The suns up, it’s Friday afternoon before a bank holiday week-end so naturally it’s sloping off from work time.

After interminable delays from Sky (yes sir, just a couple of days) Kims broardband is in so it’s off to the new Castle Thrower to lounge about, sorry, that should read “set up his computer”.

This took minutes so it was into the deep leather chair to listen to the world according to Kim. This involves string of conciousness wisdom without the wisdom.  Mind you perhaps it’s just jealosy on my part as his new found single status has lead to a queue forming by his bed when all I seem to get by mine is wood lice.

Anyway here is a picture of our hard working hero…

Steve, techno lounging

Yesterday started at a funeral for an old school friend and ended with me having enjoyed a jazz concert. Both of these things I never hoped to see. In reality the day ended at around quarter to eleven with your hero, having thoroughly defeated sobriety, laying on his back on the West Hill photographing the moon through clouds; a clue here for all you photographers, a drunk taking 13^th second exposures requires the deepest of beer goggles to look even vaguely interesting.

Jocks funeral again brought home to roost some old chickens, as I think funerals often do. Its been dawning on me of late how badly I’ve treated people in my life; for me guilt has always just been a dictionary word and as an emotion up there with the best fairy tales. And with two more pieces of the jigsaw; a capacity to leave, anything, and never look back and a wonderful skill at justifying absolutely everything to myself, the creation of a glorious wake of casual cruelty was inevitable.

Up there with Ansel Adams I think you’ll agree!

Today’s outstanding spectacle was the sight of two “grown” men using their iPhones to fart at each other using the “iFart” app, 59p at the iPhone App Store. No, I’m not making this up. One of these men had spent half an hour ranting about the bad behaviour of his teen-age daughter, I thing the words “example” and “bad” could be re-arranged into a useful phrase here. I would name names but one of these reprobates threatened legal action if I so much as mentioned his name, so don’t worry Burls, your secrets safe with me.

The fart machine!

This past Sunday was spent with Kim Thrower taking pictures of desperately knackered people competing in the Hastings half marathon. To be honest, I may make fun of them, but the sense of achievement they must get at the finish line possibly might be greater than that of building my own computer, no, really. Anyway, after the exertion of watching the runners we retired to Kims beach hut to lounge for a bit. The sun was high – summer was on it’s way and Kim was drinking lemonade, what the…

Kim and Lemonade, a study in the unlikely.

The King of Castle Beckington is fifty today and has been ordered to stay off work by the divine Mrs S on pain of death. He is basking in the glory of a near victory over his children over the last week-end at the board game “20 questions”. The fact the game was purchased years before his eldest was born gave him another, not to be missed, opportunity to moan about the state of modern education. That his children are all doing better at school than he ever did seems not to matter!

The adorable Mrs Smith has broken her wrist during a major health and safety infraction; in many cases babes and mud go together well, this was not one of those cases. At least the doctors at A&E have a sense of humour and have fashioned the plaster in a style that makes Mrs Smith look like Rod Hull & Emu. She now wanders the vast halls of her home, the castle Beckington, whilst barking orders at her slaves, sorry, that should read “as her willing family muck in”.

Liz has this party every year, she puts a lot of effort into it and it’s enjoyed by almost everyone (you can guess who the odd man out is, but more of that in a moment), there’s live music, good food and everyone you haven’t seen for a year. And yes, the odd man out is me. I enjoy talking with people, I don’t enjoy live, or loud, music, just talking & listening. The other problem this year is that at the moment I am going through one of my “geek” phases and to be honest my head is immersed in the wonders of PHP scripting almost every second, I joke not; I lay in bed at night mulling over the latest bit of code I’ve produced and how it can be improved! So, the bottom line is that I’m not scintillating company. I lasted 40 minutes at the party, I was visibly bored with my own conversation and looked like a man who wanted to be else where, which I was. Anyway, by ten I was back in the pallid comforting glow of ageing geek heaven. It was so bad that I missed a chance to talk to the last FMH (Future Mrs Hardy) who I spotted on the way out. She won’t thank me for saying it, though we were completely incompatible (that’s code for I was a shit as usual), she still looks the sexiest woman on Gods earth!

The former and last Future Mrs Hardy disguised for her protection.

There are those amongst you who seem to doubt the depth of my absolute wisdom and it must be said you are right for there is one who’s wisdom makes me look like my money was in an Icelandic savings account. I speak of course of Mystic Meg Patrick. Those who have the privilege of knowing him know he has an opinion on all things, er, a bit like my good self, and that he is always right, er, ditto. Better still he is the master of the prediction – the future being an open book to his omnipotent mind. So, in the vein of Moses, I have decided to keep track of these predictions and bring his all-seeing light to the world. From this day on there will be a new category on this blog; “Patricks Predictions”, so we can better know what the future holds in store for us.

The first two are:

• Germany will withdraw from the Euro within a year (or two, a qualification put on later in the conversation). So the date to look out for is 11/10/2009
• Ireland will withdraw from the Euro within three to five years.

We will see…

Look into my eyes, look into my eyes…

It was warm, it was sunny and I vowed not to drive or fret about work (The downfall of Excel could be the end of my pocket money) so naturally it was three glasses of wine before lunch, not a great example to Kim “Special Brew” Thrower but the world had an almost hallucinogenic tinge by mid-day. Steve Smith and Patrick appeared and we became a gang of slovenly bicycling layabouts as we “tore” down the cycle lane to a coffee house. Patrick held forth with his familiar “the world going to hell in a hand cart and socialists are the Devils representatives on earth” speech, Steve countered with his famous to his family “kids should be put in cages till they learn their times table” monologue. I just drooled open mouthed at the elephants coming out of the paintwork.

The antithesis of wisdom

Partner in “crime” John is back for a few days so it’s goodbye to the diet and sobriety. We caught up with each other over a very pleasant sea food platter at Whites in George Street. The big question was should he ask Moritzia (his partner) to marry him. I thought this was a great idea as it supplies another friends wife for me to lust after but he’s afraid she’ll say no, oh well, what will be will be.

On to the Cinque Ports where Sheila’s advice is short on the subject, a resounding no from her meant, in my eyes at least it’s still a great idea: Sheila with her absolutism and insistence in viewing emotional subtlety with a Meccano mind is always a good guide to what not to do.

Ended up in the Hastings arms listening to John Crampton, a cross between Link Wray & Phil Spector; a blues wall of sound. But it was well past my bed time and the world was getting blurry so it was back to the hill with a bag of chocolate Brazils in hand, a perfect end to any evening!

This pictures a bit indistinct, so, an accurate reflection of what I was seeing then.