Martin's return to trabajo

Another chapter in the 'catch-up' series. Last week at some point, technically the week before acually, I was rung by Jacqui asking if I wanted to work the weekend. Instinct said yes. All plans were put on hold. My works clothes were dug out, and trousers were checked to see they still fit. They did not. I had to make do with one pair, so it was all good. Then was the inevitable return to trabajo. Nice to be greeted with a pissing dog upon arriving at "base". Stupid Jan. There have been ever so slight changes at base, notices saying who is legally allowed to drive the forklifts, the locking of the dry stores, to stop people stealing etc etc. Nothing major. It disappointed me alot actually that nothing had changed barely. Ian is still as Ian as ever.

Then came actual work. They have put some sort of fancy picture on the front of the burger vans, to make them look nice. They don't. They look stupid. There is still a piss poor array of equipment on them, and the stock is still cheap-ass shit. Someone asked us if our sausages were pork. I lied. "Of course they are". Well, it wasn't a big lie. They're mostly pork. Like 20%. 20% chicken, and something percent beef. The rest, well I don't know. But university has instilled in me something that I like to call "standards". This means I won't touch our food. Except our chips. They're scrummy.

Actually, here is a link to "cafes2go"'s website. It's all lies. http://www.vivacafes.co.uk/ And here is a picture of a unit that we no longer own. It's not me working on it, thankfully. [It didn't seem to work. I'm sure you can find it on the website...]

My favourite part of the website. Health and Safety. It's just one big "lols". This is it:
"All " Cafes 2 Go " units are purpose built and are certified to comply with all current statutory gas and electric regulations


Records are kept daily for temperature controlled cooking and display temperatures to ensure food safety and hygiene



All staff undertake regular training on hygiene, health and safety and customer care.
Our food suppliers are selected from a reputable mix of local, national and multi-national companies to provide top quality produce at a competetive price


All our premises, food and bar units are regularly inspected by Wakefields Health and Safety Authority.
All Certificates for Health & Safety, Insurance and Public Liability etc are available for inspection and copies are available upon request."

A night of skank

Well, another belatened (I don't even know if that is a word. It's pronounced be-late-n'd if that helps with pronunciation) blogg. We went to Pontefract last Tuesday, with the sole purpose of getting drunk, or at least that was my purpose. Clare was driving, so her purpose was mostly not to get molested by drunks. I'm pretty sure that she succeeded. If you've never been on a night out in fair Pontefract (Ponte Carlo to the locals, pronounced like Monte Carlo, but with a P. If you're interested, Feverly Hills and Cas Vegas also exist...) it is quite an experience. Imagine the skankiest place that you can think of. Times that by about 50, throw in a couple of over 40s, and under 16s, and that's pretty much it. Having said that, the drink was cheap, and the music was acceptable. I made every effort not to touch anyone or any surfaces. Especially the walls. Oh, Christ, the smell. Mostly sweat, with the occasional whiff of piss. So, that is a typical Yorkshire night out. Skank.

Martin's cultural learnings in the South of England, aka the Sarf.

Well, today we drove to a mystical place called Ruislip (prounounced Rye-Slip) to see the Grand High Wrinklie, also known as Old Gran (my great-gran). It took 4 hours to get there. No, actually it took 6. I can't count. We took 'the scenic route' there. As usual. Always with the scenic route. From about Milton Keynes, things became humourous. People started saying things funny. Water becomes "waw-uh". I forget what else. I became suspicious of everyone. Especially the elderly. They seemed most likely to wield knives. We stopped at a Little Chef. I'll be honest; it was awful. There was a garage attached to it, which said "Bonjour" on it. I assumed that this was a nod at their nearest international neighbours, the French, who are at least 200miles away. It makes me wonder, do they have "Och aye the noo" on petrol stations up in the North East? Or, something crazy and Norwegian. Most odd. It was just generically boring.

(I also understand that today I did not go to the South, I started this nearly a fortnight ago. I thought I had better publish it. Soz 'ard)

Why would I want to get into Dame Judi Dench's pants?!

Well, things have been uneventful of late. Again. Having said that, I have sent off 3 old phones to envirophone.com, so that they send me some monies back. Admittedly, it'll only be about £50, but still, that's £50 more than I have.

On Friday, my sister and I did something most odd. We baked together. Well, I baked more, but she did stuff. Like cutting the butter into cubes, and putting the flour away. We made scones and then we made cornflake buns with sultanas in. I've not had a cornflake bun yet, but the scones are actually delicious.

Tomorrow involves an epic trek to London and back, well to Ruislip to be precise, to see my gran. Mum thinks my gran doesn't have long left (she is 93!), and as such we should all go visit her. I'm not complaining, I'm just preparing for the "oooh look at that fat!" from her. Ahh, the elderly.

Marticito: nm a tiny Martin.

Well, my love for Spanish has been rekindled recently. I watched .rec, a Spanish horror film. It is actually amazing. It is filmed in the same style as the Blair Witch Project, but is about an apartment block that is cordoned off by the government cos of a virus outbreak. It's actually amazing. And, I got alot out of it language-wise. All is good :)

In other news, I returned to fair Lancaster on Sunday, for the anniversary of Tom-wa's birth. It was most pleasant. We watched a film about an elderly Elvis stopping an evil Egyptian mummy that was sucking people's souls out through their anus'. It was surprisingly good. I helped Holly attempt to sort their old house out too, which was bad. It felt really sad leaving Lancaster, again. Having said that, I have attempted to organise a Lancaster going-out party.

Not alot has happened recently, mostly taxiing the mother and sister around to various places. The nail place. Xscape. The hair place. Xscape. The hospital. Xscape. Getting annoyed of it now. We (that is to say Becca, Clare, Ruth, Craig and myself) went to see "The Proposal" the other day. It was classic rom-com. The premise is simple: Sandra Bullock needs to mary Ryan Reynolds to stay in the country (like America would deport a Canadian). They go to his parents house. Hilarity ensues. What do we think happens? Rom-com law specifically states that they must fall in love. And, they do. It's all very generic. Personally, I think that the audience laughed more than the film was worth, and some people (*coughs* Craig and Clare) cried more than it was worth. But, it was still a pleasant-enough film.

The parents went away somewhere yesterday. My dad was going to see trains, and thought he'd drag the mother along. She doesn't know what she's let herself in for. As such, today's plan is to make scones, and to attempt to make some clusters (cornflakes and raisins coated in chocolate), with the sister. After we have been to the supermarché, obviously. That is all for now. I think. I don't know anymore.

Je suis en panne.

My car is broken. I don't know what is wrong with it. I just know that it refuses to start. It has plenty of petrol in it, so it's not that. It's not the battery either as the lights still light up. It just won't start, so my suspicions lead me to believe that it is the ignition. Update: my dad checked it, and he says it's the battery. I was wrong.

I got another email from the delightful "Gwenaelle" today. It seems there will be a "godfather scheme" whilst in Rennes. It's called "parrainage", which is the godfather scheme. I have been assigned 'Laura Floch' as my "parrain", which I looked up. It means "godfather". I will be a "filleul", which means "godson". There really is something wrong with France.

Snape, Snape, Severus Snape.

Well, my Harry Potter crusade reached a climax today as I went to see it in the cinema. I was looking forward to it, and I don't quite feel that it was as good as I expected. Having said that, I have resumed my crusade against the books, and am currently storming my way through book five. The film misses alot out, but the fifth film is good.

Tomorrow it is my sister's "graduation". I shall explain this. In my old school, which is technically my sister's current school, at the end of each year, there is a "graduation" ceremony in which they hand out certificates to everyone based on a. how many merits they have got during the year; b. how well you've done in specific subjects. They also announce the "head boy" and "head girl" of the year group. My sister won it last year. So, as well as beating me in all her predicted grades, and all her actual grades, she is getting "head girl". I wanted "head boy" as a child, but never got it. Great. She is also singing a song. God knows how it gonna go, they have 10 forms to get through in 2 hours. It's gonna be a long afternoon, on uncomfy seats. Great.

No será un sin-hogar!

Well, yesterday was fun. Jessica and I went to Cannon Hall Farm. We were going to go to the Yorkshire Sculpture Park, but we got there, and it was a. full of children, b. full of the elderly and c. the carpark was full. So, we trundled off to Cannon Hall Farm. It is just a farm. With a stately-home attatched. Having said that, it was quite exciting. We paid our money, got our sticker (which wasn't of the pig, like it used to be as a child) and our animal feed. Cows. Cows are actually evil. As a child, you learn to never feed them again. "Mummy? Can I feed the cows?" you ask, as your hand is stretched out, ignoring the warning your mother is about to give. As she goes "Don't feed the cows, they have long tongues", you learn this for yourself. So much slaver. Naturally, I just settled on stroking the cows, something they hate, and as such, try to lick you with their massive cow tongues. We moved on to donkeys. Donkeys are lovely, and don't try to bite your fingers off as they eat the peculiar feed in your hand. Unlike some animals, namely goats. Twice I was bitten by bastard goats. Having said that, there were some really cute baby goats (we called them 'goatlings'), that Jess and I wanted to steal.

Today, I found out that I have got a place in 'una residencia' in Girona. This is good, but I'm unsure if it is cheap. I forget. Rebecca will know...

Traffic Wardens, Liquorice and Windmills.

Well, today I had my first run-in (ever) with a traffic warden. At first I just thought it was an unusually short man with some sort of device, then I realised it must have been "Casual Monday" as he was a traffic warden. In shorts. I hope it absolutely buckets it down today. In Pontefract. I was dropping the mother off at the bus station so she could renew my sisters bus pass. After what I imagine to be 3minutes and 31 seconds, the warden came up to the window to remind me that I had 1mintue and 29 seconds remaining. At which I pointed out that my mother was on crutches. He then saw her emerging from the bus station, and fucked off. The woman is a legend. She scares traffic wardens away. Even 'casual' ones.

Yesterday was the epic Liquorice Festival in Pontefract. Epic is not the right word. I think the word I'm looking for is... shit. Yes. Shit is just the right word. I had never been to the Liquorice Festival before, and I can see why. It was just a series of stalls selling either liquorice, liquorice parafernalia (sp.) or crafty shit. Plus, for some unknown reason, there was an african choir thing on a stage. I'm unsure what they had to do with proceedings, but people clapped when they finished a song, so I assume people liked them. Or hated them, and were clapping them because they had finished. Either way.

The evening brought with it a trip to the cinema. Being 20, I now have lots of choices over what film I go to see. In fact, I can see anything I like. Having said that, we went to see Bruno. It was rather gay. In fact, there was more nakedness than Borat. But, it was funny nonetheless. Windmills, in the title of today's blogg, refers to Bruno. If you see it, you will understand.

Ps. Who put down "boring" in the boxes the other day? hmmmm?

WTF?!

The trip to take my sister to her dance class was most odd. As usual, we got held up at the railway cross in' Lane. Waiting for the train to come, as per, took forever. When it passed, and the barrier lifted, a flood of men in pink came cycling through. I say flood, I mean 5. Me and my sister both chuckled, confusedly, and assumed that it must have been either the Tour de Featherstone, or Featherstone Gay Pride. Perhaps a mix of both. Either way, it explained the abating mob at the bottom of' Lane; complete with pitchforks and flaming torches. It was most odd.