A Game Called Idiot

It has been noted, in some sections of the internet, that I have been a tad quiet this week. There is a very good reason for that.

The weather.

Or, to be more precise, the lack of electricity caused by falling trees during the big storms.

Those in the south of England are mainly under water. This should come as no surprise as everybody knows that water flows down hill and the south is further down than the north. This means that given enough time and enough wetness, the south will always be wetter than the north.

The north is traditionally known for being damp, but when there is so much rain falling from the sky and so much water being pushed in from the sea with all this wind, the end result is flooding.... LOTS AND LOTS OF FLOODING.

The wind had caused a power cut in my area around 5pm on Wednesday. Everything went dark and cold very quickly.

I had been on the web earlier in the week and taken part in one of the many "Would you survive a Zombie apocalypse?" quizzes. Turns out i would last around 355 days, which isn't bad but I know that with those instincts at my beck and call I could see out an evening without the TV on.

Candles were found and that old deck of dog eared playing cards were located from somewhere in the "holiday drawer" and that was that.

Myself and Mrs H played a game known in the old city of Oslo as "idiot" which more polite than the name we Brits seem to use for it*.

Thursday morning came and I awoke to the strange sensation of my own body willing itself to warmer climbs. Unfortunately, this was not to be the case. A stand up wash in the sink with a pan of water half boiled on the hob was the best I could hope for and the rest of the day was spent wishing for something...anything to happen.

It didn't.

The power was off for so long that we had to abandon using the little boys room (living in the middle of nowhere means we are not connected to the mains water and everything gets pumped around. Without power there's no pump and with no pump there is the inevitable BACKLOG and BUILD UP and well.... you get the idea!) and that's when the fun stopped.

It rained a bit and then the sun came out but it stayed cold. I don't really want to talk about how cold I was because it still hurts. Although while I was out chopping a tree down it began snowing and I really started to hate life.... and trees.

45 hours after everything fell to shit, the power came back on and everything was plugged in quick sharp just in case the power went off again. In fact I am typing this really quick as I have no doubt the wind will pick up again and the lights will go off again.

So there we go, that's what happened to me. 

It's amazing how much we rely on electricity and take for granted. Everyone in my house laughed when I bought a back up battery for my gadgets, but they formed an orderly queue when their phones were on the blink so the jokes on them.

But this has got me thinking about the next time something like this happens. Therefore I am going to start a proper well cool survival kit and then make the others fight THUNDERDOME style to see who gets to have a bite of my high energy nut bars or use the water filter to make a cup of tea.

Now, where's my Tina Tuner outfit?????

*we call it shit head.

Bumferry Day: In Review

Last weekend I declared a public holiday for one and all. I hope you had a better time than I did.

Travelling to Manchester was not itself a horrid journey. Mrs H and myself were singing (otherwise known as shouting and howling) to tunes by Queen and James and Jon Bon Jovi. Rocking out all the way to the grey skies of oop north.

We arrived at the hotel, only to be met with lies, anger and hatred.

After breaking a door and swearing at the car parking machine, we were awarded a free staff parking permit for the weekend.

Sometimes it pays to kick off – but remember to be grateful and thank the staff for their help when problems are resolved.

EEE-aaaar yo...

Having sorted out the fiasco of the parking we hardly had time to pick up our bags from the floor before a drunken Mancunian welcomed me home with the offer of a fight.

I didn’t have time to do a double take before being told “I’ll take you outside and f*ck you up” which was nice.

I opened the door for the man, and promptly told him to hurry up. It turned out he had interrupted my request for the car parking situation to be resolved to ask for the third time that afternoon if his missing wife had turned up. She hadn’t.

Posturing over, he buggered off and left me and Mrs H to go to our room.

Our room greeted us with equal distain.  Missing pillows and no hot water only exasperated our joint desire to re-pack and journey home.

Lenny Henry can kiss my arse if he thinks I'm coming back here!

Things didn’t get much better once we were out in the city centre.

What with the two premiership title contenders pushing each other for dominance in the league of kicking ball it seems that the desire to be in front has seeped into the mainstay of each and every idiot in the town.

No more so than the tricky task of buying pints of beer at a bar did this instinct bring itself to the fore.

Having been next in the queue to be served, I took my eye of the game and instantly found myself stuck between three bigger boys.

I gave up.

We went somewhere else.

The night ended a bit of a damp squib and Saturday was rubbish.

Sunday however – official Bumferry day was a much better affair.

Waking up with Mrs H’s cold, I found that breathing required more concentration than it should.

But it was Bumferry day and I was not going to beaten!

Thanks Mrs H... Thanks a lot!

We met up with friends (and Dave) and we drank and drank and drank...

We drank so much. And it was good. Even Dave, who never buys a round – bought a round!

It was unbelievable.

DAVE BOUGHT A ROUND OF DRINKS!!!!

True, Dave left before it was his turn again, but still. Dave buying drinks is like a solar eclipse. A rare event by any standards. (we shall learn about Dave in the future)

Hating Dave is a full time job.

In summary, we drank, we laughed, we coughed and sneezed. But we had fun until kicking out time.

There was no fighting, no pushing and shoving, no overly loud music. Just simple happy times.

That is what Bumferry day was supposed to be about.

Bumferry Eve was crap.

Bumferry Day was Great.

Bumferry Boxing day however, brought with it the biggest downfall of my immune system in years.

As I write this I keep hacking up bits of lung and other inside bits.

Worse thing of it is I’m not even ill enough to have the day off.

I’m just on the right side of having to carry on regardless.

Only another year to go.

I doubt I will be going back to Manchester for a long while though.