Travel

Two Months in Two Paragraphs

Kruse Leave a comment

Went to Ireland.  Nice ride, over some hills, through some valleys, etc, etc.  Wedding, with the level of binge-drinking that normally entails.  Republic of Ireland – really rather pleasant/pretty.  And then as soon as one crosses the border into Northern Ireland… not so pleasant/pretty, and lots, and I mean LOTS, of flags with Union Jacks, which just seemed rather rude.  Wales on the way home – also rather pleasant/pretty.  And then England – not so much, but some decent spots.

Ireland

IrelandWales

WalesEnglandEngland

Otherwise – the first couple of months of TheKruse Ltd in operation… managed to get paid for the first time successfully.  Just in time… I’d got down to under £200 in the bank account.  And having Ben staying with me – being a good little boy, cooking me dinner each night.  Which means I now have a heap of ingredients, I wouldn’t normally use.  And I got talked into buying a sweet chef’s knife (which came in the mail, complete with two sticking-plasters, and a note from ‘Pete’ – saying “Hi Micheal, A great choice of knife, the [sic] one is a beauty. Grab a bag of onions and have some fun! Enjoy, Pete”.  Which all rather endeared me to Pete… it’s a shame he doesn’t have any awesome chopping boards.  So now – I’ve got plenty of excuses to start cooking again properly.  Will it be enough…?

Back on that hoss

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Firstly – a couple of gigs:

  • Cat Power – she may be cray-cray, but she can sing.  This was re-scheduled from last year, so had been looking forward to it for quite some time.  Not disappointed.  And as a bonus, as I was hanging out in the member’s bar, had a chat with the Customer Relations Officer, or some such.  And I happened to mention I was gutted to miss out on tickets to The National – scheduled for the very next night – which had effectively sold out in under 5 minutes.  She gave me her card, so I could call the next day – in case she could do something about that.  I did call, she could do something about it (had a couple of spare ‘hospitality’ or VIP tickets or something – which she’s not allowed to sell) – and I got my name on the door, and made a donation to the Roundhouse charity, for about the price of a ticket (I actually rounded it up a fair bit).
  • So – The National.  Very pleased to get into this… considering the ridiculous demand for them, and there was no way of buying ‘scalped’ tickets.  And yeah, good.  Other than new songs, rather reminiscent of the last time I saw them – didn’t play “All The Wine”, and did acoustic Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks… but I was pleased.  I do like me The National.

And then it was time to get back on that horse… or all 70 of those horses, on my sweet new bike.  I sold my old one for £70… which I felt guilty about.  It would have felt a bit better if I hadn’t got any money for it, but… I used the money for new gear, and to get a MOT (WOF) for the new one (which I’d been assured it would come with, but did not).

Anyway – the new bike.  A 1997 Triumph Adventurer… when doing a bit of research on it… one of the first reviews I read had described it using the phrase “adds dollop of crass to already glittery, faux concoction.”  This intrigued me.  But when I went on to read “…the Triumph Adventurer is about as cool and stylish as purple velvet loon pants.” – I bought the bike without ever having actually seen/touched it – let alone sat on it.  (I bought it over the phone, and had it delivered from Stoke).

I took it out for one short ride, on a slightly wet Sunday – and confirmed that it worked, an that I worked (my legs, in particular).  And then, the following Sunday – with essentially all new gear/clothing, a backpack, and the hardly-ridden bike – set off for the Czech Republic.

A couple of things came apparent:

  • My new Kriega backpack/rucksack is awesome.  I read all sorts of reviews, claiming it takes the weight off your shoulders, can hardly feel it, etc – with suitable cynicism.  But they’re all true!  Good work Kriega.  But then, any company who puts a 10 year guarantee on their backpack is probably pretty confident in their product.
  • My nerves are shot.  Riding on the motorway, every little noise, shudder, gust of wind – had my head full of visions of my front wheel falling off.  And that just got worse as I headed into Germany – on the autobahn, where one feels obligated to go even faster; and in Czechland – where the roads had lengthy stretches of constant ‘bumps’, which I could never be sure were actually in the road… and my mind was constantly coming up with possible scenarios explaining what I was feeling… most involving my bike about to fall apart underneath me, at 130km/h.

But – I made it safe-and-sound.  Caught the ferry from Dover, to Dunkirk – and then headed into Belgium.  Stayed a night at a pension in some weird small town, which seems to exist in order to allow people to come and do some pilgrimage?  There were multiple shops selling ‘religious items’, and what I think were big bottles of holy water.  But not a single restaurant/supermarket/etc willing to sell me food after about 9pm – when I arrived.  Eventually the people at the pension I was staying at – took pity on me, and cooked me a dinner.  A massive, massive dinner – which I tried very hard to finish, but could not.  And the nice man from the hotel/pension I’d originally booked a room in (but closed at 8pm – so sent me elsewhere) – offered to store my bike indoors for me.  Much appreciated.  Well done, weird little Banneux.

The next day – headed off into Germany, and the autobahns.  Some people really do go quite fast on those… but generally, probably not much more than countries which do have hard speed limits.  Anyway – I trundled along on that, once or twice winding it up to see how fast the new bike (and my nerve), was capable.  Well – my nerve failed first… I was happy to see the speedo hit 100mph.  According to one website, top speed is about 190km/h.  I don’t see any need to prove/disprove that.  Anyway – mostly headed along at the ‘recommended’ speed limit of around 130 km/h, often dropping down a bit slower and just cruising behind trucks/etc in the ‘slow lane’.  And made it all the way across Germany in a day… found a small town just before the Czech border, and eventually found a hotel/pension to book into.  Lovely place – garage for the bike… but once again food was problematic.  I’d arrived at a decent time – I thought – but still very difficult finding anything on a Monday night.  So – found an icecream bar which served beer, and bar-snacks in the form of “ham-and-cheese toast sandwiches”.  Good work Vohenstrauss.

Next day – across the border into Czechland.  From memory, the motorway between Germany & Prague wasn’t too bad.  Just the wind messing with my head, making me continuously think I was going to die.  But after Prague – eastern Czechland… particularly the right-hand ‘slow lane’… horrible horrible constant ‘judders’.  And like I said above – my mind constantly coming up with explanations for this, involving a stone in my tyre about to cause it to burst, or something snagged somewhere, about to lock a wheel completely, or just that it really was the road – but was about to cause a tyre to burst or something.  Just constant doubts/terrors.  Awesome, good fun.  But eventually made it to Pustimer, where the ridiculous hospitality began.

Ludek’s parents… without a word of english between them – guessed who I was, invited me in, and just started plying me with pivo, slivovice, and food.  I was stranded there for a couple of hours – just being bombarded with brutal quantities/qualities of hospitality, until everybody else returned from visiting castles.  More pivo & slivovice, and eventually left to go to Ludek’s auntie’s house, which she’d given over to us for the week.  So yeah – my first impression of Czech hospitality: freely given beer, slivovice, food, and a house (with a swimming pool).

Slivovice probably warrants a word here.  After having this clear liquor forced upon me… I did a quick google search, to figure out what it was I was reading.  The first half-a-dozen ‘hits’ were all news stories, about how the Czech government had banned all hard liquor for a period last year – after several deaths… from people drinking slivovice.  Apparently, quite a few cases of blindness also.  Apparently now, a popular toast is “see you later” – making fun of this.

Anyway – a few days of such hospitality, lots and lots of very hot sunshine, and a couple of bike rides around the Czech country-side… the days passed by.  I’d nearly forgotten there was a wedding involved.  But there was a wedding, so we went to that.  Very nice wedding, and very good reception.  From what I recall.  I remember somebody giving me a beer soon after I entered the reception venue (while this doesn’t sound that strange… nobody else was); I vaguely remember a haka; and I vaguely remember dancing… including one very successful “knee slide”, and two very unsuccessful knee slides (evidenced the next day by spectacular bruising… injuries now more evident (visually and pain-wise) than any lingering effects from falling off my bike).

The usual post-wedding hungover tired lazy day or two… a couple of nights in Prague (Prague is quite nice) – and then a few days taking mostly non-motorway routes back to England.  The sat-nav took me on some brilliant roads, and also some rather dodgy ones.  The Adventurer isn’t really designed for gravel roads. but it coped.  I took a detour to ride along the Rhine for a while, that was spectacular.  Koblenz valley, I think it was called – with constant castles on the skyline.  Very cool.  A night in Germany, a night in Luxembourg, and a night in Belgium – before catching a ferry from Calais back to the white cliffs of Dover, and back to London.

2,500 miles, or near to, by the end of it.  Didn’t get pulled over once – which is lucky, as it seems my left rear indicator hasn’t been working since I don’t know when.  And in France, there’s all sorts of ridiculous rules for motorists, and motorcyclists in particular.  Have to carry a breathalyser (which I did), but also – put 4 reflective stickers onto your helmet.  And they have to be such a type that they are impossible to remove, “without damaging the helmet”.  WTF?

All in all, a good trip.  And it’s probably about time I learnt how to perform some basic maintenance on the bike… overdue for the chain being cleaned/lubed/oiled.  A general clean is also overdue… I got my glittery faux concoction a little dirty over the last couple of weeks.

Just looking over photos – I’d nearly forgotten about our daytrip to Brno – visiting the castle, and the pub where your drinks are delivered to your table by model train.  Such a brilliant concept/gimmick.

EDIT: To answer the little sister’s question… by the end of it, motorways still gave me irrational fear, but I’m loving the small country roads/etc.  But I guess that’s the way it should be anyway.Booze Train

Booze TrainGermany-Belgium border

Germany-Belgium border

The Spectre

Kruse Leave a comment

So – faced between buying a cheap boring ubiquitous Japanese bike, or a twice as expensive much more exciting European bike – I opted for a cheap odd 30-year old Japanese bike.  Behold The Spectre – the shaft-driven Kawasaki KZ750 which nobody in this country has ever heard of (although I believe they are widespread in North America)…

According to the nice man, and the odometer – nearly 30 years old, yet under 15,000 miles under the belt.  And – I nearly believe it… it’s either been sitting unused in a shed for 30 years, or somebody really has done an amazing job in making it look like new.

Anyway – within a week, I’d added 1,500 miles onto it, having visited Hastings, Scotland, and Wales.  I have also figured out how to check the oil – realised I have a serious leak (although only overnight – perhaps leaking from the oil tray when cold?), and that it is very likely I rode all the way up to Scotland with zero oil.

Also – gigs…

Afghan Whigs – I can’t remember going to this… I must have skipped it for some reason?

Of Monsters And Men, again… and again – good.  They’re starting to play to the crowd a bit more, which I’m not sure is a good thing (the whole getting guys to sing one lyric, girls the next… it’s just divisive, you know?  And anyway – I paid to listen to them sing, not the tuneless jerks around me).  But yeah, good – had bought multiple tickets, meaning to insist that some people come with me – as it’s music which is impossible to not enjoy… but forgot until the actual evening… managed to get Jess along, who claimed to enjoy it – so all good.

Tiki Taane – claiming to be an acoustic/solo gig.  Which it was, sort of.  And then he used the loop-hole of claiming the gig was over.  BUT – he would stay on stage and sing over some phat beats for a while.  So – rather than being a solely acoustic gig, it was really more of a game of two halves Bob-Dylan-at-Royal-Albert-Hall type deal.  I left once the use of dub-step was becoming the overwhelming factor.

And Leonard Cohen – went to see him.  Was ultra tired, and fell asleep a couple of time.  Not happy with myself.  Excellent gig – amazing voice on the old fella.  And next time he tours, I’ll definitely take the time to head into Europe to see him playing in some awesome old castle or roman ampitheatre, rather than at bloody Wembley Arena.

And that’s about it – much more happened, but I’m still ultra-tired, and just trying to put my life, and house, back together after an extended visit by australians.  Luckily, champagne didn’t raise its ugly head until about 1.5 hours before Ben’s flight left.  And yet we somehow managed to get through 2 bottles.  I believe we actually started the second bottle after he was supposed to start boarding.

Ice, ice, baby

Kruse Leave a comment

So – visited Iceland.  Iceland was nice.  Did some stuff, saw some stuff – will think about updating photos/etc some day.  The best description I could come up for it was that it is New Zealand – but somebody else’s New Zealand.  In that – driving around, it’s all beautiful and stuff – but this impression from the people of “yeah, it’s all beautiful and that, but then why wouldn’t it be?” – just like New Zealand.  Not quite taking it for granted – and not really not realising how lucky they are – but maybe just not realising how unlucky everybody else is?  Or something.

So yeah, quick description: sleepy/rural (all towns/Reykjavik/buildings/etc – reminded me of New Zealand in the 80′s, on a Sunday afternoon).  Deserted – driving for hours without seeing a single other car/truck.  Floated between two continents – touching North America with one hand, and Eurasia with the other.  Saw some geysers – and a plaque bragging about how heaps bigger their geyser is than New Zealand’s.  Except theirs only erupts once every hundred years or some bullsh*t – so yeah, give yourself a hand Iceland.  Big lazy geyser.  Did see a smaller one erupt though – went all kablooey.  Saw a waterfall – Gullfoss, the namesake for the ‘Golden Circle’.  Pretty good waterfall.  Multiple layers, some ice hanging off the cliff opposite, rapids leading up to it, lots of mist.  Yeah – not a bad waterfall.

Other than that – also spent several evenings sitting outside in a hot tub, reading a book , drinking whisky – watching for the Northern Lights.  Saw some of them.  Did some ramblin’.  Drove across the south coast – seeing some more waterfalls, and a glacial lagoon.  Glacial lagoon is rather cool.  Big chunks of ice floating in a lagoon, until they melt enough to float down the river into the ocean.  Where they then get washed ashore.  Rather a bizarre sight – a beach, with surf breaking, covered in washed up icebergs.  And the lagoon – so many different shades of blue.  And a seal.  Also got in some culture – looked around a museum.  Driftwood.  Driftwood is/was very important to the Icelandic people.  Oh – and binge-drinking – Reykjavik looks to have some spectacular binge-drinking.  I didn’t partake myself – it looked to be a young person’s game.  Very very young person’s game.

And then back to London – picked Pen up from Heathrow on the way through – and headed back to mine so that each of us could have a rest after our respective journeys.  Chinatown for socialising the next day – and then more rest, before back to routine of work and gigs.

First gig back – White Rabbits.  To be honest, that was a little while ago now – so can’t really remember many details.  But, strangely, there seem to be quite a few videos on youtube.  And looking at those, it seems like it was a fairly standard gig, nothing to get one overly disappointed or excited.

A couple of nights later – I insisted Pen come along to see Jose Gonzalez and Tinariwen.  And then on the way there, suddenly thought “Why am I dragging Pen to what is probably the polar opposite of her musical tastes?”.  But it was too late – Pen was about to see some ‘World Music’.  But if you’re going to drag somebody along to ‘World Music’ – you can’t get much better than Jose Gonzalez.  And yeah – Jose was his normal self.  Absolutely zero ‘stage presence’ – I think he talked to the crowd once – but more than compensated for by the music.  I think Pen at least appreciated it.  And then Tinariwen.  They were missing their usual lead guy, but still put on a rather good show.  If you haven’t heard of these guys – look them up.  Read their history (“the most compelling of any band” or “the most rock’n’roll of them all”, depending on who you believe).  Listen to some music.  Really rather good.  Jose Gonzalez came out and helped out with one song (a role filled by one or two guys from TV On The Radio on the album – if that helps anybody believe they should check these guys out).  Oh, and then it turns out Tinariwen had won a Grammy recently – and this was their first appearance since.  So – we saw them get handed/awarded their Grammy – by Jon Snow (a UK news presenter with some solid street-cred).  So yeah, I’ve now attended a Grammy’s award ceremony.

Nearly a week later – Grimes at XOYO.  A very very talented young lady – I can only assume she’ll be going far.  Considering her whole act consists of herself with a microphone and mixing-desk/keyboard – rather difficult to put on much of a show.  But – she did alright – got the lighting all dim/moody as possible, so that not much more effort is really necessary – one person, then more and more, dancing like nutters in the background – all good.  And yeah – a really really good set.  Well done Little Miss Grimes.  Highly recommended.  Oh – and when I went to the bar to order my first drink of the evening – the barmaid started pouring my chosen tipple without asking.  It seems that I have become that much of a regular.  At a music venue.  Not sure how I feel about that.

Now – trying to get back into some kind of routine.  Haven’t done any exercise for nearly a month.  And have been drinking a little too much whisky.  Hmmm… oh well, got a gig tonight, so maybe tomorrow night.  Nope – got drinks with company owner tomorrow, when I have to decide whether I alleviate his concerns about whether I’m gonna jump ship.  Thursday night – gig.  Maybe on the weekend – I’ll start trying to force some routine back into my life.

2012 – off and running (or skiing)

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Right – been too busy and lazy and sick to write for a while, so now I just have to skim over it all.

First gig of the year – Ani DiFranco at the Union Chapel.  Cool gig, talented lady – did an improvised song with a crowd member playing guitar for her – after somebody requested a song, and she claimed to not be able to play it anymore.  A crowd member reckoned he could, so he did – and it turns out she remembered how to play it fairly well also.  But yeah – cool.  Legitimately improv’ed?  Not sure – the crowd member turned out to be a fairly successful musician himself – Declan Bennett.  She seems fairly genuine, and it didn’t happen the following night – so I’m giving the whole episode the benefit of the doubt.

And then – France.  Caught a train over to France on the 14th, and spent the week there – helping Dom celebrate his 40th.  This was done by learning to ski, then doing actual skiing, interspersed with large amounts of food and drink, and very little sleep.  But now I can ski.  By the end of the week, I was going down red pistes comfortably, and trying stupid things like jumps and off-piste which I really had no right to be trying.  Amazing weather – clear blue skies for the entire week, until the final day which was pretty much constant snowstorm, with zero visibility, and lifts closing all over the place (doing red slopes).  Here’s a video of my new skillz (warning, the music might not be to everybody’s taste, and has naughty words):
http://player.vimeo.com/video/35439665?color=fedf91&autoplay=0
And then we came back to London, drinking the bar dry on one of the trains, and discovering the tube between Kings Cross/St Pancras and my place was closed. I eventually crawled into my place at about midnight, drunk and exhausted – and immediately came down with a terrible cold or influenza or something. Bah, London.

Quiet week.. not so

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Right – so it was to be a couple of quiet gigs, then a quiet week, then casting my vote in a fore-gone conclusion of a General Election.  Well, none of that really happened.

Monday night – the Twilight Sad – part of the current wave of indie-rock coming out of Scotland.  And similar to the others, their albums have been quite good melodic indie rock, with ridiculously strong scottish accents over the top.  But live – well… I’d heard that they started off doing experimental “wall-of-sound” type gigs, before the band really evolved.  And yeah – that’s what their live show was.  A wall of sound.  Which I’m sure floats some people’s boats, but not mine.  (Having another listen to the albums – the clues are all there, it’s just dialed down quite a bit – especially on the ‘single’ type songs).  Maybe I was just too tired – and too old – but I walked away thinking too loud, too much noise, couldn’t hear any tunes/lyrics – sorry Twilight Sad, but it seems you’re the Wu-Tang Clan of 2011.

And then it was Tuesday.  With a nice quiet gig that night to help me ease into 5 nights off, or something like that.  But while at work, I’m suddenly told to fly to Jersey as soon as possible – either tonight or tomorrow morning.  I decide on the following morning.  Head home, do some quick packing – and off to the gig.  Wye Oak – a little folk duo – including a very nice polite sweet young lady singing very nice polite sweet songs.  And after seeing the nice polite sweet young lady a couple of times on the AVClub (the only band invited back to do a second Undercover session – and covering Danzig!), and then live – I might have grown a little bit of a crush.  Anyways – once again, a show which was much louder than I’d expected, but this time in a good way.  Expecting indie-folk-pop, getting much more of an indie-folk-rock vibe – not at all unwelcome.

And yeah – so off home, shave off what had become my beautifully ridiculous pencil-moustache (just wide enough to show the regrowth-esque two-tone) – and another attempt at last-minute packing, but failing spectacularly to make a decision about whether to bother with a suitcase for what will be just a couple of days.  And so I end up heading off towards London City airport in the early morning, with my laptop bag, and a very very small daybag with spare underwear, one spare business shirt, one t-shirt, and a pair of kung-fu slippers.  I don’t really know the rationale behind most of that.  Was I planning on wandering around town in my suit trousers, kung-fu slippers, and a t-shirt – in the middle of the English Channel in the middle of winter?  I don’t know.  I had my normal vague plan of “if I need shit, I’ll buy it” in mind – but I could still have done a lot better.  I got to London City – bought myself a bottle of whisky which I’d wanted for some time but is only available in duty-free stores – and sat down to wait for my plane.  Which was delayed.  And then cancelled.  Okay – so I rush off to Gatwick airport – to get a flight from there – booking a ticket on the phone on the way.  And then realise that I’m going to miss that one – as I arrive at the airport 5 minutes before the flight is due to leave.  But the nice lady lets me pay just a £60 fee to change this flight, to the next one – which is 4:20 or some such.  Which gives me about 5 hours of sitting in Gatwick airport.  I spend the time with laptop open, trying to be productive – and also grab myself another bottle of whisky (that first one is now in my tiny daybag – which I had to put in as cargo, seeing as I now was carrying a litre of liquid).  I eventually landed in the Balliwick of Jersey (yep – that’s its official name) – headed to my hotel, checked in – before I did indeed wander out in my kung-fu slippers, suit trousers, t-shirt, and suit jacket.  Yep – the classic t-shirt-suit combo.  Not particularly happy about resorting to that.

Thursday – finally made it into the office, and proceeded to do my job like a gangsta.  Ended up staying there, and working through the weekend, coming back Monday afternoon.  Just in time to head to a gig.  Although I did make it as difficult as possible for myself.  Once again my flight was delayed.  And when I landed, I put myself on the wrong tube, and didn’t realise until I’d gotten myself to Mile End or some such.  So – reversed direction – eventually got home, dumped my stuff, ran to Old Street, got the right tube up to Camden Town, and met Dom at the pub.  Rushed off to the Jazz Cafe – and discovered we had gotten there just in time to wait half an hour or so – before the P-Funk came on stage.  Eventually George Clinton joined them, and we had the promised George Clinton & the Parliament Funkadelic.  Oh – and it was worth it.  I was already intoxicated from approximately a bottle of wine drunk while waiting at Jersey airport – followed by no dinner and Dom pouring wine down my throat (yeah – I’ll blame him) – resulting me in being more than a little light-headed by the end of the night.  But – any way you slice it – it was a very good gig.  The P-Funk started off by themselves, pretty much playing a huge long jam session, showing off each band member’s skill one-by-one – and they were all very very good.  George’s voice kept telling us to get our funk on from somewhere, then somebody came on stage in a tu-tu to great applause, and got everybody to wave their hands – but then they hinted that he was an imposter, and that George was actually somebody else on stage – and I was all very confused.  There were probably 4 people on stage that I thought could possibly be the great man.  But by the end, I’m pretty sure it was all a double-bluff, and the guy in the tu-tu was in fact the real George Clinton.  (Made obvious when he gave one of his crazy spoken-word rants)  At some point he went off for a bit of a sit-down and a rest, while some young folk took over the mic.  At one point he also got his grand-daughter out on stage, while he lit up a joint – genuine, I believe – including giving some audience members a puff or two of the Class C Controlled Substance, as you do.  I guess it’s lucky there is no video evidence.  All in all – a very good gig, with a great show (pack as many crazy people onto a tiny stage), some great crowd interaction, and great music.  I believe everybody there felt the same.  Well done George C & the P-Funk.

[edit] (hungover edit)… oh… books… Snowdrops, by A.D. Miller – another book suggested to me by the man Booker… not quite the same theme of “some guy punched me and so I was the victim who chased him and then got punched but at the end I reveal that maybe I wasn’t really the victim but might be the bad-guy myself after-all” – but pretty close.  More of a slowly doing the same thing.  In a very short book, however – it might as well be.  So yeah, I am now starting every listing of this year’s Man Booker Prize with the expectation that the narrator (they’re all first person as well, what up with dat?) – is going to turn out to be not such a nice person.  But I guess that’s what makes literature – true to life.  I’m struggling to count on my hands the number of people that I know and consider to be genuinely nice people.  But then – I’m an ice-cold cynic.  (And not a ‘nice’ person).

Just because I don’t want to end on that tone – and because I’m very hungover/still-drunk and therefore babbling… I’ll do another book.  I’m currently alternating literature with trash.  My current trash is Stephen King’s Dark Tower series.  And the other night, as I finished one book at a gig – I was tempted to start the next, solely because I was drunk at a gig, and wanted something ‘light’.  But, even in that state, I realised that I shouldn’t.  Because reading two in a row would just make the badness so obvious that I couldn’t (pretend to) ignore it any more.  I think I finished the second-to-last one.  And they are just so self-indulgent.  They started off as “yep, I’m writing something good” – and have rapidly become “yep – I’m writing something good and I am so proud of myself and I want to tell everybody how proud of myself I am – in the storyline”.  The guy writes himself, and the novels, into the storyline – and compares the novels to the Lord of the Rings, for jeebersake.  That’s just not right.  It’s a fine story – sure.  Or… it was.  And he was doing quite well with the invented dialects and what-not.  But as soon as he started his self-back-patting… I only just now realised how much that annoyed me.  So I’m going to leave it at that, before this becomes even more of a hungover rant.  (Work christmas party last night – I think I got a ride home in a rickshaw)