: Don't purr.

Piper: Purr purr.

Herm: Uurgh.

Well, it's official, I never ever want to grow a heart…

…But one situation right now is awfully cute, and I'm happy for those involved.

(Enigmatic post, because it's none of our business really.)

The owner of our cat has been away overnight.

As often happens, said cat left her a note this morning before I left for work, to complain that he had been cruelly neglected and mistreated, not fed and made to sleep in a ditch ("and knott on lapp or HeRMunz BEDD (lies)!!").

In actual fact we spent a quiet evening rewatching Dexter episodes. However, immediately after he placed his note, I let him outside to pee in a rain shower, thus helpfully ensuring that his pyperbole was justified after the fact.

The best-received note of complaint was a few weeks ago. In it, he claimed he had been insulted by having a pill jammed down his "skrawnee NEKk" and said he was going outside to sit under his tree "in high DUDJIN!!!!".

Cats aren't people, which must be why it's so much fun personifying the ungrateful little bastards.

(Fri 3/4/09, 24:44:)

Suitov: I must goes sleepz.
Slenneton: M'kay. I probably should too. Kat did, a while ago.
Slenneton: Also, why does McAfee Site Advisor think that darklyrics is unsafe?!
Suitov: Because it's gay, gay for YOU.
Slenneton: Who can withstand its cockfucking?
Suitov: McAfee to Spider-Lyric: Hello! I am so gay! For you!
Suitov: Mkay sleepy now, also must find cat and punish it by forcing it to sleep on my bed.
Slenneton: Destroy.
Suitov: It knows it has sinned.
Suitov: That's why it's hiding and cowering, probably on the sofa.
Slenneton: It knows it has done wrong.
Suitov: It loves to know it has done wrong.
Slenneton: It loves to have bisczikxsczs.
Suitov: That too, but it shan't have <s>m</s>any.
Slenneton: Strikethrough not work at this end. *gets the point anyway*
Suitov: Yes, that was the joke.
Slenneton: Buh?
Suitov: <div tone="ironic">Fake HTML is terribly, side-splittingly now. It is hip.</div>
Slenneton: <Best-Man>Yes I am!
Suitov: Or maybe, just possibly, I've been hanging around web geeks for too long.

Maybe.

Either way, bed.</Best-Man>
Slenneton: Hah! Close your own Best-Man tag!
Suitov: ^<blink>O</blink>.O^
Suitov: (You might have to think about that one.)
Slenneton: Not really. Also, I bet when you find it, it's got its tongue out.
Suitov: The tongue and drool are getting worse, I swear <ins>at</ins> it.
Suitov: G'nite.
Slenneton: Night, fart-face. Probs see ya tomozz.
Suitov: Yus, you'd better.

</body></html>
Slenneton: Stop it.
Suitov: I just did, you can't talk now, it's past the end of the page.
Suitov: You're violating standards.
Slenneton: Yeah? Well at least I <i>have</i> standards!
Suitov: …night, mum, last, violated, yeah yeah.

We really do talk our own language. It is AWSUM. Awsum-ese.

I am currently pwning a pair of jeans that fit me now, and did not before. So anyway, apart from a little writing and gaming with Paul I haven't done much that's interesting these last few days. I've been sleeping a lot and suspect, from the state of my nasal plumbing, that I'm coming down with something not quite bad enough to keep me off work. Well, it never is, is it?

Here, have a story: Apples and Apparitions, or Brimstone and Bribery

Oh, and I've been having wacky dreams, in a boring and still unbearably domestic definition of wacky. One involved my father writing a congratulations card to me, thinking I'd married one of my friends because I'd changed my name. Later on in the dream I was telling three friends about his mistake. We all found the situation funny. I remember that one of the girls was wearing a khimar. She wasn't anyone I know. Are my dreams now to be designed to fulfil Equality Commission quotas or something?

Going to Slen's house this evening for a party. There will be people there I don't know and I won't be able to eat anything or drink anything, so I shan't report further unless by some chance it isn't a mightily awkward waste of time.

SMALL version of dad's birthday picture. The full thing is A4 sized at 300dpi, so absolutely massive on a screen.

Finished and sent to him at 23:58 last night, so still technically his birthday…

Right, he's seen it now so I can post this. He kinda seemed to like it, sort of. And told me about some other painting of her that she's just got in the last few weeks, that one by a friend from some museum.

The Day the Earth Stood Still (2008) was… strange. I'm going to get the original and watch it, because this was not at all as I remember the original.

The ending wasn't resolved very well (what happened? Why does clockwork suddenly not work? Whut?), there was insufficient justification for a change of mind, and the line, my favourite line, "Gort, Klaatu barada nikto" was conspicuously and tragically absent. (I thought I caught Klaatu saying it once or twice, actually, but you'd only have noticed it if you were expecting the line.) It also took away the main character's big moment, replacing it with a muddied and unclear moment of self-sacrifice or perhaps survival against odds (no way to tell!) for Reeves's character. I also expected the biological altruism angle (John Cleese's character) to be remarked upon specifically. The main character had an adopted child. They missed an obvious theme there.

Good things were largely the effects: Gort and the subsequent effects of its apocalyptic tantrum. I have a real weakness for metallic insects dissolving things and burrowing into people's veins. I liked that a lot. Klaatu's escape was quite stupid, but you couldn't help enjoying it with the technokinesis and the badass suit.

The science throughout, however, was atrocious. Animals need plants. Something hitting the planet at a tenth the speed of light would destroy a large area, never mind any helicopters flying towards the landing site (WHAT WHY ARE YOU IN THE SKY AT THE PREDICTED IMPACT TIME WHY?), and let alone what it'd probably do to the atmosphere before it got to Manhattan (WHY ALWAYS FREAKING NEW YORK WE LAUGHED SO HARD AT THIS). Also, aliens with DNA? Puhleaze. DNA isn't 'genes': it's Earth's implementation of the concept of genes, which are a pretty good idea in themselves. It's possible that aliens would have genes. But their genes would, I imagine, be overwhelmingly likely not to be DNA. To take another example: aliens having computers, definitely possible. Aliens arriving with computers that run MacOS, impossible. Oh, hang on a moment, WILL SMITH, I AM LOOKING AT YOU, XENU BOY.

More reviews (with spoilers) from IMDb here. I agree with pretty much all the criticisms—except that Keanu Reeves playing a blank-faced alien is, IMO, the role he was born for.

Ah well, so I can still say Klaatu barada nikto and leave people none the wiser.

After the film, the three of us (dad, Slen and I) went to eat, and I told my father about my change of name. I think he took it well. (Well, he thinks it's an extremely eccentric choice, which it most definitely is.) His lack of knowledge of Shakespeare is very much mitigated by the fact that he knew who Diogenes was.

Ah, Diogenes, my hero. Is it pathetically sad that I've been really tempted to register tubphilosopher dot com for some time?

We also chatted about other stuff, like my intention to go for publication with Mews, the possibility of Slen getting a job, and, yeah. Stuff. A good, normal catch-up type chat after the main news. I don't think I could've hoped for that to go any better.

I was most nervous telling him about the surname, of course, because I still had his name. My mother changed her surname by usage some time after they divorced, many years ago; I chose not to at that time. I still think that was the right decision for me at that point. I wasn't ready. I didn't particularly want to make such a change then. In addition, there wasn't anything I wanted to change to—any other name I chose wouldn't have been mine either.

Baskerville is mine. It's unquestionably English with a decent pedigree (which is important to offset the unusual abbreviation "Herm"), it's a reference to giant Sherlockian monster dog and it has overtones of John Baskerville's attractive, old-fashioned-looking typeface. And it has an enjoyable rhythm and sound. First syllable stress and a skuh in the middle.

The fact that it's a B name is pure coincidence, really, but there are a few of those in the family. On my mother's side, anyway. Dad's side has a few Ps. I don't think I'd ever have plumped for another P; it's too plosive. Anything I can't say to a gerbil without causing it to flinch is just mean.

Cold today, indoors and out (less so indoors now I've complained to the appropriate person and she's apparently fixed the overzealous air con). The Metrolink was buggered earlier today; the machine they use to clear ice off the tracks was broken, according to t'radio.

I haven't been in a very good place mentally since Slen moved out. Things have been tense at best: not an improvement, and I'd say overall worse. Frankly, I've felt bullied on a number of occasions – nothing a normal person would consider omg awful, just being forced into stress situations (eg loud noise) and suppressive atmospheres (eg "shut up or you'll get extra chores"), and generally belittled (eg "oh, complaining again are you").

Perhaps I miss him, too. I won't know that until next time I manage to interpret a hint of emotion in my thoughts. It's a bit awkward being autistic. Rather than one day feeling "man, I miss so-and-so", you have to wonder "do I miss so-and-so?" and wait until you find yourself thinking of them, perhaps try to estimate the ratio of positive and negative thoughts you have towards them, and then work out what that means. (For example, when I miss someone I don't idealise them; I remember irritating things about them and fantasise about telling them exactly what I think of them. I also remember irritating things about people I am glad I don't see any more, and fantasise about telling them exactly what I think of them. You see the problem…)

I hadn't got to see very much of him recently anyway. It's still a bit of new girlfriend syndrome, and she seems every bit as obsessive and disorganised as he is. (She is only relatively young, though.)

Paul's off in Ireland for most of this week, too.

Lost hardly any weight over the last week, which was expected because I've been trying eating green vegetables as well as the sachets and imagine I've put plenty of weight of chlorophyll and water into my formerly empty innards. However, if I don't lose much during this week I'll know something's going wrong. I have to admit that eating until I'm satiated is a relief. I'm eating once a day and as much as I feel like (because, come on, it's cabbage, sprouts, spinach and green beans, could we get any more lapine?). Plus hot food is definitely helpful, because I'm so cold all the time. I wish I could still wander outside barefoot in the snow, but that's evidently the price for losing so much of my body weight over the last couple of years.

I feel like nothing much is moving on other personal fronts. Everything's stalled. Oh, except that I awkwardly 'came out' as neuter-critter on a mailing list. One or two of the people on there met me IRL, so I thought it wise to take the opportunity when the subject (of gender options on forms) came up on-list. As usual, I think I made a pig's ear of it, but am most heartened that nobody much has reacted.

At least writing stuff feels like it's going better. Laffent Ferrl's brother introduced himself to me properly this morning and offered his services as an occasional viewpoint character (i.e. I like him and he'd be fun to follow), and I even remembered what I had been planning to call him. I don't always write this stuff down, because I come up with it at random moments, so I had known his first name at one point and then forgot it.

Laffent is a seven-foot, beautiful, blue, curvy, longbow-wielding, soldierly, proportionately muscular woman. (A very nice specimen of orchood, if you happen to like that sort of thing.) She got the looks and the brains in this family. Her brother's the charmer – and a bit of a redneck, if one can use that word about people whose skin colour is determined by their literal blue blood.

1.5 kilos down this week. Hurry up, man! I wanted to be under 80 by now. (I'm 80.45, so very close really.)

Seriously though, meatcarcase, can't you find more fat to drop? Because let me tell you I don't need an atlas to find several handfuls, if you know what I mean.

Ha. Also, I am going to start eating greens and protein. I'm too desperate for them¹, and if you're careful you can do this and still stay in ketosis (aka mega weight-drop area, aka starvation). So says a friend of the family who has flirted with this diet several times. (I could draw sarcastic conclusions about its long-term efficacy in her case and her resulting qualification to give advice, but she successfully drops weight every time, and that's all I need to do. I don't do the yoyo thing too badly, not judging by holding steady for almost a year in this interval.)

Oh, and I finally have my prescription refilled as of this morning. Luckily my mother and I are on the same dosage of the same med, so there can be intercaninenecine pill-scrounging. The delay, as it turns out, is that they wanted to speak to me before refilling it, so I need to make an appt. Which means getting there and taking time off work, both of which cause me bearable anxiety.

I spent all weekend gaming round at my unbrother's house and I have surprisingly few regrets about that. Although I'm ready to make myself some art and code now. Speaking of Art with a capital A, aka Tet, I think his deadline on the art exchange is today, so I may or may not bother doing the quick sketch I'd planned. He's popular because he admins the server, so lots of ass-kissers will have given him pictures. ;)

More microformats today. I've finished converting a huge "useful contacts" table from bad HTML into better HTML plus lots of span class=vcards. My eyes are now crossing. And I've forgotten what I was actually supposed to be changing about it in the first place. Wahoo!

¹ At least, let's optimistically assume that the sustained intense urge to rip apart people/trees/Quorn roasts and gorge on their insides signifies a craving for protein and roughage. Let's have no more gentle games of rough-and-tumble with the cat only to pause and realise I'm chewing his scruff rather enthusiastically, or anything like th…
…not that I've ever done that, you realise. It was a random example, haha. Erm.
Plus, maybe I can finally stop dreaming about food. The whole "oh noes I broke my diet by accident" stress dream archetype was never cool or original, and it's looking pretttty hackneyed by now.

…would we be arguing about the word "caecilian" and whether it's worth breaking spelling rules for.

J: "Sicilian? Well, that's a country name, it's diff—"
H: "No, caecilian, c-a-e-c-ilian."
S: "What the hell is that?"
H: "A legless amphibian!"
S: "Dot dot dot?"
J: "Well, that's obviously Latin, probably from 'Caesar'…"
H: "Nah, probably from the caecum isn't it?"
J: "By the time they know about caecilians they'll be beyond needing remedial reading help. Anyway…"

(Incidentally, looks like I'm right and 'caecum' is closer. All related to blindness.)

Language is fun.

My work's website has a new photo gallery about the life of Father Alexander Men. The rest of this entry is not about that.

I have a cat-transporting carrier on my desk today. It surprised me somewhat that I was able to walk through security, into a building full of journalists, without anyone wanting to know what manner of creature I was importing. (It is, in fact, a cuddly toy red panda, but that's incidental, put in purely on the anticipation of someone asking to see inside.)

My colleague CoworkerQ is adopting some ex-battery chickens next week and needs something in which to transport them home, hence the loan. (The panda, on the other hand, is coming home with me.)

Getting out the cat carrier this morning was amusing. Retrieved from the loft, it was shown to the cat, who hasn't been to the vet in a long while. Piper knew what it was. He made himself scarce while I followed him gleefully calling his name. My mother then caught him, picked him up and carried him towards me. She announced that he was shivering violently. This caused almost all present to laugh a lot.

At this point I gave him his "finished" command and a treat to show he wasn't going to be molested or injected today. He remained in high dudgeon on the hall mat, torn between leaving in a huff and staying indoors because the bin men were outside in their lorry, making bleeping noises.

After installing the plushie inmate, I carried the carrier outside to set off for the tram stop. Piper gave me a wide berth upon following me outside, and disappeared into the verge where the bushes and compost bin are.

I wonder if we'll ever see him again. I suspect we will, worse luck.

Must remember to get the special cat food on the way home. It was Piper's birthday yesterday and I asked Slen to buy it on my behalf, which task he refused in indignation (it was raining, and anyway, why should he get anything for the cat?). (He may have had a point in the latter case, but birthdays are well known to be mainly of interest to humans, and he could have done it as a favour for me.) If the pet shop is closed, goldfish food from the minimarket will do nicely. Or I could just get him a curry. The cat has… eclectic tastes.

And another little piece of my life slides into my control…

I made a little gathering of it. It requires two witnesses, but I had three: two of my immediate family and Paul, my good friend since childhood. It was nice.

I was kinda surprised at the straightforwardness (relatively speaking!) of the legalese. I was expecting more "spinster of the parish" and stuff.

Further reading: club, tub.

My name is… Hi, I'm… Hello there. The name's…

Yes, this will take some getting used to—not having to hesitate any more before admitting my 'name', but instead self-confidently giving my name.

(There's another injoke in the picture. It's the typeface. Another nice thing about this DIY job.)

UK legal name change by deed poll – a DIY guide.

Nice site, so I'm doing my bit to get it up Google. If you want to change your name, do it there.

If you use this, please fix the typo in "substitution" ("subsitution") under point 1. I've notified the site owner and they're fixing it. (Now fixed.)

To-night… I'm gonna have myself… a real good name.

Somehow it's 21:55 now. I seem to have been all day editing and sorting photos, and I'd already started the job last week. Wow.

Slen and I booked last week off work to celebrate our unbrother Paul coming back from Ireland, go on loads of day trips and generally have ourselves a time. Well, the whole part where Paul was supposed to be with us didn't go according to plan, but Slen and I managed to do most of the activities I'd planned without his company—or his car.

Alton Towers, 2 June

Pirates are this year's thing at Alton Towers (site), the theme park in Stoke-on-Trent. They've opened a new themed area with battle galleons (which we considered, but it looked as though we'd get rather wet) and piratey shows and shops. These two swabs were found at the gift shop, where Slen also bought a swashbuckling t-shirt to wear at gigs. Yarr!

Also wonderful to hear was Slen bantering with one of the actors from the pirate show. I shall quote from memory.

Pirate (obviously noting Slen's long, unkempt hair and general dress sense): "Ye look like ye've just escaped someone's crew."
Slen: "Arr, I'm a mutineer and proud!"
Pirate: "Good, good. We need more like you around here."

Slen was wearing one of his T-shirts, which is black (of course it's black) and bears on the front, in pink Impact font, the message "Nobody knows I'm a lesbian". Slen is a man.

Pirate (seeing shirt): "Does nobody know that, then?"
Slen: "Aye, well, they do now."

We arrived early and got on Air, a newish rollercoaster, and also Nemesis, with minimal queueing. Queues and crowds were very slight all day, it being a school day.

On the Runaway Mine Train was what seemed to be a wedding party. Two of the girls, sitting ahead of us, were flirting with the operator… who proceeded to send us round four times. We found this awesome, but the young girl waiting at the head of the queue wasn't impressed. "We want to ride too, you meanies!" she shouted.

I got a picture of the pagoda from the Skyride cable cars. Here's Ripsaw, which we eschewed.

We went into the petting zoo for a while. They have a singing barn full of animatronic animals. Horsie and dog and horsie alone, taken with Altivo in mind. And the legendary singing hen—I'll let the captions on Flickr tell the story.

Since I last came, several years ago, they've turned the haunted house into a laser gun game. It's nowhere near as good. But check out the zombie and friend outside.

There were lots of ducks. (If you like mallards, here be more.)

Here are all the day's photos if you prefer to browse on your own or want to see what I've missed out.

Chester Zoo, 3 June

Best if you just look at the photos for this one. Our Chester Zoo trip

Our mother came with us on this trip and a good time was had by all. Tigers were fed in our view, as were lions, condors &c. A panda was distantly sighted. A plushie panda was bought, as was a black t-shirt with tigies on it (for gigs at which he doesn't play his pirate song, presumably). I got mad sunburn on my forearms, which is gently peeling even now.

In the evening we saw Sweeney Todd, the Sondheim musical. It was great. Loved the epic song at the end of Act 1, and also the opening of Act 2.

We didn't do anything on the 4th because of aforementioned difficulties acquiring transport and accomplice. (For the record, I'd planned Flamingo World in Yorkshire, with a production of The Sorcerer in the evening.)

Manchester, 5 June

In Manchester we saw the Lindow Man (wiki) at the Mancester Museum (site). Photography wouldn't have been welcomed, and besides, there wasn't much to see. You could spend some time listening to the audio interviews and reading the extra material. Honestly, though, it wasn't all that interesting (still, you can't beat the admission price).

Then we rushed off to Sportcity, which is a sporting arena and the Manchester City football club ground, to see the Chinese State Circus (site). They had a tent set up in the car park. It was a much smaller show, and less well attended, than I'd expected—but, again, it was a school day. We liked the Lion Dance, the diabolo handlers and the aerial silks.

The Monkey King ringmaster/announcer/clown was rather obviously miming along to pre-recorded dialogue, sometimes seeming to slip into miming the wrong language, which was cool because it made me wonder about all the other countries they must play in.

The wushu warriors were… good but brief. I recognised a lot of steps, but it was more of the showoff smashing of bricks and lying on spearpoints. I wanted to see more sparring and kicks! The beauty of the form was what made me fall in lub at first sight with this particular style of martial art. All in all it wasn't enough to make me want to take up classes again. (I quit because the instruction wasn't what I needed; not enough individual attention, and I just got nervous having to finish my kicks before the next guy could go. I wanted to learn, but in the end I don't find humiliation and stress fun in the slightest.)

We didn't have time to rush to the Lowry to see The 39 Steps stage adaptation, but that was ok because I had deliberately not booked tickets, not knowing when the circus would finish. Instead we went to the cinema and saw Doomsday (imdb), which is, well, completely freaking insane. Ha!

Birmingham, 6 June

On Friday we visited Cadbury World in Bournville. Cadbury World (site) is… chocolate themed. Very chocolate themed. It's part factory tour, part kiddy attraction.

Taking photos isn't allowed in the factory areas, but I got a few shots with bad flash in their 'history of chocolate' exhibition. Aztec calendar wheel, pirate ship (pirates are clearly the unofficial theme of this week) and fountain head thing.

These were in the shop. Just… what. :o (No, we didn't indulge.)

On the forecourt… was this thing. Rockin'.

In the evening we saw Return to the Forbidden Planet (wiki). It's a very, very awesome combination of Shakespeare, 1960s songs and campy sci-fi—honestly, I couldn't ask for anything more in a stage show.

A final note that all my photos on Flickr that are linked from this entry are licensed with a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial licence. (Or if they aren't, it's by mistake, so please let me know so I can change them.)

It was Slen's birthday yesterday. It was sad to see him miserable all day, but at least I know it was nothing I did. Huh.

I got him loot: the recent Helloween album, Gambling with the Devil, and one by the Hellacopters (this purely because he likes their name!). As Slen ironically remarked, I didn't need to stray out of the H section in the music shop. Actually I looked all over their metal section, having looked up a list of the best power metal albums of last year and chosen a few, but that shop's range is pretty bad. They had one out of ten in stock. OK for a store in the centre of Manchester, I suppose; there evidently isn't much call for good music around here, and they do at least stock DragonForce.

There was also pirate T-shirtage, a book of mnemonics because it was in the rack near the tills and looked pretty interesting in a stocking-filler sort of way, and some white chocolate raspberries. Then I called for pizza (Slen being easy to please in some ways) and we watched the recent two-part Doctor Who, the one in the library. After the direness of The Doctor's Daughter I was close to stopping watching the programme altogether. This was pretty good, though.

I knew I couldn't top last year's gift and didn't try. He knew not to expect another book this year. I will write the sequel sometime, though.

Writing Mews has been unexpectedly helpful to me. I still get warm squirmy fuzzy feelings thinking about the fact of having done it, or remembering giving it to him. I hadn't ever done anything comparable with my life before. It's a warm golden-red-brown glowing point to curl around, the first really pure and good alternative I've found to my usual habit of dwelling on mistakes and bad things. It's a carrot on a slender string.

Either that or I just really like resting on my backpats.