Is it big and bad and beastly?

She looks aghast

Ooo Mother!

Well it was definitely beastly. And bad.

An ugly brute it was.

You too can see wot she saw.

Scroll down a bit. To the previous post

I’m about to go scare some little kids.

I’ve just sat on a small furry animal

Have I repented from my wicked ways?

Nope. A right cheeky dastard i is. Positively Hobbity.

Maybe praying for Guidance from the Big Man will help.

And it looks like i may have been offered Salvation

Cus I’ve gone all spiritual

And had an “E-puff-fanny”

Not to be mistaken for an Epiphany of course. Which is what serious religious people have.

And I’m not Serious or Religious. I’m Silly.

So I went hunting out some of these supposedly “magnificent” listed buildings yesterday.

This be the National Provincial Bank (that was)

A great big rectangular box.

And this is The Athenaeum.

A smaller rectangular box.

And this is The Civic Centre

A great big tall oblong box.

One of the counselors interviewed on prog said “Most people in Plymouth consider The Civic Centre an abomination”. As do I. Bloody horrible it is. Why £40 million squid of public money should be used to save it is beyond me. Blow the Monstrosity up.

And as for all the other big boxes – of which Plymouth centre seems to have plenty – blow those ugly buggers up too. Like this one,

Then apply a few sticks of dynamite to this Travelodge

(Actually, I’d detonate all Travelodges. Abominations all)

For the sake of balance, and in the spirit of fair-mindedness, I’ll end with a couple of pics that show Plymouth in a slightly more positive light.

This new “Wheel of Plymouth” for example

Its a rip off of The London Eye. Nothing very original. And nothing original about the name either. No fancy elliptical name for prosaic Plymouth – just uninspiring, “Wheel of Plymouth”.

But at least its a Circle – and not a flippin Big Box. Halleluiah!

And it will probably become as popular in Plymouth as The Eye is in London (although hardly anyone was wheeling around in it yesterday)

Here it is pictured together with something recognisable on The Hoe.

The Cenotaph. Properly iconic to Plymouth that is.

There’s no way that the centre of Plymouth will ever be a “tourist attraction” (hoped for by that crusty twit) Unless you’re tourists from the old style Communist block. Or are a delegation of North Korean apparatchiks.

Mind you, North Koreans won’t ever get to see the centre of Plymouth. Or feel at home in it. Mores the pity. They’re stuck inside their own box-hell-hole. A prison that also begins with P (Pyongyang)

She perked right up as soon as shopping started though. Diving into that J Norman shop like a ganet after fish. Came out with 2 kills: a half price jacket and skirt. That’s £45 quid saved then. Or squandered (pick the point of view that suits your personality)

Its funny how much “Norris” (or derivatives of) keeps slipping into my personality, masquerading as me.

Funny amusing or funny peculiar. Will depend on how daft/stupid you consider the saying of “Hartle-poo -el” is.

So this is the “2012 Planner”

• Red Lake walk (enforced) and (boot) camp
• Trying (again) to fly kite.
• Brent Tor Church.
• Bike Riding: Totnes; maybe go by train.
• Red Spotted Hanky Trains to: Bristol (visit zoo), Taunton, Truro, Penzance, Glastonbury, Salisbury.
• Visit Eden Project
  
• Game of football.
• Watch cricket (with cucumber sarnies and cream tea)
• Speedway.
• Plymouth Firework Festival (in August – don’t forget!)
  
• Sketching or crayoning a picture.
• Abbotsbury swans (probably too far away)
• Dartmoor “We Bought a Zoo”; such a life-affirming story.
• Eat haggis (K’s wish this)
  

All small modest endeavours. Nothing fancy about munching a cucumber sarnie while watching the sleepy bounce of wafty bat on gentle ball. Yes, all eminently endeavourable.

Funny (meaning a bit sad) how “Going to Paris” seems to have quietly dropped out of our dreams though.

But there’s no need to pull that flippin face – is there?!

I mean, fancy turning up at Mothers looking like this

It’s just not on that. Whats up with the girl?

See, got a right Lady Ga gob on

It’s off to bash nuts with that face!

Ok, could it be the reason Kaz is looking like this this morning is cus she drank a touch too much of the old mulled red vino last night?

Yes. So that’s it. I get it now. Explains why she feels a bit “puddled” see.

A contrast or antidote to the Big Bang Fireworks we’d been to only 3 hours previously.

And in its own sweet little way making just as much impact.

Squeezing our way through a crush of 250,000 to get as near as poss to the London Eye. Waiting for 3 hours surrounded by Chinese, Japanese, and Indians etc clicking away on their flashy digi’s. Most of the spectators were non-English (80%?) So what does that make this London fireworks display? A celebration of the Best of British for us – the Brits? Or something being put on for the benefit of foreign tourists? (I was wondering to myself while waiting)

Anyway, here come the fireworks, Big Ben is donging down the countdown – and Whoosh!  – we’re up, up, and away. For the next 11 minutes and 15 seconds over 12,000 fireworks were “at it” giving it large – a bloody great blast of Boom Bang a Bang. Impressive.

But feeling not quite as flabbergastingly Wow! as they’d looked on telly last year. Although watching the BBC broadcast (when we got back) they appeared amazing. The editing between camera, music, and fireworks makes all the difference cus so beautifully choreographed. You don’t get the same multi-layered all round perspective down on the ground – its more boomed in your ear holes blasting your face off.

Here’s the full 11 min BBC presentation to show what I mean

mmmm

Our down-to-earth “little” take on it was more visceral. And well worth all the long wait and the argy bargy elbow routine – with K gripped on to my arm for dear life (there’s only 5 ft 2 of her in those flat boots, a titchy little thing she is)

Another 10 hours till the train back. So what we gonna do now? Make melee with the rest of the 250,000 crowd for a while. Jump on the Tube cus its free. Go and listen to a nightingale robin whistling its lovely little head off (there’s a vid of that coming up). Sit around on the floor of Paddington Station. Lie up quiet corners. Go bin diving for stickers to get free cup of coffee (McDonalds).

The 10 hours wait wasn’t so long really. And it was a mild night. (even warmer than Madrid and Morocco apparently)

Yes, it had all been worth it. As much for all those little incidental details as for the big Event itself. Here’s our shorter, smaller, noisier version of the Big Fireworks.

Now I’ll put some flesh on the funny bones of that vid.

A year when we had 2 Springs and no Summer.

A year with George Formby in it (all year) making us daft (for dancing)

A year when we finished our year of wild camping (in July); all those dark winter months shivering our ya ya’s off. Sleepless. Barely a wink. Mind you,  K got a Sirstiffycat for all her aches and pains. But I’m glad I/we did it. Now that it’s over. Lol. And some of these camps will never be forgotten (Cuckoo and Hawthorn camps especially)

A year of going new places:queuing up for 6 hours at Wimbledon (to see no tennis); lots of Red Spotted Hanky trains: down to loony Looe, and Bath (walking our silly legs off), up the Tamar Valley for Calstock music festival; then to Bridgwater Carnival, and Cardiff; ferrying over – with 2 goldfish – to Mount Edgecumbe.

A year where we found new places closer to home: our very own “Buckie Falls” plus our very own private garden up on Dartmoor, that lovely little Ashburn spot; climbing up the Ugg Bugger (Uggborough Beacon);  searching around for and eventually finding Kitty Jays grave.

Revisiting some familiar places:the wild orchard by the Dart; Buckfast Abbey herb garden; up Brent “happy” Hill.

A year of strudeling and crumpet bombing. And slow-cooking. And a processed plastic cheese slice slapped on an egg for breakfast! Proper job!

Norris got a ukelele for his birthday (which he sent back the ungrateful twit) and Miss Meercat-ears had her (first) half century birthday; got her other nostril pierced; says she’s going to get piercings on every birthday till she’s 60 (I’ll make sure she keeps her word)

A year when boule and badminton gave way to biking: cycling down the Exe estuary to the lonesome Pine; and around Haldon Forest.

Courageously climbing fallen pine tree. Taking that log of a dog Jodie out for a walk. Her 2nd only ever. And slipping down steep slopes in the dark looking for pee-pee places. It’s all dangerous stuff this!

A year when we gave up on football cus too expensive (saw Exeter beat Walsall in Jan is all) and switched allegiance to speedway (much more fun really, and cheaper)

A year of gathering fish; got a big glass bowl and 8 new fish: dear Dennis died (despite K resurrecting him twice to life) Princess Buggles had become the new star. But she frizzed her fan in the filter – so i had to freeze her.

A year of watching the classics on YouTube: Middlemarch, Silas Marner; Mill on the Floss; The Virgin & The Gypsy; Alan Bates as the Mayor of Casterbridge) Plus loads of “funny” foreign films; and funny Formby Georgie films (K keeps laughing her mascara off)

I’d pick out these as my Top Happys:

• Brent Hill: how not to fly a kite; those 2 trains curving around the bend in the hill – perfect synchronicity.
• Norris Dancing: vids that will always bring smiles to our faces.
• Cuckoo Camp: by Venford reservoir; worth every sleepless moment.
  
• Dawn rising: up at the Church-on -the-hill.
  
• Buckfast Bells: swelling up over the red roses.
  
• Ashburn: ravishing delish duck legs, feeling all loved up with sun.
  
• Under the scraggly Hawthorn: waking up with our faces being gently bathed in Moor mist. Romantic.
  
• Mothecombe beach: the hot dog day; paddling into the warm sea.
• Bath: listening to the buskers, sucking jelly babbys.
  
• Speedway: pure methanol fumed nostalgia trip for me.
  
• Xmas Eve Fire: Primitive. Cosily tucked up the corner. Magical.

Its amazing how much happens in a year. Even when nothing much feels like it has.

Its all about the perception.

“Its not about The Seychelles but picking up the seashells”

(on Mothecombe beach) says our Kaz.

I says “bu bum” to that. Lol

]]> http://sweedartandarlin.wordpress.com/2011/12/29/how-2011-was/feed/ 0 0.000000 0.000000 0.000000 0.000000 thecatcanwait http://sweedartandarlin.wordpress.com/2011/12/25/xmas-stuff-yer-face-day/ http://sweedartandarlin.wordpress.com/2011/12/25/xmas-stuff-yer-face-day/#comments Sun, 25 Dec 2011 11:06:39 +0000 thecatcanwait http://sweedartandarlin.wordpress.com/?p=2651 Continue reading →]]> Full of Titli trifle.

And roast pheasant. A scrawny looking thing. So Kaeren brought in reserves: of chicken drum sticks, and pigs in their blankets.

Drinking a mulled wine concoction of dribs & drabs.

We hadn’t got out of bed till about 1 – listening to that little Icelandic gay elf boy Jonsi.

And then daft lad George joined the party. And later on rolly-poly old gurn faced Les (Dawson)