Sessions

This is very much how my weekend went:It shot past in a tremendous blur, although it was a very enjoyable blur!
I headed to Leicester to go to the 5th Big Session festival and had a superb time.
Friday saw me picking up Gary, loading up the car with tents and bedding and heading off to find ourselves a camping spot.
We put up our respective tents - I'm still sporting my vintage tent. It's so noticeably different from everything else it stands out really clearly in the field. Which rather suits me down to the ground.
Friday evening brought me the Peatbog Faeries and the Levellers. It's almost perfect I swear, I got myself to the front and danced, danced and danced. Included in that dancing was a lot of jumping and bouncing. I just can't help myself. It's safe to say I was thoroughly exhausted!

When I woke up on Saturday I was aware of several things. Firstly it was my birthday, I'd made it to my 34th year. Secondly my left foot was distinctly sore, I had a suspicion I'd landed funnily during a session of jumping and the sore foot was proof positive. Not only that, I appeared to also have rather hurt my ribs somehow. I'm clearly not built for that much bouncing.
As I laid there, thinking about opening the cards I'd brought with me, just so there would be something to open on my birthday I heard singing begin outside.
"Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you"
What the hell?
They were women's voices, they clearly weren't singing to me. I listened to multiple birthday greetings, finally rousing myself and exiting the tent. I queried who was celebrating and when she stepped forward, I told her it was my birthday too!
What are the odds that in that big field two birthday girls would camp literally next to each other?!

Gary and I ended up spending most of the day in the Big Top, there's something strange about laying on a blanket where it feels clowns and acrobats should surely be dashing about. We listened to the bands that played without really moving to go the main stage until later in the day, but when we did I was suddenly taken by what I could hear. I felt myself being drawn to the stage and cursing myself for not having been there earlier. On stage were Baskery and I can't even begin to explain how good they were, I went to the CD tent to get their album almost immediately, I just had to have it, but they didn't have any! I was going to have to wait till I got home to hear more!
I'd intended to go back to the Big Top and dance in the ceilidh but the foot injury was clearly going to prevent any leaping about in a crazy fashion, much to Gary's obvious relief.
I ended up seeing Eliza Carthy for the third time in a couple of months and started to feel not unlike a stalker.
And as for the two women who talked for the entire set oh you're going on The List. I see a maiming in your future.
Gary was excited to see Billy Bragg who was next on stage, I made a swift exit and headed over to see Edward II where I danced most sedately, predominantly on one foot. These guys are doing a 12 month reunion, 10 years on from when they originally split. I am consoling myself that come hell or high water I am going to go and see them in November and dance properly! (That's like a maniac!)

Oysterband were closing the festival on Sunday and I was so excited about getting to see them again, I just always enjoy the camaraderie that comes from being in a crowd that has a deep love for the band on stage.
But before that Gary and I settled ourselves back into the Big Top as the sun was making infrequent appearances sadly.
I was most impressed with Fatima Spar & The Freedom Fries - definitely worth seeking out, I'll probably pick myself up an album at some point. They weren't at all like I was expecting and I do so love being surprised.
Gary had opted to stay and watch Adrian Edmondson & The Bad Seeds when I headed off to see Oysterband.
I was restrained and stood at the front but off to the side so I wouldn't be tempted to start leaping around!
The very last song they performed as an encore was done without microphones, and as such was very quiet, John Jones sang the first verse and without prompting, the audience all quietly joined in when it came to the chorus. There's something about that which I love, the knowledge of the songs, I feel like part of a shoal of fish, all moving without any apparent trigger to tell us what to do. I don't mind being a sheep in times like that, it's like a community for that song.
It's like knowing how a song goes and knowing that although there's a slow start, soon the fast part will come and as that first beat hits, the crowd raises as one into a big jump. I can't explain how exhilarating it is for me.
Without music I think I'd lose a part of myself.

I've written previously about the fact I'm not excited about Cambridge this year, but the Big Session has fully left me in the mood for it, I'm looking forward to seeing some new bands now.

When I got home and had to cut off my wristband, I felt a moment of loss, it's over for another year and the anticipation of what will come next year begins.

Christmas And All That Went Before

It has been a while!
I have been both poorly and busy. Which is not an ideal combination.
Christmas came at a very inconvenient time to be fair.
I managed to pick up a mean cold/cough type of bug and was laid out for a whole weekend. On the upside I got through lots of lovely television that I had recorded on the hard drive so it was a good use of time really.
When's all said and done though, I'd rather the snot monster went next door in future.

Anyway! It is a testament to what a good girl I am that I was very lucky at Christmas, Santa looked fondly on me.
In fact our whole house appeared to have been good all year judging by Santa's kindness.
All manner of lovely gifts had my name on them, I've been able to reduce the size of my wishlist somewhat and am very grateful!
I'm also planning to finally get some new tattoos done, which is quite exciting, although it'll take time as the tattooist is renowned for being booked up for ages and ages.
What am I saying? I'm really bloody excited about getting them done and talking to the tattooist about some designs I have in mind that I haven't been able to draw up myself.

I'm just taking a moment to jump up on my soapbox.
This morning I popped downstairs, remembering the men were coming to empty the bins and that I had several sacks of recycling in the boot that needed to go into my bins.
I ran downstairs and upon going outside realised that someone had moved my bins which I though was odd. Thinking little more of it, I opened the boot and took out the sacks. I hauled them to my bins. Opened my bins, which I knew to be virtually empty and discovered them to be full to the brim. It's just bloody rude. Everyone has their own bin, so why the hell do they think they have the right to fill mine up too? I hope they get nits. And other itchy ailments, preferably ones I won't catch. They're going on the list.
But seriously, how hard is it to knock on my door and ask if I mind them shoving all their crap in my bins. Maybe I should give them a key so they can use my fridge if they run out of room in theirs?
And breathe.

I've just finished reading The Llama Parlour by Kathy Lette.
What I most regret is that I'll never get back the time I wasted on that book.
What I also regret is that I am also hating the current book I'm reading, but after 300 pages I still feel an obligation to finish it, despite the fact the central characters are two of the most shallow women I've ever read about. There were a few funny lines at the beginning, but now I just hope it bucks a trend and there's a terribly unhappy ending. I can but hope.
I need some fire bricks so that I can put a grate in my fireplace, so that I can make kindling from these 'novels'.

As a belated Christmas gift to the world I am giving you these:



I admit I have a celebrity crush on Adam Savage. I can't help it. He makes me laugh!

And that has to be my favourite explosion.

Now I have to think about New Years Resolutions......

Out To Get Me

I'd been having this weird feeling I was going to have a car accident.
I haven't had a car accident, but I am starting to feel that the universe is conspiring to scare me on the roads as many times as possible.
Check this out.

I drove to collect my Dad from hospital in Nottingham, on the way there I reached a cross roads that I use regularly. The view to the left is clear for a long, long way and I could see no traffic, the road straight ahead was also clear, I turned my head to the right, there was a queue of traffic, at the front of which were two lorries slowly turning into my road, heading for the quarry. I went to move but caught sight of movement. A genius had decided that on a junction would be the best place to overtake. It's a pretty sure thing it would have been lights out if I'd made the manoeuvre.

Just 15 minutes or so later, I sat in the outside lane of the dual carriageway, overtaking a number of vehicles, about to overtake a white van and lorry. Only, the white van decided that as I drew level with its rear bumper it should pull out. I mean, it had mirrors, why check there was nothing there? I sat on the horn and made it clear I was displeased. On the upside Mrs White Van Driver did have the courtesy to apologise as I glowered at her on finally passing.

So, Dad collected, we commence the journey home. We enter a roundabout, clearly signalling, only someone thought this would be an excellent time to pull out in front of me. And then change their minds. Blocking my lane and forcing some serious fast thinking as there was traffic in the next lane too. I gave him a forceful beep and you know what? The bastard beeped me back. Upon telling my friend Harriet, she immediately spoke the thought in my mind: "The injustice of it!" He did wrong and I got beeped. Pfft, I hope he gets piles.

You'd think that would suffice right?

Then yesterday, I'm driving round the block in my village. I reach my own road, I see a car coming towards me. Which decides to turn. Immediately in front of me. No signal, just a turn. My handbag left the front seat and slammed into the dashboard as I squealed to the most serious emergency stop I can remember completing in a while, even surpassing the previous three events. I sat for a few moments, shaking quite violently. Before the road rage overcame me, I leapt out of my car and the damn woman ran in her house before I could have words. Grrr.

I went for drinks last night with friends, as I don't drink it was pineapple juice and lemonade for me. I drove my friends home quite late and as I drove, doing the speed limit, I noticed a taxi behind me, closely examining my rear bumper. Clearly contemplating giving it a kiss. I drew close to my friends road, I indicated, that I was intending to turn right, across the carriageway. The taxi decided that this would be an appropriate time to overtake. Had I made the turn, he would have completely slammed into the side of my car. I sat on my brakes and horn. Again.

I pulled up outside Rachael's house, turned to her and said "Seriously, is it me or are they out to get me?!"

I won't even mention how foggy it's been the past few mornings and that people aren't switching on their lights. Pulling out of my village feels like taking your life in your hands as they suddenly loom out of the mist, invisible to the last moment. I hope they all get piles too.
And I wish a slightly lesser punishment on those that go too far and never turn off their ruddy fog lights. When you're behind them, feeling your vision slowly slipping away as the light blinds you more and more each second.
I hate you all damn it! You're all going on The List.

NHS

I'm appalled by the current state of the National Health Service.
Well, I say current, it's been this way for some time.
My Dad is still in hospital, but thoughtfully they transferred him to another hospital on Thursday to have angioplasty. Then they cancelled it and decided to do it today instead. Then they cancelled that too.
So, there he is, in another hospital in another town which makes travelling and visiting very difficult.
Not only that, he's been told he shouldn't leave his room, which explains why the bitch nurse this afternoon told me I wasn't talking to him, she didn't explain, she just plain refused. That conversation didn't end well.
There's no TV in his room. It's a room he has all to himself. So there's no one to talk to. Just the walls, and their conversational ability is about zero.
I sense prisons have a little more interaction.

The best part about moving him to another hospital, now this is my absolute favourite part. They take him there, then he has to make his own way back. I kid you not. Here look, we're going to do some minor heart surgery, hop on a bus after won't you?

What to do? I have to drive over there to pick him up after the procedure - which has been re-booked for Monday, although Dad has little faith that anything is going to come of that. Another drive at the weekend to make sure he's not alone?
None of his friends and family are over there, going day after day without a familiar face is soul destroying, which isn't great when you're trying to get well in the first place.
I suppose petrol prices are the lowest I've seen in a while. I spotted 106.9 yesterday. It's still ridiculous and the Beastie is a hungry girl.

You can't believe that hospitals only really fully function Monday to Friday. I suppose those surgeons trained a long time and don't fancy working weekends.

I'm just so cross at this system, which just seems to have so many flaws.

And Nottingham City Hospital - your phone skills suck. No, that's not fair the skills on Morris Ward suck. To be fair if they even practiced answering the bloody phone once in a while that'd be great. Dad insists there are some lovely nurses there so I'm not aiming this at them... I'm aiming it at the bitch nurse I spoke to and the other damn folk that ignored the ringing phone. Multiple times.
You're going on the list!