Mahinda’s Little World

Monday. Usually quite a busy day for me, but this one was unusually eventful. And free!

First, I wake up, late, and remember that I was meant to be ferrying Martine (Housemate Stuart’s girlfriend) to the airport on my way to work. Got her there, eventually, about 20 minutes later than planned. Turns out that she _just_ caught her flight…admittedly, she did instruct me to take her to the wrong terminal.

So, work. The usual, really. Finish moving to a temporary desk, which I’ll have while our side of the building is being refurbished. Nice to have a change of scenery for a while.

After work, I go and play badminton with some workmates. Only three of us turn up, which means singles. I’d not played for ages, and I was RUBBISH. I mean, really bad - my shots were just not working. Two days on, and it seems as though the exercise has knackered my right arm.

After badminton, it’s straight to the rifle range for some shooting. I shoot one competition (Wirral League) card, and swear mightily at the result. I’ve gone quite a bit downhill of late - reckon I need to put in some serious practice to correct my technique, but I just haven’t got the time at the moment

Leave the rifle range relatively early, as my mate Jenn’s decreed that 5th Ave is the place to be on a Monday night. Head over to Sainsbury’s to pick up some food, go home, have a quick dinner, and catch a bus into town.

I meet Jenn and Kate in Revolution, and we eventually head across to 5th Ave. £3 with flyers, which was nice, and from 70p a bottle! Being the classy bloke that I am, I opt for the Stella Artois which, at £1.20 a pop, was reassuringly expensive

So, we have a bit of a dance to some quality indie cheese. There were some really strange people in there…even stranger than usual, anyway. I get two handshakes from random blokes. No idea why.

Kate had to watch the alcohol and leave early, as she had doctoring to do the next day, so that left Jenn and I alone for a little while, before we head out to meet Mark at the casino on Whitworth Street. How glamourous is that? Not very, if you’ve ever been into the casino concerned.

Jenn signs me in at the casino, and I (in what might not be a clever move) opt for membership. We find Mark pretty quickly, and Jenn gets a round in. It’s not far off 2am now, and we mosey on down to the £2 blackjack table, where Mark and I watch Jenn stack up some winnings. I decide that I may as well join in the fun, so sit down and stick a tenner in. The tenner grows…and grows…and pretty soon I’ve got £35 worth of chips in front of me - result!

Mark, next to me, doesn’t do quite so well, and Jenn calls it quits after it starts going downhill.

At Mark’s recommendation, I do the sensible thing, i.e. cash in, and we head home.

Get home around 4am, flollop onto bed, and fall asleep pretty much instantly.

Turns out that, overall, I made a profit on the day - about £5 in all, once you take bus fares, badminton fees and drinks into account.

Monday night clubbing is great. Fact.

Phone rings at some godawful hour. 7.50am. I remember that I’d said that Ben and Kate could come over to watch the rugby on Sky. I stagger downstairs, let them in, introduce them to Hash* in the living room, and leave them to it. Sleeeeeeeeeep.

* Boyfriend of Housemate Janette. Apparently, my housemates didn’t bat an eyelid when confronted with a living room containing three people, none of whom live there, and two of whom aren’t really known to the house. My housemates are great.

Eventually wake up, and go karting in honour of Si’s birthday. Manage a creditable 5th (out of 34). Those things should DEFINITELY have some sort of weight handicap system - there’s nothing more sodding frustrating than losing out to someone who can’t pick a decent line through a corner, but just out-accelerates you into every sodding straight. Grrrr.

This is followed by a few drinks in the Kingsway, which is the cheapest pub in the world, then into town for a Mexican meal at El Macho. Good food, but utterly incompetent service. Admittedly, the waitress (Joanna) was very nice, but still…my boss reports that, the one time she went there, she was given a meaty dish. As a vegetarian, she was not impressed, especially considering that it was in a tortilla wrappy thing, so the meat was hidden until t’boss cut into it. Joanna did admit to having gone through 48 cans of lager with a mate the day before, so that might explain things.

Eventually head over to O’Shea’s, but not before waiting a while for people to find cashpoints. As Si and I waited, we saw a girl handing out flyers for 5th Ave, a nearby club. She wasn’t having much luck, and looked just about the loneliest, most pathetic girl in the world. I said hello, and we then headed into O’Shea’s. Not a bad place, for an Irish theme bar - usually has diddly-diddly music of some sort, but this time it was a covers band.

The womenfolk there were a mixture of (in order of increasing scarcity):

1. Mutton dressed as mutton.
2. Mutton dressed as lamb.
3. Lamb dressed as mutton.
4. Lamb dressed as lamb.

Sometime after midnight (I think) the three of us left, left.

After vegging out on the sofa for a while, I got a call from Kate saying where she was. This is when I remembered what I was meant to be doing that night, i.e. seeing Kate.

Eventually, hop on a bus and head into town. A few stops later, the girl I’ve been seeing since about January gets on the same bus, with a friend. Now, a Finglands bus heading into Manchester on a Friday night isn’t exactly the place for a deep-and-meaningful, but I had to go and say hello. The response I got was very much of the “friend” type, so I can conclude that she probably feels the same way about things that I do.

Good. No more messy crap. I’m sure we’ll have a wee chat when we next see each other, but things are good.

I think.

Anyway, I go out for a drink, and return home uneventfully.

Yesterday evening was meant to be another rest night.

Unfortunately, I got a call from Housemate Helen saying that there was a spare place on her works trip to the Robinson’s brewery, in Stockport, later that evening…and did I want to go?

I thought about it. For about a second.

So, I turned up at the gates of the Robinson’s brewery for the first time since November 1998. This time, though, I didn’t have to beg to be let in, even though it was the same woman who took us round.

Now, I’ve been on many brewery tours - this was one of the better ones, mainly due to the fact that Robbie’s uses a lot of old-fashioned kit. Strangely enough, we had to put on big white attractive boiler suits and hats. Apparently it’s because they now do some bottling work for Marks & Sparks, who are dead keen on that sort of thing. A bit silly for a brewery environment, to be honest.

Back to the bar afterwards for buffet and unlimited free beer. Well, an hour’s worth, anyway.

As usual, it was the Old Tom that was my downfall - felt distinctly groggy after that one.

Kicking out time at the brewery was 10 o’clock, so we headed over to the Baker’s Vaults for a swift pint after that, then back to the bus station and home.

All-in-all, another top evening, only spoilt when I awoke this morning to find the rain pouring down mightily…all over my washing. Bugger.

My little Honda hit the 100,000 mile mark this morning.

I’ve had it since 23,000, and it’s still going strong. Even the original clutch is still working…just. It’s my first car, and has carried me all over the country in its time.

It’ll be a pity when I get rid of the old thing. Probably in a year or two’s time, I’ll go for a newer model with snazzy things like electric windows and central locking that works on all four doors.

It just won’t be as good though

Wednesday evening featured the customary hockey session in the park. It was absolutely bakingly hot, so the game was somewhat lethargic. Fun, though.

Had to swap ends after a while so that people tanned (or rather, burned) evenly.

Pub discussion featured a number of interesting questions. One of which was “What proportion of your (ex-) girlfriends’ best mates have you fancied?” I think most blokes would be lying if they answered “none”. Going on from that is the question of whether you’d fancy them less if they weren’t best mates with your girlfriend.

Twenty-One, as referred to in my last entry, is a common drinking game. The rules are simple (well, they start off simple, anyway):

Basic Premise

Going round in a circle (or thereabouts), you aim to get to 21 by taking turns to say one, two or three consecutive numbers. Numbers must always go up consecutively, i.e. if your neighbour says “1″, you must then start your turn with “2″.

Eventually, someone will have to say “21″…in which case they:

1. Drink.
2. Specify a new rule.
3. Start the game off again, from 1.

More about new rules later. As far as the drinking goes, it depends how hardcore you’re being - often either two fingers, your whole pint, or a swig of the penalty drink is required.

If someone messes up on the way (and there are many ways to mess up), he/she must:

1. Drink.
2. Start the game off again, from 1.

Note that this drink is usually less severe, e.g. just two fingers’ worth. Also, you don’t get to add a rule.

Starting the Game

Whoever starts the game must specify a direction, and then say one, two or three numbers, starting from “1″, e.g. “To my left…ONE, TWO”.

The next person, in the specified direction, must then continue. Of course, exactly who is the next person depends on how many numbers the starter has said…

One, Two or Three Numbers

Whether someone says one, two or three numbers has a direct influence on who goes next:

• One number - play passes along smoothly, going in the original direction on to the next person.
• Two numbers - the order of play is reversed.
• Three numbers - same direction, but skipping the next player.

Naturally, speaking out of turn, or saying the wrong number, results in a penalty drink and the game restarting from 1.

A cunning rule that was introduced to me last night was the one that you must say a different number of numbers to your predecessor, e.g. if he/she said “1″, you must continue with either “2, 3″ or “2, 3, 4″ - saying just “2″ would entail drinking.

New Rules

The most important part of the game!

Once someone has had to say “21″ (and then drunk something), they get to specify a new rule. These can be just about anything within reason, and can include substitutions, actions, etc. For example:

• When saying “3″, you must stand on one leg.
• Instead of “12″, you must say “Wibble”.
• For all numbers divisible by 4, you must touch your nose.

It’s usually up to either a nominated gamesmaster, or group discussion, as to whether or not a rule should be allowed. For example, in some circles, “all numbers divisible by 3 must be said in binary” would be considered fine. However, most people regard (quite rightly) the sort of people who’d play that particular rule as freaks.

Rules can act concurrently, e.g. using the new rules specified above, when you get to 12, you’d have to say “Wibble” and touch your nose.

Naturally, if you get it wrong, you drink, and the game starts again from 1.

Ending the Game

After an hour or so, the rules usually get far too complex to follow, expecially given that all players should now have consumed a fair quantity of alcohol. At some point, players will just decide that they can’t be arsed any more, and play a different game.

The exact complexity of the rules at this point is a fair indicator to how successful your game has been.

Example Game

The game that we played in The Friendship Inn, the evening before this post, ended up with the following rules (in number order, rather than order of introduction):

• Instead of “1″, you must say “Ecky!”
• Instead of “2″, you must say “Ecky! Pitang!”
• Instead of “3″, you must say “Ecky! Ecky! Pitang!”
• For all numbers divisible by 4, you must pinch your nose.
• For all numbers divisible by 5, you must instead say “Quack!”
• The numbers 6 and 8 are swapped, but their actions stay as-is.
• When saying “11″, you must stand up.
• When saying “11″, the players to your left and right must give you bunny ears.
• When saying any number with two syllables (i.e. 7, 13, 14, 15, 16, 18, 19, 20), you must cup your hand to your ear.

So, as far as order of numbers goes, you’d have to do this:

1. Say “Ecky!”
2. Say “Ecky! Pitang!”
3. Say “Ecky! Ecky! Pitang!”
4. Say “Four” while pinching your nose.
5. Say “Quack!”
6. Say “Eight”.
7. Say “Seven” while cupping your hand to your ear.
8. Say “Six” while pinching your nose.
9. Say “Nine”.
10. Say “Quack!”
11. Say “Eleven” while standing up, and having your neighbours each give you a bunny ear.
12. Say “Twelve” while pinching your nose.
13. Say “Thirteen” while cupping your hand to your ear.
14. Say “Fourteen” while cupping your hand to your ear.
15. Say “Quack!” while cupping your hand to your ear.
16. Say “Sixteen” while cupping your hand to your ear AND pinching your nose.
17. Say “Seventeen”.
18. Say “Eighteen” while cupping your hand to your ear.
19. Say “Nineteen” while cupping your hand to your ear.
20. Say “Quack!” while cupping your hand to your ear AND pinching your nose.
21. Say “Twenty-One”…then swear loudly, drink, and add a new rule.

So, fun.

Every blog needs some drunken posting. Let it start here…

Tonight was going to be a “stay in and sort stuff out” evening. Typically enough, it turned out to be nothing but the sort.

Firstly, I get a call from Dr. Kate asking me to housesit for her waiting for a sofa to arrive - she’s a doctor, and is on nights this week, so couldn’t be in at the required time. So, I turn up at her door, armed with decent book (Hitchhiker’s Guide compendium), and she prepares to head off to work. At this point, the sofa guys arrive. 10 minutes later, I’m back home. Job done!

The next event of my free evening entailed heading out to the pub for Rosy’s birthday drinks. On the way there, I tried phoning the girl I’d been seeing since about January. All very strange - we were fine when together, but rubbish when apart. We’d managed to see each other about eight (yes, eight) times in six months. Pretty pathetic, given that we live within two miles of each other. We’d not seen each other for something like two months, and we’re pretty rubbish on the phone to each other. So, I try calling her. No response.

I’ve decided I’m officially single, properly so. I would have liked to talk to her about it all and ended things properly, but I guess that’s just not going to be. Pity. She’s a really nice girl.

So, a few minutes after this revelation, I get to the pub.

Where one of my mates tells me that he’s got together with an ex-girlfriend of mine. No, not the one I’d just tried to call. The one before that. The one I really fell for.

Now, it’s been a while since we split up, and I’d say that I’m over her. However, I still feel a little strange about things now. They’re both great people - he could do a lot worse than her, and she could do a lot worse than him - and I’m genuinely happy for them both…but I still feel a little strange about it all.

It’ll probably feel even stranger when I see the two of them together. I guess it’s just one of the important steps in REALLY getting over someone - seeing them with someone else. I’ve not done that yet.

I really am rubbish when it comes to emotional stuff.

So, the pub. A whole load of people there, and five of us end up playing a GREAT game of Twenty-One. The drinking game. You must know it. Anyway, we get to the point where most numbers have about two rules attached. Good stuff.

Closing time. The rest leave for a curry. I walk home and turn the computer on.

I should probably edit this one in the morning. But that’d be against the spirit of things, wouldn’t it? We shall see…

So, here goes…

Spurred on by Linden’s efforts, here’s my second attempt at blogging. Hopefully, it’ll last longer than my first.

I’ve tried to keep a diary on a few occasions, mostly a long time ago. It’s never worked, primarily because I went off and did something less boring instead. This may not always have entailed switching off the TV set.