Three Castles Corn Dolly at the Rising Sun, Redditch

I hate being involved with the under-age drinkers. Yes, they shouldn’t be with you in the first place; but they’re a friend of someone you know who also invited you. Having made it through the screening process without having been asked for I.D; we then have to wait in the lobby for those that do. And then the message is passed down the line; oh, she’s having trouble getting in. Apparently bouncers are now asking people to see your Facebook profile if you have trouble getting in. Then the debate follows; what shall we do next? The most common sense thing is to leave them outside and not ruin everyone else’s night; as they shouldn’t be out there anyway. But the decision has been made to try another bar. This time I keep towards the head of the group; and as we approach the entrance I go straight in and make for the bar. This way; I can finally enjoy a pint of Three Castles Corn Dolly while the same process is repeated over again; and I can always finish my pint while the decision is made about what to do next; and maybe they’ll get the hint. They did.

Usain Bolt

You gotta love Usain Bolt. Not only does he battle regularly with others to retain his title as the fastest man on earth, he also has to battle with the world-wide media. Quite literally. After finishing in the 200m at the Beijing Olympics; a cameraman falls off his Segway while filming Bolt and lands on top of him. Bolt bounces back up; then immediately feels concerned for the cameraman and remains at his side until he’s sure that he is OK. He doesn’t even mind that no-one’s focused on his injury at all. Not a lot of modern day athletes would show such compassion or even tolerance if it was to happen to them; but Bolt’s laid-back Jamaican attitude is something that others could learn a lesson from. He also does great poses, and was a bit of a prankster in his youth; which the authorities did not like. Despite this, he is truly a man worthy of his title.

Mixed feelings at the Bramley Cottage

We'd managed to get money off vouchers for a nearby foody pub. All we had to do was to complete a short survey online. I did mine then found out that I had to wait for up to 24 hours for the voucher to come through. I headed up there and bought a pint of Bombadier then grabbed a table to wait for my friend; as it was quiz night the pub fills up quite quickly. I checked my emails and luckily the voucher came through. I went for the ultimate mixed grill with bearaise sauce (something I'd never had before) which came with a free house pint of Brakspeare (the beer selection wasn't the best that day). Over at the bar; there was quite a deal of button-pushing to get the larger meal to go through. When it did arrive; I noticed that the sausages were missing; which were brought out promptly on a side dish. They were large sausages but were actually quite tasteless; as was the steak and sauce. I'm glad I didn't pay full price. 

What cult have I joined now?

I first wake up at home to find a small CRT TV in my room on a smaller table. The TV is switched on but is on standby; though I doubt that my reception has improved.  My LCD TV is lying face down in the corner of my room. My bed has somehow also been rotated. I then sit up and try to work out why these things have happened but to no avail. Later on I'm in my old primary school hall where I'm sitting on the floor alongside other people spaced out in the room. Pete George hands me a mixture of books of raffle tickets and bingo cards; and it somehow falls to me to distribute them to the rest of the group. After handing them to five people I have completely run out and head over to a corner where I am now required to hand out sandwiches. There are four packs of sandwiches which is not enough; there is also a bucket of lollipops and a pile of make-up. I turn to the nearest person who is scantily clad in a pink bikini. I look down at my arms and discover I have Triad tattoos; then spend the rest of the dream trying to remember when I got the tattoos. I wake up for real and have to double-check that my arms are tat-free. Not the golden phizwizard of dreams; but not a trogglehumper either; just a very confusing one. 

The BFG

The BFG by Roald Dahl
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Dahl’s inventive take on where dreams come from is bound to raise a few chuckles in this very unique tale of faraway fantasy. Through the art of childish wonderment and conversation; a fascinating story of the history of giants and their existence is spun. As the unlikely pairing of fact and fiction get to know each other and compare their civilisations; it’s often unclear as to which side has the upper hand. The BFG’s grasp of the Wigglish language is very novel yet child-like with his grammar,; and the results are very entertaining. As both parties adapt to each other’s company, events take an exciting twist when both are put under pressure by the mighty Bloodbottler. Once Sophie has understood Giant Country, she makes plans to rid the giants once and for all with some special assistance from the Queen of England. It’s the stuff that dreams are made of!

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Morrisons is trying to kill me

I'm convinced that the scum of the earth shops at Morrisons. I arrive in the car park and have to stop short as there’s a trolley left next to a parked car that I've just pulled alongside. There's no clear pedestrian walkway to the entrance. All three of the cash machines are out of order. The light bulbs were hidden away from the main household section and were totally overpriced which was a third of what I had come in for. The contactless reader on the chip and pin machine doesn't work. There is a man lying on the floor with his head stuck inside the automated checkout; leaving a small gap for us to pass through. Outside; I sit on a bench to eat my sausage roll where a woman just dumps her trolley right in front of me. I hope it's her fags that she's left on the floor. On the way out my car is sprayed by the residue of the automatic car wash next door. Finally; on my exit off the roundabout; a large sack of something has been left lying on the curl carriageway for me to swerve and avoid. Sorry Morrisons; but if you're not responsible enough to run your site; it's not convenient for me.  

They sure don't make it easy

A marathon day of deliveries today. There were seven drops; and each one was difficult to locate and totally in a completely direction from the route. After a central drop in Stratford where the house was hidden behind a main street in a public car park; things only got worse. I had a very small road to do a nine point turn to turn the van around in Studley. I then had to look for a court in an area where all the buildings were numbered; with no descriptions on the doors whatsoever to distinguish the addresses. Then it was over to Evesham where a zero had fell off the number fifty; and as it was on a corner right next door to number seven on another road; that just made things complicated. A few roads later saw me in central Evesham where; although the house was numbered (I’d first gone up the hill before realising that the street numbers were labelled differently to every other street on the planet), I was told that the customer had actually moved address to just round the corner. I’d just about made my store delivery on time; then after a quick break it was off to a retail park unit that hadn’t actually opened yet. This was followed by a long trip back through Studley and into Redditch; where the apartment building was actually hidden from the one in front. My final delivery of the day was to a retirement complex; where the road given was actually a footpath where I had to park the van on the main road and walk up then round to find the entrance. Make it easy they don’t.