Spam, spam, spam

You've got to love 'intelligent' google ads which analyse your emails so they can target you with things you really want to buy, but just don't know it. I went into my spam folder today to delete a few rogue emails and was offered spam fritters at a bargain price. No comment.

South Wales

Living the dream

One of the highlights of living in Bristol is spending your days in a permanet TV set. Not only is the BBC's Casualty filmed here (yes, I've been in the same pub as a Casualty star. This would have been a dream when I was about 14, less so now), the E4 over-the-top teen series Skins (which is about what I should have been like if I had been a coolkat kid at 14 rather than watching Casualty) also features the hilly streets of Bristol. But for true got- the- t-shirt, seen- the-location satisfaction, you need to pop over the Severn Bridge to the land of Gavin and Stacey. Oh yes, today I fulfilled that lifetime ambition to visit Barry Island. Home to Nessa's amusement arcade, Dave's coaches and many near-vertical streets of terraced houses. Better than TV anyday.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/wales/southeast/sites/barry/pages/gavinandstacey.shtml?2

20 January 2009

I remember where I was: on the 14th floor of an office block, clustered with three others around a Mac computer. That's where, on the BBC website, I watched the inauguration of Barack Obama as President of the United States of America. Nowhere remarkable, but the remarkable nature of this event was everywhere. History. With a capital H.

2008 is now over

16 January. A day to celebrate. I have finally finished Christmas turkey leftovers!

Preludes IV

His soul stretched tight across the skies

That fade behind a city block,

Or trampled by insistent feet

At four and five and six o’clock;

And short square fingers stuffing pipes,

And evening newspapers, and eyes

Assured of certain certainties,

The conscience of a blackened street

Impatient to assume the world.

I am moved by fancies that are curled

Around these images, and cling:

The notion of some infinitely gentle

Infinitely suffering thing.

Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;

The worlds revolve like ancient women

Gathering fuel in vacant lots.

From Preludes by TS Eliot

Running away with it...

This week has been one of - groan - self-discovery, and - double groan - New Year's resolutions. I've already broken one hastily made goal, or at least have the intention to do so on March 15th when I don't run the half-marathon in Bath. Yes, 13 miles of pavements I will not be gracing with my - ehem - fast-footed, finely-honed running. Having made this solemn confession, I can add that my head is not hanging in complete shame, as I have every intention of trying to do the Bristol half-marathon instead, in the more realistic month of September. And I've even taken the first step of joining a beginners' running group to up my rather pathetic 25 minutes slow jog to something a little more half-marathon-worthy. However - here's the self-discovery bit - I've realised much as I quite enjoyed the run, I can't think of anything worse than wanting to be Paula Radcliffe. (Note to all - this was never likely, but play along.) Imagine it. One foot after the other for hours and hours, miles and miles each week. (According to her training diary, published in The Guardian's cannily-timed 'Get Fit' supplement yesterday, a daily 'warm-down' run lasts 35-40 minutes. I rest my case.) Imagine the daily mental battles - just to that tree, that lamppost, count to 100 three times, don't stop, don't stop, don't stop. Worst of all, a relaxing part of the training appears to be an ice bath. An ice bath? Relaxing? No siree. Proper runners can keep their ice baths and warm-down runs to themselves. Give me a bit of running and a warm bath filled with bubbles anyday.

Greetings!

Happy New Year! Welcome to 2009!