March 2004 Archives - 2/4 - wibbler.com
“There is still no cure for the common birthday.”
Nick’s girlfriend Sarah was next to be ticked off the March birthday list. It was decided that a bout of bowling might be a good start, something Michelle and I have never really got the hang of. The night was going as expected – my score was rock bottom of the leader board. Noting the Miles Per Hour gauge on each bowling lane, and factoring in my incredibly poor skittle aiming, I hit on pure comedy gold. “The player with the fastest bowl wins!” I bellowed, and with that battle commenced. Competitive cries of “slowcoach” and “loser” bandied about, and somehow I still managed to lose. Stomachs rumbling, we bundled out for a meal, on the way remembering to give the “electric shock” machine a go. We eventually left crying with laughter, re-enacting Nick’s contorted face of pain as he held on to the electric conductors. Poor fool.
And on we went to the Yellow River Caf?. An hour later, and full to our brims, all of us waddled back to Sarah’s house to settle down with drinks, song and revelry. I was tremendously excited, and spent the rest of the night constructing devilish cocktails.
Finally, the hazy but highly enjoyable Saturday night came to an end. Night had fallen, and so had I, many times over imaginary objects. Sensing it was time to go, Michelle and I called a taxi. It only occurred to us after we’d actually set off for home that we had no money to offer the poor man. We ordered him to stop at the first available cash machine. “Sorry – out of order”, announced the infernal thing, rapidly flashing the message as if boasting at its lack of forethought.
So, it was back into the taxi, and on to the next hole in the wall. I approached it, confident that this one would allow me into its financial bowels and relieve it of ?20. “This cash machine is unable to dispense cash at this time.” I’m ashamed to say I kicked the bloody thing in sheer frustation. The taxi meter was clicking away louder than ever when I returned to the car.
Eventually, 15 minutes after we set off on a 3 minute journey, we were dropped off at a working cash machine. Not wishing to push our luck, we bade the driver goodnight and stumbled homeward.
You’ve seen that Volvo documentary about all the people from the same town buying the same Volvo on the same day, yes? Here’s the link if you haven’t. Turns out, as you should have suspected, that it’s a fake ad. Even the director came out and said he was conned.
But here’s the rub: the director (and his website) are also a figment of the ad agency’s furtive mind (discussed here). What we have here is a “spoof within a spoof” – the next step in marketing confusion…
Belle de Jour, to those how are later on the draw that even I was this afternoon (videos, phonecalls and a particularly good FHM took up a goodly 4 hours), may have been unmasked by The Times. Although she may have been unmasked a couple of days ago too. And there’s a new rumour that it is in fact Lisa Hilton (here’s an article by Lisa that’s very Belle). In fact, everyone wants to be the author. The only one denying it’s them is Belle herself…
I think a clue’s in the website address. belledejour-uk. why put the “UK” bit in? Was someone using “belledejour” already? Or was it part of a global strategy from someone who doesn’t live in the UK anyway? Whatever – I’d prefer not to know. More anonymous is more fun, as someone might have said.
After my Hutton Inquiry rants a couple of months ago, politics was politely requested to leave wibbler.com by a few well-respected readers. So, rather than ranting again so soon, a few self-explanatory Iraq-based links to play around with:
– Read the following quote: “I have no ambition whatsoever to use [national security] as a political issue.” President Bush, 23rd January 2002
– Watch Donald Rumsfeld in a spot of bother (1MB video). I guess somehow he thought they wouldn’t have any quotes of his on hand…
– Keep for reference this extensive PDF report on Iraq political statements since the beginning of the present troubles (or search this online database).
– Last but certainly not least, note the title of this Bill trying to get through American Congress.
Disclaimer: Please note no opinion was offered in the making of this post.
So, Jac’s 25. To commiserate, we all popped up to his farm in Watford on Saturday night for jolly knees up with him and his housemate Alex, who also happily his just turned the birthday corner. There was a theme, as ever – this one was outrageous ties (not, as his invitationary email clarified, loud men from Thailand). A quick scour round Guildford on Saturday afternoon resulted in two splendidly outsized foam ties for myself and Michelle, which were received with pleasure by the group as we turned up that night. Such excitement, in fact, that the entire group managed to tear their eyes away from the graphic lesbian porn that was playing loudly in the corner of the room.
I should take a moment to counter the impression you may now have of Jac. His farmhouse isn’t a seedy establishment, you understand – you may have visions of men in long anoraks feverishly ogling nubile forms on cheap, discreet televisions, in a dimly-lit room slit with light poking through the slatted blinds. No, Jac has standards. The televisions, for instance, are classy Sony numbers, placed prominently in the room. He has curtains. The videos and the anoraks, though, are just as you imagine.
We all bundled out in a fleet of taxis at 10pm for a trip to an 80’s nightclub in Watford town centre. The weather was dribbly and cold – enough even for me, with my substantial natural “insulation”, to feel a chill. The club, though, was a touch of genius. 80’s music blared out at us from the street; inside, giant rubik’s cubes hung from the ceiling when animated pacmen were chased by monsters round the walls. This was heaven.
We drank, we sang out loud, we spilled drinks and marvelled at the revolving dancefloor (at least, I think there was a revolving dancefloor – it may have just been the drink). Michelle and I even made friends with a ginger man. And then, we managed to get home, wet, windswept and full of late-night Quarter Pounders with cheese.
Happy birthday, Jac and Alex! You’re halfway to 50 – make the most of it…