On the Road Again

After three years without a car, I finally bought another car. Actually, I bought two. First, I bought a VW Golf. I had it fifteen days, then I crashed it. It was a write off. I had to wait a month for the insurance check. Once the insurance paid off, I started looking for another car. With the Golf, I got lucky. I found it the first day I started looking with money in my pocket. The second car took me over a month to find. I finally settled on a Peugeot, which cost half as much as my Golf. I never dreamed I would ever buy a French car. In any case, the Peugeot has survived and gets good mileage. It's great being off public transport and I get to and from work in half the time.




A woman I wanted to date turned me down, a couple of years ago, because I didn't have a car. More recently, last year, another woman I was briefly dating complained that she didn't want to go on dates with me riding on the bus. This was despite the fact that she didn't own a car and road the bus every day, herself. She told me, "you need to buy a car." I let her know that I would buy a car when I was ready, not when she snapped her fingers. Both these women lost out on a relationship with me, because they couldn't be patient. I wonder how many others made the same mistake?



When I was younger, I always wanted flashy sports cars. Several times in my life, I loaded myself with expensive car payments to support this desire. This time, after three years with no car, I decided that any car is better than no car. I paid for my modest car cash. No loan payments to make, it has cheap insurance, and good fuel economy. Maybe I have finally learned a lesson.

Easier Christmas Shopping

Yesterday, I awakened to find that my racist, Italian housemate, Nando, had the day off from work. I rushed downstairs in my robe, to see if he was going out. Sure enough, he was sitting at the kitchen table, fully dressed in house leaving attire and smoking a cigarette. In front of him was a cup of one of his coffee concoctions.
In response to my inquiry, he informed me that he was going into town, to do some shopping. I asked him if I might tag along, if I got dressed quickly. After cautioning me that he would be out shopping for a couple of hours, he agreed that I might accompany him. The advantage for me is that Nando has a car, so I would get free, door to door transport, between home and the town centre. I'm not sure what the advantage would be for Nando, but that was his problem, not mine.
As Nando pulled into a pay, multi-storey car park, it occurred to me that we could enjoy free parking in Camberley. When I suggested going to Camberley instead, Nando said he couldn't be bothered. He's willing to pay a couple of quid for parking, rather than make the effort of driving a couple of extra miles. His first errand was to go to the bank and pay a bill. There are so many ways that Nando's life is less convenient, as he refuses to get a computer and and internet access. So much of what he goes out to do, I can do over the net, from the comfort of my bedroom.
After the bank, our next stop was a card shop, where he started looking for Christmas cards. It was so crowded, I decided to wait for him outside, where I managed to find a bench to sit on. As I sat, I addressed a Christmas card to my mother, back in America. Most likely, this would be the only Christmas card I would send, this year. Having finished addressing the envelope, I read a book, as I continued waiting for my Italian friend. When he finally appeared, he told me not to get up, as he wanted to sit and have a cigarette.
After his nicotine break, Nando walked over to a store, diagonally across the pedestrianized square. This emporium boasted massive discounts, on large, red signs in all its windows. At the entrance, I told Nando that I was going to the post office. I might as well get my mother's card in the post, as soon as possible. While Nando had been in the card shop, I had tried to find my voucher for a free eye exam, from one of the high street, optical chains. Having my eye exam was one of the tasks I was hoping to complete on this trip. Sadly, I had been unable to find it. I would have to print off another one, so that was one task that would need to await another trip.
Arriving in the post office, I was shocked to discover a very long queue. This was a Thursday afternoon. Where were all these people coming from? Don't they have jobs? Also, why is it there are about nine windows in the post office, but they never seem to have more than three of them staffed, at any one time? One staff member was standing near the front of the queue, asking people if they wanted to apply for a Post Office credit card. Everyone was turning him down. Surely, he would have been better employed manning another one of the windows, so the line could be serviced quicker. As chance would have it, I ended up with the only female working the windows. She charged me £1.22 to send my card to my mother. That seemed a bit higher than I used to pay. Usually, it's under a Pound. At least she stamped and posted it for me. That's much better customer service than in the past, when they hand me some stamps and my envelope back, which I have to put in the post box myself.
Having escaped the postal ordeal, I then visited my bank, which is just across from the post office. I checked the exchange rate for Dollars. Then a young man in a bank uniform asked me if he could help. I asked what the current fee was for international money orders. It had been years since I had sent one to my mother. While he didn't know, he asked a beautiful, female member of staff and she informed me that the price was £1 more than it was the last time I used the service, over five years ago. It was still £5 cheaper than a wire transfer. The young man proceeded to engage me in conversation. He admitted that the bank was quiet and there was definitely a business slowdown, for them. We discussed the pros and cons of my getting another loan, next year, to finance a motor vehicle purchase. Then we talked about the economy and the futile attempts of politicians to control it.
Eventually, the young banker was needed, to do some actual work. I left to find Nando. Checking my mobile phone, I discovered that Nando had sent me a text, about twenty minutes earlier. At that time, he was heading to HMV. He could have been anywhere after twenty minutes, so I called him. When he answered, he informed me he was at W. H. Smith, so I told him I'd meet him there. After I caught up to him, we went to Boots. There, he purchased several items, including four of the same thing. He said that item was buy three, get one free. I suggested that his friends might get annoyed if he gave four of them the exact same Christmas present. Undeterred, he rationalized that none of the four knew each other and like he felt about most things, when it came to Christmas shopping, he couldn't be bothered. Since Nando didn't have a Boots loyalty card, he agreed that I could have the points from his purchase. As we were near the car, he decided to put the purchases he'd made so far in the car. I waited in the warmth of Princess Square shopping mall, reading my book.
When Nando returned, he led us to Argos. He informed me that he was looking for a CD rack, for his girlfriend's daughter. I suggested that he try Woolworth's, as they were closing down, or Bentall's, although the latter would not be cheap. I also suggested that he try the discount shop, run by the geezers in the turbans. As Bentall's was closest to our position, we went there first. Nando found some crystal wine glasses he wanted, there, but thought they were a bit pricey. Leaving the glasses, we went to Costa Coffee. Nando wanted a cup of coffee and a cigarette. He bought me a hot chocolate. I wonder if he'd forgotten that I now earn more than him? We sat outside, European style, where he could smoke. Over our refreshments, he informed me that the planned regeneration of Bracknell town centre had been put on hold, again, due to the credit crunch. We agreed that the town centre looked dismal and needed a regeneration. There seemed to be fewer Christmas lights, this year, and fewer children's rides.
Having refreshed, we made our way to Woolie's. I looked for bargains in the CD section, while Nando went off in search of a CD rack. I resisted the temptation to buy any CDs and Nando found nothing there he wanted. This might end up being the last time I step into a Woolworth's. The chain closed in America, over a decade ago. On to the discount store, run by the turban wearing geezers. After browsing awhile, Nando inquired. One of the non-turban wearing staff agreed to show us their selection of CD racks. The Italian picked out a wall mounted unit, which happened to be the cheapest.
With CD rack in hand, we returned to Bentall's, so Nando could purchase the wine glasses. While we waited to pay, Nando looked over the CD rack. Puzzled, he asked me how it stood up. "It's a wall mounted unit," I replied. "You screw it into the wall, just as it shows on the picture." It was then that I discovered that Nando hadn't realized that his purchase wasn't a free standing CD rack. He's not very good at this shopping stuff, I suppose. I suggested that he return to the discount shop and ask to exchange it for one he preferred. He had doubts about the willingness of the shopkeepers to exchange it, but I reassured him that, given that he wasn't asking for a refund and that he'd be purchasing a more expensive one, they'd be fine with it.
Back we went to the discount shop, which was in the opposite direction to the car. Several times, Nando expressed doubts about being able to exchange the CD rack, but each time I reassured him. Once we were at the store, the exchange went off without a hitch, as I expected. We headed back towards the car and I helped Nando carry his packages. So, I turned out to be some use to him, after all. In the car, I helped pay for the parking, as Nando didn't have enough change. I ended up covering about 35% of the cost, which was less than my hot chocolate cost.
As Nando drove us home, I reflected on what lessons could be learned about Christmas shopping, from our day out. Use the internet, whenever possible, so you don't have to gown into town, if it can be avoided. Be careful that what you buy is what you want, what you really, really want, like the Spice Girls. It then occurred to me that I had only looked at things to buy myself, during the outing. Christmas shopping is much easier if you only shop for yourself. They say it's better to give than to receive, so surely it's best to give AND receive. Buying gifts for yourself would ensure that. Nando experienced frustration, while I had an enjoyable day out. I spent a minimal amount of money, looked at several purchases, but didn't make them, and I even got my mother's Christmas card into the post. Santa Claus could take lessons from me. So, if your tempted to buy anything in this run-up to Christmas, don't. Have a cup of hot chocolate instead, preferably at your friend's expense. Have a merry Christmas and if no one gets you the gift you want, buy it yourself, during the after Christmas sales.

How Old Does She Think I Am?

Last Wednesday, on the way home from my day job, I decided to take advantage of an accumulation of loyalty points and stop at a supermarket, to redeem some of them. It was my turn to buy toilet paper, for the house. Toilet paper is one of those items I can't get free, at work. With a family size pack running about £4, it seemed like the ideal time to cash in some points.
I stopped in the Sainsbury's in Camberley, before catching the train home. Spotting some vegetables marked down, I added some impulse items to my basket. When I was ready to check out, I was faced with one of those supermarket dilemmas. To my left was a very attractive, "black" female cashier, with no one in line. To my right, an ugly, "white," female cashier, equally idle. Which cashier should I choose? Cheekily, I asked the "black" gal, "which one of you should I go to?" Unimpressed, she suggested that I use the other woman. Despite her advice, I started putting my purchases on the "black" woman's conveyor belt. I had overcome a moment's hesitation, when the thought occurred to me that the ugly woman might be the better cashier. When it comes to picking checkout queues, beauty usually wins out, with me. If I must stand in a queue, I might as well have a pretty face to look at. I would come to regret my decision.
I'd found a real bargain in toilet paper. I selected a package of Sainsbury's own brand, which was sixteen rolls for the price of twelve. This was the largest package of loo roll I had ever purchased and me without a car. Fortunately, it came with a built-in handle. With my other purchases in a carrier bag and having saved £7.50 off a total bill of just over £8, I walked to the Camberley train station. I'd messed up my timing and just missed the train to Ascot. That left me with almost thirty minutes to wait for the next one. Sitting down to pass the time, I happened to start reviewing the receipt from my shopping. I have a tendency to look over my receipts from supermarkets, to check that I haven't been over-charged. Usually everything is fine, but this time, it wasn't. The pretty cashier had overcharged me by thirty pence! I contemplated going back. It would be a pain in the ass to walk back, with the things I was carrying: my black shoulder bag, my package of sixteen loo rolls, and my carrier bag of impulse purchases. Still, I had time to kill and I hate losing money unnecessarily. As I walked back to the store, it occurred to me that the ugly woman probably wouldn't have made the mistake. A lot of ugly women are good at their jobs, because they can't just coast through on their looks.
I managed to get my thirty pence back and still catch the next train to Ascot. Once in Ascot, I changed platforms and caught the first train towards Reading; a necessary step, if one is going to Bracknell. After arriving in Bracknell, I decided that I'd had enough of schlepping with all the things I was carrying. I decided to treat myself to a bus ride home, rather than the half-an-hour walk. When the 194 arrived at the bus station, it was a double-decker. I didn't feel like struggling with all my stuff to the upper deck, especially as I was only going three stops. However, because I was one of the last people on the bus, there were no more easily accessible seats on the lower level. I resigned myself to parking my packages in the area provided for luggage and stand. As the bus started off, a lovely, oriental, young woman, seated in the single seat nearest to me, asked if I wanted to sit down. Even though I said, "no," she got up anyway. I figured she must be getting off soon, so I took the vacated seat.
It felt good to be seated. I eyed my benefactor and she smiled at me, when we made eye contact. She was short and looked a little like Lucy Liu, only with a slightly darker complexion. As I sat looking her over, thinking she's somewhat attractive, I tried to decide what Asian country she might be from. She looked Chinese, but with the tanned coloring that is common amongst Thais and Nepalese. As I was enjoying the view of her long, dark hair, we passed the first couple of stops without her getting off. It suddenly occurred to me that she hadn't gotten up because she was getting off. She had deliberately vacated the seat so I could have it, like one would do for an elderly person. Looking at her and estimating her age to be in her early twenties, I thought, "how old does she think I am?" Here I had been, fantasizing over her, sexually, and she'd been treating me like an old age pensioner! The pleasure of getting to sit had turned into a sour taste in my mouth. I'm not even fifty yet, for Pete's sake!
The bus approached my stop, so I signaled that I wanted to get off. As I gathered my things, I noted that the young woman was still on board. Well, at least she could have the seat back. I slipped out the door, leaving my little, oriental fortune cookie on board. Oh, the humiliation! She thinks I am an old man. I walked home from the bus stop, with my bags, sixteen rolls of toilet paper, and my bruised pride. Should I stoop to coloring my hair to hide the grey? What price vanity?

Old York

When I heard the Station Manager of Seaside Radio mention going to a museum of trains, I couldn't contain myself. Turning my reaction to this overheard bit of information into a joke, I berated him, mildly of course, for never telling me about this museum. His reaction? He promised to take me to it. Yesterday, that promise was fulfilled.
After I arranged myself in the back seat of my boss' car, the Manager's acquaintance, Dave, climbed into the front seat. With minimal delay, we were on our way. Dave, who was visiting from Northern Ireland, was quiet at first, but my constant banter eventually got through to him. On the way to York, we stopped in a small town, to visit another station. It seems Dave is a bit of a radiophile, not to mention a borderline train spotter. My boss talked tech with the station's management, while Dave looked on, seemingly enraptured. My interest waned after a few minutes. Once you've seen one bunch of radio equipment, you've seen them all, right? Besides, no one was paying any attention to me. It became a bit more interesting when they finally took us to see the studio. That would be the bit where I would work. The guy on air was about 100 years older than I thought he would be, listening to him in the car. The show he was doing sounded awful, to me. While technically competent, it was just the same old thing: a tired top 40 clone. A robot could have performed just as well.
Back on the road, we covered the rest of the distance to York fairly quickly. I have never been to the city before. It's an old, walled city. Founded in the year 71, the walls are older than New York, where I come from. We found the cheaper parking, across the street from the National Railway Museum, that one of the guys at the radio station we visited had recommended. It was almost full, but we managed to come across a space. On the grounds of the museum, a very large Ferris wheel was glistening in the sunlight. Known as the Yorkshire Wheel, it's a smaller imitation of the London Eye. Once in the entrance hall to the museum, we were pleased to discover that entrance to the museum is free. My boss asked if Dave and I wanted to go on the wheel. With his Northern Ireland accent, this sounded like "whale." I was trying to figure out what whale he was talking about, when it finally dawned on me that he meant the wheel. Since he was paying, I said yes. So did Dave. We all agreed that we would tour the museum first, then ride on the "whale." My boss acquired our "whale" tickets as well as our free museum tickets, then we immersed ourselves in railway hardware.
If you like trains, then the National Railway Museum is for you. I've always had a love affair with trains, since the earliest days of my childhood. I was interested in going to the museum, because my old friends, the husband and wife couple, Tim and Barbara, are due to visit me for Christmas. Tim is more into trains than I am, so I wanted to scout out this attraction, with a view toward taking them there in December. The National Railway Museum is home to many old locomotives, including famous ones, like the Flying Scotsman and the Mallard. If your taste runs more toward the modern, there are life-sized models of a Japanese Bullet train as well as the Eurostar. The museum offers more than just locomotives. There are railway cars, including retired carriages for the royal train, used by British kings and queens. On display are all sorts of items relating to railroads. Signs, signals, promotional material, plates, and furniture. I expect Tim will love it.
Once we had our fill of the trains, we made our way to the "whale." It may seem like a naff imitation of the London Eye, but rather than crawling around once, like the Eye, it is run at normal speed, like a traditional Ferris wheel. The view is wonderful. From the top, you can see not only the entire city of York, but the surrounding countryside. There's also a bird's eye view of the working, city train station. The rail lines run right by the Railway Museum. Another plus to the Yorkshire wheel is that the price is a fraction of the cost of the London Eye.
When our "whale" ride had finished, we set off to see the city centre. All of us were feeling a bit lazy, so we decided to ride a "free," miniature tram into town, made up to look like a steam train. One was waiting to depart just as we came out of the museum. My boss soon discovered that there was a charge to ride the tram he thought was "free." We were looking forward to riding into town too much to quibble, at that point, so we paid up. I was starving and my boss promised to take us to a restaurant which had great hamburgers. We set off in search of this culinary paradise. During the ensuing search, we wandered the streets of the old town. The old buildings now house modern shops, pubs, and restaurants. Narrow roads are bordered on either side by Tudor style architecture. This will appeal more to Barbara. Just when my boss was about to give up and settle for any old restaurant, we stumbled across it. I was so hungry, I didn't even notice the name. I'd had nothing since my train ride in to Hull that morning and by this point, darkness had fallen. I think all I could manage to mumble by that point was "food, food, food!" When the waiter came to take our order, I opted for a "Cajun Burger," and a Coke. Our timing was great, because as we waited for our food to arrive, the restaurant, which was nearly empty when we came in, filled up in a matter of minutes.
After dinner, which was tasty, we agreed we'd walk back to the car. Having rested our tired feet during dinner, the walk didn't seem too bad. I fell asleep during the drive back to Withernsea. I needed to get some rest before my marathon, seven hour radio show, starting at Midnight. My boss paid me quite a compliment by telling Dave that he must listen to my show. He even offered to loan Dave a radio to enable him to do so. You can also listen, via the internet, at www.seasideradio.co.uk . My show, "Night Waves," starts at Midnight, Saturday night and runs till 7AM, Sunday morning, UK time. Those times are five hours earlier on the east coast of the US, and eight hours earlier on the west coast.

Sunny Autumn Saturday

Yesterday morning, I woke up from a nice nap on the Northern train to Hull. Looking sleepily at the windows, something struck me as odd. The windows looked fuzzy. My just awaking mind struggled to come to grips with the visual data. The train rocked and seemed to be proceeding unusually slow. I yawned and scratched my head. "Why does the view look so weird?" I thought to myself. Suddenly, it came to me. Fog! We were traveling through thick fog.
By the time I got to Hull, the sun had just risen. Because of the fog, my train had arrived a few minutes late. I rushed to the gate for my bus to Withernsea. It would have to use gate 36! Thankfully, I made it. After buying my ticket, I climbed upstairs to the upper deck, taking my usual place in the front row. I love the view up there and since I ride to the last stop, it's worth the climb.
Once out of Hull, I could see patches of fog hovering over farmers' fields, along our route. The sky was clear and the sun slowly rose, higher and higher. Its radiation would burn off the fog as the morning progressed. I arrived at Seaside Radio and joined the on-air presenter in the studio. He had his 13-year-old son with him and was letting the boy choose music, as well as speak on air. They finished at 10AM and the lovely Susan Dukes took over. She turned up looking even better than the previous week. Her hair was freshly styled, make up immaculate, and she was even wearing a string of pearls. I teased her by reminding her that this was radio, not television. Susan still doesn't feel confident running the board, so she had the Station Manager, Justin, helping her. He closed the door to the studio, so she wouldn't be put off by the rest of us. I decided to walk the fellas out to their car.
Thinking I would only be outside for a moment, I left my jacket inside. During the hour and a half since I had arrived, the sun had made the day bright. It was warm enough that I didn't need my jacket. I walked with the father and son team, chatting to them. They went left, towards the sea, then left again, strolling along the road that parallels the beach. As we went further and further, I began to wonder how bloody far away from the station they had parked? Finally, I asked the father, "did you drive?"
"No," he said, "we walked." No wonder they hadn't stopped! I had inadvertently walked a couple of blocks from the station. I decided not to travel all the way to their house and bade them farewell. Turing around, I retraced my steps, back to Seaside Radio. I enjoyed the sound of the waves crashing against the shore and the smell of the sea. What a lovely autumn day.
The Justin had promised to take me sightseeing, but when I got back to the station, he told me something had come up and he wouldn't be able to, this weekend. He rushed off just after noon, so I went out into the sun again. I visited the outdoor market, which runs every Saturday. Then I tried walking to Tesco, to buy some drinks for my show. Although Justin claimed it wasn't a long walk to Tesco, I found it longer than I cared to indulge in. At least the weather was lovely. I saw a temperature sign which read 18 degrees, Celsius. I'm not quite sure how warm that is, as I was raised on Fahrenheit, but it seemed warm for the time of year. I wished every weekend could be that nice. Even the cashier at Tesco seemed in a good mood. I teased her a bit and she rewarded me with a big smile. So far, the women in Withernsea seem much friendlier than gals in London. I bought myself a cold bottle of Ribena drink, to refresh myself from my walk. I had worn my jacket, which turned out to have been a mistake. It was that warm. Sipping my blackcurrant juice drink, I made my way back to the station again. I'd done enough walking for one day.

Since When Do Men Wear Tops?

I managed to get myself going early, today, so I caught the bus into town. I needed to pick up clothes from the cleaners and buy some groceries. It was just a quick trip, as I wanted to get back in time to watch football, on TV. As I was walking back to the bus station, I encountered three young men, walking the opposite direction. One of the three was very tall, while the other two were short. The tall one was talking and I couldn't help but overhear. He was saying, "let's go and get those tops we saw the other day." That was all of the conversation I got to hear, as we passed each other. In a flash, they were out of earshot again.
As I continued walking to the bus station, the little snippet of conversation stirred my brain. There was something not quite right about it. I mulled it over for a few moments, while continuing to scan the walkway for beautiful women. Suddenly, it occurred to me...that young man said, "tops!" Since when do men buy tops? Men buy shirts. Women buy tops. What gives? Is this a sign of the further demasculinization of the British male? Come to think of it, that tall, young man looked a bit effeminate. Why were these boys going clothes shopping in the first place? That's a girly pass time. Why aren't they heading to the pub, or home, like me, to watch football? Now that's a manly pursuit. Sitting in front of your satellite TV, remote at your fingertips, cold beer in hand, watching the footie. If boys, these days, don't get to practice such manly activities, what will become of society?
Perhaps they were raised by single mothers. No man around to teach them the many arts of football watching, remote control fondling, and wearing shirts. What's worse, these lot probably put the toilet seat down, after they pee. Or, horror of horrors, they call it "weeing," instead of "peeing." The next thing you know, they'll be using moisturizers and tons of hair care products. No wonder Britain lost the Empire.

Should I Get An MP3 Player?

Life has hit me with one of those hard to resolve dilemmas. Should I get an MP3 player? As this weekend is a holiday weekend, in Britain, there are loads of sales on at the shops. I saw an ad in the paper for an MP3 player for only £9.95. I had considered buying one before, when they were advertised for £19.95. Now I am glad I waited. Okay, it's a basic model and only holds 12 hours of music, but still it's less than a tenner. Even I can afford that.
When I was driving my car, I didn't think I needed one, as I had the stereo in the car. Now that I am on the bus, I spend a lot more time musicless. Should I hold out for a better model? One that has an FM tuner costs £39. I can't quite bring myself to spend forty quid, when I am saving for a car. Technology gets cheap when you don't have to have the latest thing. All this stuff gets so cheap, if you wait. Still, I don't know if I can be bothered walking round with those little earphones in my ears. What do you think?

Ending Up in Slough

Today, I decided to be a little more motivated and go shopping. I wanted to visit the Tesco on the other side of town. It's possible to do so by bus and I have this weekly bus pass, so I might as well use it. First, I took my usual bus, the 194, to the Bracknell town centre bus station. So far so good. Then I consulted a map on the wall of one of the bus shelters at the station. This confusing, mish-mash of multi-colored lines was a map of local bus routes. From the map, it seemed that several bus routes stopped at Tesco. Some of them run infrequently, especially on Saturdays. The trick was in finding the next available bus.
From the map, it seemed like the 191 to Slough makes a stop at Tesco on the way. Of the several buses I was considering, the first to show up was a 191 to Slough. As it was a cold and rainy day, I was anxious to get going. I strode aboard, flashing my weekly ticket. For a moment, the thought occurred to me to ask the driver if he stopped at Tesco, just to confirm it, but I'm a guy and guys don't ask directions. The bus was a double-decker, so I just climbed the stairs to the upper level and took a seat in the front row.
After a few minutes of loading, the bus pulled off. These buses usually take tortuously indirect routes, traveling down some minor roads. It headed towards Ascot, which is tangental to the direction of Tesco. I kept waiting for it to turn left, towards Tesco, but it didn't. As the bus approached Ascot, I started thinking it didn't go to Tesco after all. Little did I know, the bus was just playing with me. It doubled back on itself, making a stop on the edge of Ascot before heading back towards Bracknell. At the first traffic light, it turned right, toward Tesco. I figured I had been worrying for nothing.
The bus proceeded down some roads I have never been on. It turned left and right again. Soon, I was disoriented. I tried to follow our progress by noting the road signs. It was hard to tell if we were making progress towards Tesco, or not. Finally, we reached a T intersection. Turning left would take us toward Tesco. A right turn would take us toward Windsor and Slough, beyond. Such a decisive nexus would be accompanied by music, if this were a film. Sadly, it was real life...no music. The bus turned right. There would be no stop at Tesco.
I started reviewing my options. There is a big Tesco next to the Slough bus station. Maybe I could get want I wanted there. I sat back to enjoy the ride. As we drove into the outskirts of Windsor, we passed the street where my evil ex-in-laws live. This stirred uncomfortable memories. Maybe one of them has died. Perhaps, one day, I should take the bus here and get off. Imagine their surprise if I should knock on the door, one day. This brought to mind Jack Nicholson's performance in "The Shinning." I could stick my face in the doorway and say, "here's Johnny!" Maybe it would be a better idea to go there on Halloween. Then, I could dress up in a costume, which would disguise my identity. "Trick or treat, motherfucker!"
You and I know I won't do any of these things. No getting off the bus. Instead, I stayed on all the way to the last stop, beautiful, downtown Slough. Slough has a bit of a reputation in this part of England. In 1937, John Betjeman published a poem about Slough. To give you an idea of how he felt about the town, here's the beginning of the poem: "Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough! It isn't fit for humans now..." You get the idea. More recently, Slough was the setting for the original, British version of the TV series, "The Office." Nowadays, the town is known for being full of immigrants, especially those from India and Pakistan. Recently, my racist housemate, Nando, and I watched a documentary on immigration, which featured Slough. The Indian and Pakistani former immigrants are complaining about recent arrivals from Poland, Romania, and Somalia. I am always amazed that long resident immigrants and the sons, and daughters of immigrants, so often complain about subsequent waves of immigration.
When I got off the bus and went into Tesco, I felt like I had stepped through a teleportation device. It was as if I had been transported to Southwest Asia. The supermarket was awash in women dressed in colorful outfits, of the style worn in Pakistan, or India. I have trouble telling the two apart. The fact is, India and Pakistan used to be one, but were partitioned in 1947, sixty years ago. There were numerous families of Asians and the odd English one, a minority in their own country. Unfortunately, this Tesco didn't have what I was looking for, so I decided to visit the Queensmere shopping mall, across the road.
No need to get wet in the rain, I crossed the road on a skybridge, covered walkway, a couple of stories above the roadway. In Queensmere, I was again confronted by a sea of Asian faces. Both the customers and the shop workers seemed to be mostly Asians. Looking in a mobile phone shop, I found a phone I like, which was marked down. Apparently it's a discontinued model now. I was very tempted to buy it, but decided to hold out. Continuing my stroll through the mall, I came across a shop that was having a clearance sale on men's clothes. In I plunged for a little retail therapy. They had suits for as little as £39. It was hard to find much in my size, though. I did discover a tuxedo for only £50. I could use a tux, but not bad enough to part with £50, this month. I looked through shirts, but didn't find any my size which I liked. Looking through the jackets, again I couldn't find one exactly right. Eventually, I tired of the shop and left.
I wandered around the entire mall, looking here and there, but didn't buy anything. After spending over an hour there, I decided it was best to head for home. By the time I walked through my door, it was just past 6:30. Nando was home, watching TV. The first thing I said to him was, "I went out and ended up in Slough." With an incredulous look on his face, he asked how I managed to do that. "Don't ask," I replied. I had managed to spend an entire afternoon without actually accomplishing much of anything. Fortunately, I didn't spend anything other than time. Suddenly, it occurred to me that I had forgotten to buy a big, Cadbury's chocolate, Fruit and Nut bar. Oh well, there's always tomorrow.

Sold Out

Tonight, I acted on my plan to phone about a few cars I found in the weekly "Ad Trader." Hitler's Nephew has started buying the paper, so I looked at it after he went to bed, last night. It saves me paying for it and, in a way, I get even with him for using my plates. The latest edition came out yesterday, so I was following up as early as I could. I called about the car that was my first choice on the list. A nice sounding, older, woman's voice politely informed me that it was sold already. Drat! I thanked her and hung up. Why did I thank her, she gave me bad news? I dialed my second choice. Some guy answered. "It's sold," he said. Double drat!! Even though I don't know why I am doing it, I thanked him too and hung up.
What's going on? Why is it all the cars I am interested in seem to be sold out before I get a chance at them? I dialed my third choice. This time, the phone just rang and rang, but wasn't answered. Frustrated, I went downstairs and told Nando what happened. He told me the weekly, free paper we get which comes on Thursday had arrived. I looked through the classifieds in it. Not one ad within my budget. Looks like I am still on the bus, for now. At least Nando and I get to share a couple of cold beers. Being foreigners, Nando and I haven't acquired the British taste for room temperature beer. We like ours ice cold. As I knock back a cold Becks, I think about cars. Somewhere out there is a car for me.

A Walk in the Sun

Both Nando and I were off, today. We both spent most of the day vegging out. I spent a lot of time in front of the TV. Hitler's Nephew went out about midday, so it was just me and Nando. Nando got up late and came downstairs about three hours after I did. Eventually, I turned the remote controls over to him and came upstairs to write. Between the bus travel and going away last weekend, I had fallen way behind on blogging, this week. I never got around to posting a new Artist of the Week. That was partially due to the fact that my first choice's Myspace page seemed never to load correctly, so I couldn't add their song. Oh well, the world will survive.
After spending a couple of hours catching up on my blog, I had a shower and dressed to go out. I checked with Nando, to see if he was going out. If he was, I could catch a ride with him, but no, he stayed home all day and night. By the time I got myself together, the local bus service had stopped running. I resigned myself to walking to my local Sainsbury's supermarket. I wanted to buy some lettuce and salad dressing, as I was out of both. I left the house a few minutes past 7 o'clock. At these northern latitudes, it's still daylight at that time, in the summer. As I walked up the street, I noticed how beautiful the day was. Long gone were the rain showers of July. The sky was blue and cloudless. It was almost a shame that Nando was missing it.
During my walk to the store and back, I saw children playing, people walking their dogs, a man and two girls on bicycles. My mobile beeped with a text message. It was from Nando. He wanted me to bring him back some coffee, from the store. Other than that, I was undisturbed. It took me just short of an hour to walk to Sainsbury's, shop, and come back. When I got home, Nando was still on the middle couch, unmoved. Despite my successful trip to the supermarket, I still felt like I didn't do much, today. As a treat, I had bought some big, soft, chocolate chip cookies, at the store. They were marked down to one-fifth their normal price, as they had reached their sell-by date. Nando and I shared half the cookies, as well as a couple of bottles of my free beer stash, while watching TV. All in all, it was a lazy, summer day. Not very productive, but enjoyable all the same.

Baby Shopping

I stopped at Tesco, today, on the way home. When I was at the checkout, I noticed that the couple in front of me had a young baby with them. No, this is not about shopping for babies in supermarkets. That would be cool, but this is not about that. It's about going shopping with a baby. The man was holding the tiny infant and swaying back and forth. That in itself was a bit too metrosexual for me. The woman was packing the groceries and dealing with the cashier. Observing this scene, I was struck by a fundamental question. Why the heck would you bring a baby to a supermarket? As there were two of these people, wouldn't it have been better for one to stay home, with baby, while the other did the shopping, unencumbered?
If it was a single parent, I could understand a little, bringing the baby. Although, even as a single, one could take advantage of Tesco's online shopping, order the groceries, and have them delivered. But as a couple, I see no advantages whatsoever. Not to mention that I, as a fellow shopper, didn't enjoy seeing the baby, nor the man swaying with it. His swaying was giving me vertigo. John Wayne wouldn't have swayed. I think it was Paula Cole who said, "where have all the cowboys gone?" Well, they ain't in the supermarket, pilgrim.

Supermarket Reunion

My artist friend, Jan, came over to see me, Sunday. I think this was partially motivated by a desire to see how I was doing after my hospitalization, last week. I was happy for the visit, because Nando, my racist, Italian housemate, was working on Sunday. Jan actually got me out of the house, which is a rare thing on a Sunday, when I don't have an audition, nor acting work. She wanted lunch and I had some meat, but no bread to make sandwiches. Worse still, I was out of cole slaw. Jan offered to drive me to Tesco and that was an offer I couldn't refuse. I directed her to the bigger Tesco, on the far side of Bracknell. I hadn't been there for a long time, as I have taken to stopping at the even larger Tesco in Sandhurst, on the way home from work.
When we got there, I discovered some things had changed since my last visit. The first thing I noticed was part of the car park was dug up. That doesn't really help the parking situation. Inside the store, the management had undertaken a program of rearranging the layout of the store. This seems to be a common problem affecting a number of stores in the Tesco chain. As the change was in progress, there was confusion and parts of sections were split amongst two different locations. As we wandered about the store, I saw what looked like a familiar back and side of someone's head. It was my friend and former co-worker, Russell Davidson. He's also a friend on Myspace. I looked for Jan, who kept wandering off, to introduce her. She's previously found Russell's comments on my blog very funny. This was their first time meeting in real life.
Russell and I talked for a while, then he needed to finish his shopping. I have been saying that I want to get to the point with my acting where I am recognized in Tesco. This wasn't quite what I had in mind. I meant recognized by strangers who want my autograph, or want to tell me useless things about themselves, or even who want to touch my monkey. I had lost Jan again. I tend to go through a supermarket in a very methodical way, starting from one end, then going up and down each aisle, one after another, till I reach the other end. Jan, on the other hand, seems to have an approach that reminds me of a drunken walk. It careens this way and that, with lots of doubling back on itself. Appropriately, I found her in the wine section. She had talked herself into buying herself some wine. Her interest in drink is similar to my friend Tom's. "You, me, and Tom should go shopping together," I said to her. Although Tom and Jan have communicated through Myspace and on the phone, they have yet to meet face to face.
Once Jan had finished her gathering, I led us towards the checkout tills. Ironically, straight ahead of us, as we came to the end of the aisle we were in, was none other than Corazon, the Heart of Tesco. I don't remember seeing Corrie since Christmas. I pointed out Corrie to Jan and prepared to introduce her, but Jan made a lateral move to a parallel till. She thought this would be quicker, as we could both check out at the same time. I was more interested in having her meet Corazon. I wasn't in a hurry. It was Sunday, after all. Corrie said she was surprised I remembered her name. Of course I would remember, she's previously been a star of my blog (see "Heart Stopping Supermarket Checkout," July 31, 2006 on blogspot; July 26, 2006 on Myspace). While we were talking, Jan came over, as she'd finished her checking out ahead of me. In the end, I did get a chance to show Jan Corazon, after all. It was great to encounter Russell, Jan, and Corazon, all at the same time. Maybe next time, you'll be there as well.

Staying With Tom

My good friend, Tom, agreed to let me stay over at his flat in London, on Tuesday night, so I could save the expense of traveling all the way back to Bracknell and back to London the next day. I brought along some DVDs to watch with him. Recently, Tom had asked if he could borrow some DVDs. I was hesitant, because I received a new DVD player as a gift, on Good Friday. That has led to me buying and watching more DVDs, now that I have something to play them on. Sometimes, Tom and I can go a long time without seeing each other. I was concerned that if I loaned him DVDs, I might not get them back for ages. Besides, I am happy to watch any of the films I own with him. I figured it was better for me to bring some when I visit and we can watch them together. That way, I can bring them back with me, when I go home. This time, I also remembered to bring the DVDs of a short film I am in, plus the "X-Forum" episode I appeared on.
When I reached the door to the building Tom's flat is in, I rang his buzzer. Once he realized it was me, he released the door lock, so I could enter the building. The hallway in Tom's building is usually dark when I come in. This time was no exception. After unlocking the outside door for me, remotely, Tom usually opens the door to his flat and leaves it ajar for me to enter. The light from inside his flat provides me with enough light to see where I am going. This time, Tom just unlocked his door, but didn't leave it ajar. Because of that, the hall was pitch black. When I was outside his flat, I literally couldn't see the door in front of my face. I used my hand to feel along the doorway. I could feel a door, but not any handle to open it with. Eventually, I could feel a flange of metal which is just above the lock. I exerted a pressure against the flange and the door opened. I walked into the flat and stopped. It looked different. It wasn't just that the decor had changed, even the physical layout of the flat was different. When I enter Tom's flat I have to turn left from the door to enter the lounge. Here, I just had to walk straight ahead. I slowly moved forward into the strange surroundings. Suddenly, a woman's voice called out, "hello?" I was in the wrong flat.
I yelled out, "sorry, I entered the wrong flat."
As I turned to go, a casually dressed woman appeared. She smiled and said, "that's okay." I felt embarrassed and tried to get out of there as quickly as I could. As I went back into the hall, I could see from the light spilling out of her flat that I'd inadvertently opened the door of the flat to the right of Tom's flat. How strange that her door was also unlocked.
Once I was safely inside Tom's, I told him, excitedly, "I just walked into some woman's flat!" Tom didn't seem like he could believe his ears, so I ended up repeating myself.
Tom being the way he is, he asked me, "was she naked?"
"What woman is going to leave her flat unlocked while she is naked?" I asked, rhetorically.
"I wondered why it was taking you so long to come in," Tom said. "Usually, you come in much quicker, when I buzz you in."
"Maybe you should invite her over for a drink, as a way of saying 'sorry,' " I suggested. Let Tom invite her. I wasn't ready to face her again, yet.
"That's a good idea," Tom replied. "You're lucky her boyfriend wasn't home, he's a cop. He might have shot you."
"On second thought, don't invite her," I said. Inviting a woman who has a boyfriend over for drinks is a fairly unproductive use of one's time. "Anyway, just because her boyfriend is a cop, doesn't mean he carries a gun." Most British cops don't carry guns.
I have been without a watch since my last one broke, early last year. Tom offered me an old, cheap, digital watch of his. I happily accepted. It's not one I would have bought, but a cheap watch was better than no watch. Besides, the price was right: free. Tom wanted to go to Tesco, primarily, it seemed, because he was out of beer. I offered to drive, but he said he would prefer walking there. As the days are getting longer, it was still light out. A walk might be enjoyable, but I was concerned that we might not get back in time for "Eastenders." Tom assured me we would. We set off into a warm, spring evening. Walking around the marina, I admired the boats we were passing. I asked Tom if he was seriously thinking about buying a boat. He'd mentioned something about it when we went to see "Curse of the Golden Flower," the week before. Tom seemed to be having second thoughts about getting a boat. I looked at the name of a largish sailboat, which was moored close to where we were walking. It was called, "the Black Pearl." "Hey, that's the Black Pearl!" I exclaimed. Tom didn't seem to see the significance of that fact. "That was the name of Captain Jack Sparrow's ship in 'Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl,' " I explained. Tom confessed that he'd not yet seen "Pirates of the Caribbean." My pearls of wisdom were being wasted on Tom.
We continued on our way to Tesco, eventually passing the sailing school. As we walked along the quay, I saw commuters coming home from work, heading the opposite way. Unlike Tom, I looked at every woman that passed us. Observing one blond as she approached us, I noticed that she appeared to be on the verge of crying. "That woman looked like she was about to cry," I told my younger companion. Tom didn't seem to have anything to say to that news. I wondered what was bothering her. Maybe she just got fired from her job. Nah, this is Britain. It's very hard to get fired, here. We turned the corner at the end of the quay. Then I was confronted with three joggers. Why anyone wants to run when he is not being chased is beyond me. I noticed a number of Orientals, as we walked. "There seem to be a lot of Oriental women around here," I observed to Tom. My observation seemed to leave him uninspired. In contrast, I am always inspired by Oriental women. As we walked through the subway which cuts under the last road before Surrey Quays Shopping Centre, I observed an attractive blond woman coming the other way. She had a carrier bag of shopping in one hand. Looking at her, I noticed she rolled her eyes, dramatically. I smiled at her. I often smile at women, when I am in a good mood. Sometimes, they smile back. I always get a thrill when one smile s back, even though it never seems to lead to anything. This one just rolled her eyes again. How odd! Maybe she has some sort of condition.
We soon reached Tesco. Tom stopped to use the cash machine outside. I don't know why he did that, when he could just use his card to pay for his purchases, but Tom often doesn't explain his eccentric behaviors. Once inside, we split up. He told me he'd be in the beer aisle. No surprise there. I picked up a sandwich to have at work the next day. I also added a bag of donuts, two bottles of sauce, a multi-pack of crisps, a box of microwave popcorn and two bags of peanuts, and two bottles of squash to my basket. Tom bought beer, wine, and some other bits. I looked at my new watch and noticed it was getting close to the time for "Eastenders" to start. I tried to hurry Tom along, but he seemed to be dragging his feet. It's almost like he was deliberately trying to cause me to miss "Eastenders." He went ahead of me at the checkout aisle. Of course, Tom picked an aisle with a male cashier. What a waste. Tom started chatting with the man operating the register. "Don't distract him, Tom, you're slowing him down," I said in exasperation. Tom just laughed to himself and continued chatting to the cashier. Oh for Pete's sake! "Would you two hurry up, there are people waiting," I said, trying to coax some speed out of them, again.
When it was finally my turn, I told Tom I bet I had spent less than him. His total had been £26. My total? £5.91. We walked out of the store with our purchases. I suggested taking the bus, but Tom wanted to walk. I was going to miss the beginning of "Eastenders." Because Tom doesn't even have Freeview, he doesn't get BBC Three, so I couldn't catch the re-broadcast at 10PM. We retraced our path back to his flat. Rounding the corner of the first quay, I saw a couple sitting on a bench, facing the water. The man had his arm around the woman and I noticed she was crying. As soon as we were a little past them, I said, "that woman was crying. How strange is that? We see a woman crying going in each direction."
"Maybe they are tears of joy," Tom suggested, like some overly optimistic leftist.
"Maybe he's saying to her, 'I'm going to rape you, as soon as those two geezers are gone,' " I countered. Neither possibility was very likely.
Back at Tom's flat, I rushed him to put on the TV as soon as possible. I felt relief to finally have "Eastenders" on. It's my favorite soap opera in the entire world. I sat watching it while Tom cooked dinner. After my show was over, I suggested putting on a film, from amongst the DVDs I brought. He didn't seem interested. He put some tosh on and I fell asleep in the comfy chair, where I usually sit. I woke up later and Tom was still on the settee, watching TV. Then I remembered the DVDs of the two projects I was in. "Do you want to watch the DVDs of me? I asked.
"What, now?" Tom asked, in response.
"Yes, now," I answered. I dug the discs out of my bag. First, I had him put on "The Whistle," the short film I was in. Tom seemed underwhelmed by seeing me on the screen. After my part, he asked if there was any more of me in the film. I gave a vague response and we continued watching. I wanted him to see that I was in the credits. We performers love our credits. When the credits were on screen, Tom seemed even less thrilled than he had about my actual performance. He told me he didn't understand the film. I explained it to him and had him put on the next disc. That was me on the chat show, "X-Forum." The "X-Forum" was longer, being an hour show. Towards the second half, Tom began to look sleepy. All of the sudden, he got up and climbed in bed. Although he could see the TV from his bed, if he made the effort, he rolled over and turned his back to the screen. "Hey, you're going to miss me. I have a good line towards the end," I yelled out. Nothing I said persuaded Tom to turn over and watch the end of the show.
When the show was over, I put the second disc away. I contemplated what to do. Tom's internet connection was down, so I couldn't post a blog, much as I wanted to. I always think about you, my dear readers. In the end, I decided to go to sleep, myself. I got undressed and made my bed on the settee. It was more comfortable than sleeping in the comfy chair, because I could lay down. I felt cold and noticed Tom had left the kitchen window open. Oh for Pete's sake! After closing the window, I lay down and pulled a small blanket over myself. That would do nicely. Tomorrow would be another day.

Playing Easter Bunny

I woke up today and it was Easter Sunday. Here in Britain, there is a tradition of giving Easter eggs to people. Not the hard boiled eggs with the dyed shells, like I used to make with my mother, when I was a child in America. Here, people give chocolate Easter eggs. In America, we used to give chocolate Easter bunnies. At the end of the day, it probably doesn't make a lot of difference. Chocolate is chocolate.
On Friday, a close personal friend of mine came to visit. She's very generous and brought me a fancy, chocolate Easter egg, packaged with three boxes of chocolates. Last night, as I was invited to Jan the Artist's for dinner, I decided I should stop and buy an Easter egg for her and one for her daughter. I was on a tight budget, though. As it was the day before, I hoped that I would catch a sale of some sort.
On the way to Jan's, I stopped at Sainsbury's. I found the seasonal items aisle and looked over the eggs on offer. I started at the expensive end and worked my way down. Finally, I found an offer for three moderately sized white chocolate eggs for a fixed price. The only problem was that I only needed two. What could I do? I bought the three. One would just be for me. When I arrived at Jan's, both her and her daughter were very surprised and pleased with my gifts. Who needs the Easter Bunny? Happy Easter to all my friends and blog readers.

Good Friday?

It was "Good Friday," today, and here in England, it was a "bank holiday." I was off work, yet still will be paid as if I had worked. What a result! I went to the Oracle, a shopping mall in Reading, with a friend. Upon arrival, the main, multi-story car park was showing "full" on the sign outside. Despite the sign, cars were steadily entering. So, was the sign true, or not? We decided to take a chance and ignored the sign. It turned out that spaces were available, although we ended up parking on the sixth level. There are only seven levels in total. I have never before been above the fifth. The mall was very busy. The sad news is, the sign has lost its credibility.
All day, it felt like Saturday. I had to keep reminding myself that it was Friday. As I continued to observe the Good Friday Bank Holiday with appropriately non-religious activities, a question popped into my head. Why do Christians call today "Good Friday?" If it's supposed to represent the day when their "lord and savior" was killed, that hardly seems "good." Surely having metal spikes hammered through your hands and feet is hardly going to be enjoyable. Oh well, at least my friend is Catholic.

A Redeeming Supermarket Visit

I've been bringing so much free food home from work that I haven't been to a supermarket in two weeks. I decided to stop at Tesco on the way home from work, today, because I needed squash and ketchup. I'd received my Tesco Clubcard vouchers in the post, so I wanted to redeem them. I had a voucher for £2 off my shopping bill. They also sent me several offers, as they tend to do. I think they monitor my purchases and send me vouchers aimed at the things I tend to buy. I was able to use half of them. They gave me a voucher for a free Tesco "bag for life." No, it's not some magic bag that you can use to save your life if you get sick or injured. That would be handy, wouldn't it? It's another of these greenish ideas. It's a reusable bag for your shopping, with handles. so you don't need their disposable carrier bags. Normally, they sell them for ten Pence. I guess they've figured that I am never going to pay ten Pence for a shopping bag, so long as they give me free disposable carrier bags. If they can lure me to use the "bag for life," I suppose it will save Tesco money on free carrier bags.
Another voucher was for a chance to win a bunch of Clubcard points. 1,000, or 10,000, or 100,000, I don't remember which. I always redeem that, not that I ever win, but it costs nothing and you never know. Then there was this voucher for half off a box of Orville Reddenbacher's microwave popcorn. I can always use popcorn. Walking the aisles of the store, I soon realized I would have trouble having enough in purchases to equal the £2 off I was trying to redeem. I needed cole slaw, so I got a container of that. I bought four bottles of apple and blackcurrant squash. Most folks in America aren't going to know what squash is. In America, when someone says "squash," we tend to think of a vegetable (in reality it's a fruit), a member of the gourd family and related to pumpkins. Here in the UK, squash is a drink concentrate. It's fruit flavored and you add water to it to make a drink.
As I was wandering around in the store, I saw a woman going in the opposite direction. She wasn't bad looking, so my attention was drawn. Close behind her followed a shopping trolley (a kart, in America) and pushing the trolley was a little boy dressed in a superman costume. I wonder if the boy was a relation of hers, or did she hire him? I contemplated buying some microwaveable rice. They are a good back-up for when I don't feel like waiting for rice to cook. I remembered that I had used a couple packets from my reserve, at home. I could do with replacing them, but when I looked over the prices, I didn't like what I saw. The cheapest on display would have cost me a minimum of two quid and that would put me quite a bit over my target spend. There was no sense buying stuff just for the sake of buying it. Besides, I have seen rice like that cheaper, before. I decided to buy four packets of ramen noodles, instead. At eight Pence each, they would help make sure I was over the £2 without pushing me way over and I was sure I was low on my supply of them at home. I almost forgot to get ketchup and I really needed that.
Once I had acquired a bottle of the cheapest ketchup, I looked for a checkout counter. They all looked busy and most had several people waiting in line. What was going on? It was before 5PM, so why was it so crowded? On Sunday, it's Mother's day, here in Britain, so maybe that was the reason. Strolling down the lane by the checkouts, moving in the direction towards where my car was parked, I passed a little boy wearing a Power Rangers costume. Another boy in a costume? What the heck? It wasn't Halloween, was it? No, Halloween is at the end of October, this is mid March. I later learned that as it's "Red Nose Day," many schools let kids wear costumes to school for the day. Maybe they should have the kids dress like that all the time. How sad do you have to be as a kid to want to walk around in public, dressed as Superman or a Power Ranger, when it's not even Halloween? Surely I was never that much of a dork when I was a kid, was I? Red Nose Day, St. Patrick's Day tomorrow, and Mother's Day on Sunday...what a mad weekend!
I settled on a checkout line that looked relatively short. As I watched an older woman and a child slowly putting goods on the belt in front of me, I spotted a shorter line at the next counter. Quickly, I moved over one lane to take advantage, before some prowling old age pensioner got there first. It always seems to end up that the lane I pick moves slowest. There were two people ahead of me, but the woman at the front insisted on dividing her purchases into four piles and paying for each of them separately. Because of that, I wound up getting to the front no sooner than I would have if I had stayed where I was, originally. The cashier should have a button to eject muppets like her. When it was my turn, I handed the cashier all my vouchers. I took my free "bag for life" and packed it so all my purchases fit in the one bag. After my vouchers were deducted, my total bill came to...drum roll please...70 Pence. That's the equivalent of about $1.40. The first shop I had done in two weeks and I only spent 70 Pence. That must be a new record for me. I set off for home with a smug look of satisfaction on my face.

Some People Are Unreliable

The day before yesterday, I asked Chef Anthony if I could borrow his DVD copy of "The Matrix." Strange as it may seem, I have discovered someone who's actually managed not to see "The Matrix," at all, since 1999. I tend to enjoy watching films I have seen, with people who haven't seen them. When Anthony agreed to lend it to me, I suggested that I follow him home after work and get it then. That way he couldn't forget. At first he agreed, but then he said he needed to call someone first. He wasn't certain whether the DVD was at his mother's, or at his place. It ended up that he didn't have me follow him home, but assured me he wouldn't forget to bring it in to work on Wednesday.
Yesterday morning, as I was walking into the building from the car park, Anthony drove up, honking his horn. I waited for him to park, get out of his car, and catch up with me. As he got closer to me, I didn't see him carrying anything. I shouted, "Where's the DVD?"
In response, he kept shouting back, "what?" This was getting very frustrating. When he walked up to me, I repeated my question. He said he forgot. Damn! Exactly as I predicted. Then he reached under his jacket and, for a split second, I thought he was kidding and would pull out the DVD, from under his jacket. Instead, he merely pulled out his electronic work ID card and swiped the door lock to the building. I made it clear how disappointed I was. He said he'd cal his "misses," have her find the DVD and drive it down to work, that very afternoon. Of course, that never happened.
During the day, Chef Phil told me that I could buy the entire "Matrix" box set, for £16.99. "Where, Phil?" I inquired.
"At Virgin Megastore," he answered. I decided to go try to buy the box set, after work. When I was married, I bought "The Matrix" on VHS, but when my evil ex-wife, the Black Queen, divorced me, she kept the film. It's bad enough divorcing a guy, but keeping his video tapes...that's just low. She also kept my James Bond tapes and my Marx Brothers tapes. I don't even think she liked the Marx Brothers. Oh well, screw her! She might have kept my video cassette of "The Matrix," but now I was getting a DVD box set. The box set includes all three "Matrix" films, plus "The Anamatrix," plus hours of "Matrix" documentaries.
Because Phil said it was available at "Virgin," I went to Tesco. I would rather buy it from Tesco, because then I get Clubcard points. It turned out that the Tesco Extra, at Sandhurst, didn't have it. That was a waste of time. I headed into Camberley, where the nearest Virgin Megastore is located. Inside, I quickly found the box set, but it was £19.99, not £16.99. It can so just sour your mood when something you want turns out to be more expensive than you were told it would be. I put it back on the shelf and thought, "maybe it would be cheaper somewhere else?" I walked all around the Camberley shopping district, looking to find it cheaper. I tried Woolworth...no success. There wasn't an HMV that I could find. They might be cheaper, but the only one I knew of was in the Bracknell town centre. I didn't feel like driving there and if I did, I would have to pay for parking. I could go through all that trouble and it could turn out to be the same price, or worse, more. I tried W. H. Smith, but with no success. Finally, I circled back to Virgin. I relented and bought the box set there. I hate spending extra money, but when I have my mind set on doing something, I hate giving up on doing it, even more. At the end of the day, I got my box set. When people are unreliable, you often just have to do things yourself.