The Suit.

I am a difficult shopper. 5’5″ tall, slightly more portly than I should be – ok, maybe 4″ too much – and with short legs. This drastically reduces the number of suits that are open to me. I once went into a ‘Suits you’ shop in London, they had two suits which would fit and the trousers still needed taking up. Two suits. Also I am a fussy bastard and like fancy styling where possible.
Too many nice suits appear before me with a little dangling tag reading ‘skinny fit’ – these will not do. Whatever the opposite of skinny fit is, that should do. Apparently the opposite is ‘regular fit’, a shop store euphemism I guess.
Anyway found a nice suit in Next but it was £210.
Found an ok suit in BHS which was £99 and they threw in a pair of shoes, a shirt, and a tie for free.
Done.
…or not quite done because only after I got them home did I realise that I had been sold trousers that were a few shades lighter than the jacket, noticeably so. Cock. Had no time to sort out as was heading home for a family funeral. Bakc in London I exchanged the trousers and then said ‘can you take them up a few inches?’ to which they replied, yes, for £5, and we’ll call you Friday. That would be cutting it close because the wedding was the day after. But I ok’d and they took them off me saying ‘we’ll call you Friday to let you know when they’ll be ready’.
Ey? You what?
- so no trousers.

Wore black trousers and grey jacket in the end. Not great.
Oh, also wore a cool Jeff Banks shirt and tie. And a fez.

<<aside – just cooking pasta & pesto despite in being gone 11, banging the spoon on the pan to the tune of Bob Holness’s Blockbusters>>

A Place to Stay

Well, I left it until Thursday to book a place to stay – I looked in the nearest main town, Craven Arms, but the places I rang were all fully booked so I searched in teh countryside nearish to the reception and found an Inn in a little hamlet called Brockton – I stayed here at The Feathers. They seemed cool with me saying I wouldn’t be turning up till near midnight. Google maps made it seem pretty close. But it wasn’t.

The Journey

I emailed Pete and said was he driving up, and he was, but on Friday at 2pm – far too early for me. So I bought a train ticket to Leominster which meant I had a go to Newport (Wales not Isle of Wight…) and change there. Meant I had to wake up at 7am too, which for me is a fucking big deal. Managed it and was sorted with 10 minutes spare by the time I hit Paddington.

The train was on Great Western, an expensive and annoying train company because the same length journey on SW trains or southern is half the price and the train is always very full anyway. They operate a system whereby everyone apart from me books a seat. I just sit where I please until told to move on. Met other wedding goers on the train and was kindly bought a G&T at the civilised time of just gone 10am.

The train from Newport to Leominster went via a food festival at (I think) Abergavenny – which meant that the 2 carriage train was rammed – at least 7 people had to stand in the disabled toilet until that stop. Chatted to a nice girl who it turns out knew franks & Anna but not the fact they were getting married – small world. She was a Buddhist Medical professional and occasional Nepal-based worker. I bid her well.

Now the journey there was a piece of cake. After the wedding we all got lifts to the reception. But after the reception all the taxis got fully booked up in the whole of Shropshire so I found myself stuck 6 miles from my Inn. Thanks heavens for Bill, who I had only just met, who agreed to drive completely out of his way, without Sat Nav, in a county neither he nor I know, in the dark – with me just knowing it was ‘Eastwards somewhere’ and ‘maybe at a crossroads’. Of course we found it easilly. No idea if he found his own place after that. Hope so. Cheers Bill.

Waking up the Saturday morning I was happy to discover no hangover and a good Victorian standing bath in the bathroom – it was shaped like one of those wild west tin baths, but still porcelain, and it was very welcome. Breakfast at 10am and a chat to the owner about this and that. he pointed me in the direction of the nearest town, 5 miles eastwards, told me there was a path across some fields I could take instead of the road and off I set.

I didn’t have my walking boots, only my flimsiest trainers, so my feet and legs soon got knackered and my socks wet from last nights rain still clinging to the grass. My legs actually stopped me a few times as they were really pulling up badly. I walked across a few fields, with great views of the rolling Shropshire hills which really are quite lovely. Past a farmyard where two gaurd dogs had a small go at me, although barking and approaching only, thankfully.

I tried to speak to them confidently and tell them to bugger off, still snarling dogs who are free to roam do make me nervous a fair bit. Walked to the main(ish) road and was on what might well be called Wenlock Edge which is like this…

Lots of limestone and fossils and stuff abound.

I think I walked along the very top of the treeline – at one point the road opened and a small clump of rock was climbable/walkable and I got a great view (but no camera).

Wenlock Edge goes along to the market town of Much Wenlock which was really nice. I went to the pottery there and had a chat with Mike Fletcher the potter and bought one of his one off nice copper pots for my Mum’s birthday. It’s a great pot and I did think of keeping it. If you are in the area then definitely pop in there and buy loads of stuff!

Also went to the priory shop to ask if there were buses (no, they said) but did get the number of a taxi firm. Was told to head for Bridgnorth because there was a railway station there. I then found a Tourist Info place and they said there would be a bus, one every two hours, that went to Bridgnorth. Cool. Had time for a pint, a read of the sports papers and then got the bus.

…more to follow

I want a fucking house in the Vale of Heath – not renting a flat next the Nth Circular in Bounds Green. Bah.

Listening to lots newish music, mainly presents from my sister (latest Yo La Tengo LP is quality) and Phil (Scuba LP is great too) – and then reading books from my Mum, David Mitchell’s Ghostwritten and whatever his new one is called.
Part organised the work pub quiz – despite being on holiday – and that was good fun again although Nic was playing the music instead of me so that wasn’t so cool – I love sorting out playlists and stuff for the pub at work, you can’t call it deejaying, but you can call it turning off rubbish songs and playing stuff the drinkers actually want to here – not endless Cliff Fucking Richards and some indie nonsense (take note Nic).
Two nights in a row went down the fairly horrendous Empire @ Leicester Square – nasty casino but no dress policy and as a group we won some money, Jess mainly – me not really.

Been down south to see my family and celebrate my cousins and brothers birthdays – ate very well. Built a dam in the forest, went for a shortish walk round Boldre, bought everyone pub lunch with work bonus (£500! somehow…) and drank a bottle of the Oz wine ‘Cracker’ which I had bought from the Oz & NZ wine festival thing earlier in the year – very fruity and somewhat sweet but very nice all the same – unsure if it was as good as I remember it but no worries – still great!

Watched saints lose… again. Never. never seen them win. Ever. OK, so I’ve only watched 10 or 11 games but even so, one win would be great. I think I’m bad luck and next time I turn up at St Mary’s I expect bouncers refusing me entrance… one of these days I’ll see them win… bah.

Few weeks back was dressed up as a pirate hunting for treasure round Cambridge and drinking far too much – fun time had although did lose my phone – pay as you go and crap so no worries there – being a pirate is awesome, lots of people stop you for photos. Cambridge is cool too. Eye-patches and glasses do not mix. ‘Clear the decks’ and ‘Assume the position’ are great games to play.
More stag do’s coming up – nice.

& walked past a hedgehog on my way home from pub – we both stopped to check each other out and then he walked off sharpish. Hedgehogs are cool.

Still, it is always a rush with me, today’s no exception;
In haste I leave the map behind. I curse last nights drunkenness
When I forgot to charge my mobile phone, one little thing lost.

The trains run slow through the south London morning, sunny, yet grey.
In a back garden a heap of mannequins lie sinister
In a bonfire like pile. Trampolines stand un-bounced, forgotten.

Leaving Portsmouth it feels odd that you can not see the island,
But the journey is just as short as any ferry taken
In the past. I remain behind schedule but not yet anxious.

The train to Sandown must be a re-purposed underground one,
Maybe an old Metropolitan Line from sixty years back.
I read about the general election from my newspaper.

The town, like many other on the island feels preserved, stuck
In my memories of the nineteen eighties, walking to the
Beach I pass a Labour election sign, the first I have seen.

Passed the tired seaside clubs, the mini golf and attractions
That live across the road from the beach, I walk to Yaverland
Where the humanist naming ceremony for Lily is.

its only the people in Iceland
who live nearest to it who
will suffer any. Their animals
will mostly die, no doubt, but
as long as they remain locked

inside their houses waiting
then they shouldn’t get too
ill. ‘Still’, she reasons,
‘its mucking the car up and
we had that cleaned recently.’