So we come to the end of a month of bloggage, brought to you by NaBloPoMo.

I’m pleased that I managed to hack it all this time, although there were days that I didn’t particularly feel like writing. (Weekends. Thank goodness for poetry and pictures) However, I was pleasantly surprised that I generally DID feel like writing most of the time, even if I had to message The Rock Star and go, “What the hell do I blog about today?” Even when plagued by cranial dustbunnies, I managed to pull something out.

But now, I have completed my task and no longer have the Sword of Damocles hanging over my head like a big, sharp pointy reminder of my duties toward blog and country. In honour of this momentous occasion, a quick, farewell limerick: (Fear not, I shall return, but in a slightly more leisurely fashion and with perhaps more stimulating posts!)

On a blog called Potamus Rex,
There was a very great need for some text.
For all of November,
She can rest in December,
With no tricky words for to vex!

Hooray!

The Rock Star, of course, has a penchant for all music involving virtuosic philangical pyrotechnics, so last night we headed out to Oxford to take in a gig by Rodrigo y Gabriella.

We went in the company of our friends, The Colombian Daredevil and the English Rose- a truly delightful pair of people. Although on the surface a slightly mismatched couple, they met years ago on a kibutz in Israel and the English Rose managed to move heaven and earth in order to bring the Colombian Daredevil to the UK. They now live happily on a dairy farm that the Colombian helps to run (he calls the cows “his ladies” and loves them dearly) with their super cute first born son and are due to add to their collection of offspring any moment, so consequently, The English Rose had me well and truly beat in the belly stakes.

Knowing of their fondness for world music, (especially of the Latin persuasion) we invited them along to witness the finger fireworks in the Brookes Student Union.

Foolishly, when I bought the tickets, I had envisioned, you know, some sort of auditorium. However, when we arrived, it was all too obvious that the gig was taking place in the SU bar with not a seat to be seen. (Not exactly ideal for one woman who could give birth any second and another who is beginning to feel increasingly encumbered in the belly region.) Luckily, a kindly security guard brought out two chairs for our sitting pleasure. The Rock Star and The Colombian Daredevil were more than happy to stand and swap manly stories involving cows and felonious relatives.

Rodrigo y Gabriella are two musicians who met while in a Mexican thrash metal band called “Terra Acida” (Acid Earth). (“Something I would not recommend to anybody,” said Gabriella) After travelling the world a bit busking and experimenting with rhythms and different guitar techniques, they settled in Dublin and began touring with their unique brand of guitar music which is best described as Metallica meets Yngiwe Malmsteen at the Buena Vista Social club. If you’ve never seen them in action, have a look at this.

Rodrigo is a super-fast picking virtuoso; it’s not surprising that he came from a metal tradition, although it must have taken some practice to convert his electric thrash skills to acoustic. Gabriella’s talent lies in her rather extraordinary percussion playing that is obviously borrowed from flaminco tradition. It’s certainly not the kind of skill that you learn in a band called Acid Earth and must have taken a great number of bruised knuckles and bloody fingers to achieve.

What surprised all of us is that besides that unbelievable playing, the actually show was also visually quite appealing as well. With a fairly small number of smart lights and some lush lighting on the scrim behind them, the music was made every bit as aesthetically pleasing as aurally pleasing. The addition of two tiny cameras focusing on the players hands that broadcast the picture on the back wall was also welcome; although even afforded a close up view of their fingers didn’t do much to show what they were doing. It was all too magnificently fast.

Recommended to anyone who wants a good evening of really astounding, uplifting music!

Although life on land awaits us at the start of the New Year, The Rock Star and I have enjoyed our time in our little floating nest. I don’t think that either of us imagined that we would be celebrating our 7th wedding anniversary on board, but it has allowed us to be slightly more fiscally conservative all these years than we could have been in an expensive rental property. (DVDs? What DVDs? Pay no attention to all those gadgets in the corner! Oh, alright, we’re pretty crap with money. But we’re definitely on the mend in THAT department.)

In honour of our waterbound abode, I thought I might resort to a Top 10 Moments List to run out the clock on both our time aboard Galileo and NaBloPoMo, which ends in 3 more blessed days.

10. Finding Gloucester- If you’ve skimmed my “Livin La Vida Boat-a” section, you’ll know we were both pretty drunk when we decided to buy a canal boat. So it only stands to reason that we were enthusiastic, although extremely hung over, when we went boat shopping. Gloucester belonged to the then-president of British Waterways and he was selling it due to the fact that he had a new boat under construction and his wife insisted that he had no need for two of the damn things. So we procured said craft and moved on in May of 2000. (The Rock Star actually moved on while I was visiting my parents in the States. He admits to spending a couple of nights waking up every few minutes going “what was THAT?” due to all the strange and mysterious boaty noises.)

9. Becoming Galileo- The following year, we finally got around to repainting Gloucester. The old blue paint was faded, having last been done in the early 90’s. So, after some fooling around on the computer, we came up with a new paint scheme and set to work.

Hand sanding both sides of a 57 foot boat is not the most expedient of tasks. It took many hours and at least 3 guys covered in blue paint dust a week or so in the height of summer to complete the task and then another week for repainting. Before she was put back in the water, we re-christened her Galileo. We refrained from breaking a champagne bottle over the bow as it would inevitably bork the new paint job, so we made due with pouring it out of a plastic cup. This might explain some of the disasters that have befallen us since.

8. Tricksy water! Always finds it’s way in it does! (Except when you need it to)- One of the many chores that we will not miss with any great pang of heart once we move off will be the constant need to refill the water tank. This is not a job that’s particularly painful on long, summer evenings, but we invariably run out in winter and end up having to brave squalls and freezing temps to fill up the tank, no matter HOW quick our showers are. Occasionally, we will find that the outside taps get frozen and we are stuck without water for up to a week at a time. On occasion, we have had to temporarily move into the Rock Star’s family home just to be able to brush our teeth.

On the other side, we have not always been totally successful at keeping water OUT, as I have mentioned on many occasions. The gunnels leak. The windows leak. The ventilation mushrooms on the top of the roof leak if it rains hard enough. We have only ONCE (thank goodness) had an incursion of the water from below the boat rather than above. Our bilge once filled up and flooded the already hard put upon bedroom carpet.

7. Potty Talk- Ah yes. The toilet. There’s little to say about it other than, “Well, it’s got to go somewhere.” The “somewhere” is an underground tank via a large black hose. At the moment, The Rock Star accomplishes this evacuation by hanging over the edge of the boat with said black hose risking a) an unpleasant trip into the canal b) swan attack (they’re beautiful bastards) or c) both of the above. Not having to do this task will also be a pleasant respite.

6. For Whom the Bell Tolls- There wouldn’t be much point in a boat if you couldn’t take it out. The Rock Star, a good friend of his, Dr. Rob and I set out one evening for a leisurely cruise up just two locks from our boatyard when the heavens opened. As doing locks requires at least one person to open the lock and one person to steer the boat, I retreated, drenched, indoors to prepare dinner. In the space of about a minute and a half, 3 things happened.

First, a spectacular lightning storm kicked off. Second of all, a church bell from the nearby village began to toll most ominously. And thirdly, a can of beer which had been sitting on the counter being vibrated by the boat’s engine dropped off the edge of the counter and literally exploded, covering me, the kitchen, living room and bathroom in lager. Despite the cacophony outside, The Rock Star and Dr. Rob both heard me yell.

The Top 5 Moments of Galileo shall return after this commercial break. Stay tuned.

7 years ago today, I got hitched to this hairy bugger here.

I have had to endure a number of “itch” jokes in the last few weeks (7 year itch. Get it? I sure do.) not least because the traditional gift for 7 years of marriage is something made out of WOOL. No joke.

Without lapsing into unrestrained sentiment, he totally rocks and I don’t know where I’d be without him.*

*Probably about 14 pounds less pregnant at the moment, but it’s all worth it.

In the last few weeks, I seem to have received an influx of “must watch” videos in my inbox. I’ve been doing my best to ignore YouTube, to be honest, due to some of the heinously stupid shit that gets posted there on a regular basis. It strikes me as a general repository for all that stuff that we did as teenagers that DEFINITELY shouldn’t have made it onto celluloid (or, digital, as is the case now) and now haunts our 30-something dreams, inspiring deep feelings of shame and remorse. But, as it turns out, smart and amusing people post things there too.

“The Title of the Song”

These guys didn’t write this rather clever boy-band parody. Nor can they lay claim to the title of “singers”, but they can revel in a sense of post-modern glee with their rather off-key skewering of an entirely cliched and tired genre.

“The Orange Menace”

Everyone knows the primary fuction of the internet is to exchange cat pictures. If cat pictures are great, MOVING cat pictures are even better. To follow the Menace’s grown-up adventures, check this out.

“Hyperactive”

A link shamelesssly swiped from the mighty Clibe. The seemingly untalented Lasse Gjertsen transforms himself into a human beatbox through the miracle of video editing, which he seems to be tremendously good at indeed. Check out his far more complicated follow up, “Ameteur”.

“The Diet Coke and Mentos Experiment”

I’m not totally sure who these two supermarket scientists are, but they have an AWFUL LOT OF TIME.

Ok, distraction over. As you were.

In light of my childish offering yesterday, here are some equally childish photos.

Blogapotamus, over the summer, expressing her opinion.

Two friends of ours, playing a game that no one understands but them.

BoyRacer and I as Bug People.

The Rock Star’s best impression of a gangsta.

Done in haste, at the last moment, to avoid the crushing shame of being defeated by NaBoPoMo.

A Childish Nursery Rhyme (I don’t know who to credit it to, but if you want to claim ownership, be my guest.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
I live in a flat, you stupid prat,
So how the fuck should I know?

I’m sorry. I really am.

Although I spent a good many years behind counters in retail locations, I only ever worked one Black Friday.

The UK retail sector doesn’t have an equivalent to the frenetic one-day pre-Christmas madness of their US counterparts, having to rely on steady, heavy trade for the whole of the season rather than getting a massive kick start to the season the day after Thanksgiving. (Interesting side note- Black Friday is NOT the busiest shopping day of the year. That honor falls to the Saturday before Christmas. There is little to motivate someone like a healthy dose of panic.)

For my sins, I spent 9 months working at a large branch of Borders in Minneapolis. Since I began in October, it was inevitable that at least one of those months was going to include December, being slaves to chronology that months tend to be.

After one of the most surreal Thanksgivings ever, (my housemate and I were invited randomly to the home of some members of the congregation of a church we were attending. It was very pleasant, but very odd to spend a family holiday with the complete, extended family of total strangers, but it probably kept us from poisoning ourselves trying to cook something resembling turkey.) the morning of Black Friday dawned clear and cold and we braced ourselves for a hectic day on the shop floor.

Although the particulars of the day escape me, I do remember that the place was rammed, but in a fairly congenial way. Although the store occupied a warehouse unit in a strip mall full of warehouse units, the lines for the till stretched all the way back to the computer section. (Tucked quietly in the very back due to the fact that geeks generally don’t shoplift. It’s for this reason that the erotica section is near the front.) Although some people were frustrated at the waiting times, no one got surly or unpleasant. Café staff served small cups of gratis coffee (a pumpkin blend that I couldn’t bear the taste of, but if heaven has a smell, I guarantee you that it smells just like that) and bits of cookie.

The only thing people REALLY wanted that Christmas was a little book who’s popularity had spread by word of mouth; a little known title called Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. And other than a short supply mid month, everyone who wanted it could have it. The patient, festive atmosphere in the store that day probably had a lot to do with the fact that we didn’t stock toys or electronics.

Following on from talk of Christmas retail, I feel obligated to spew forth a small amount of venom regarding the whole Farepak Christmas savings scheme scandal which is currently getting rather a lot of airtime here in the UK.

I have to admit to not knowing a huge deal about Christmas savings schemes or understanding what the advantage of them over say, putting a little cash aside every month in a bank account, is. The only thing I know is that a lot of people put a lot of cash into a company that they were expecting a return from only to have the whole thing go belly up. Today on the news, they were interviewing some of the people who got the most royally doinked by Farepak and they admitted that they were taking out loans at criminally high interest rates in order to buy things for Christmas.

However, the people interviewed were determined not to have modest Christmases, as one in dire financial straits might expect. They were going to go whole hog. Xbox 360s for the kids. Flat screen tellys for themselves. Vast quantities of cash flying out the door with little regard to how they were going to pay for it in the future.

So here’s my thing: Company bad. Obviously. Collapsed. Gave lots of cash to high level management before it did. VERY NAUGHTY COMPANY. People have every right to be enraged.

BUT…

WHY IN THE NAME OF HEAVEN WOULD YOU TAKE OUT A LOAN WITH AN INTEREST RATE OF 140% PER ANNUM IN ORDER TO BUY HUGELY EXPENSIVE CHRISTMAS PRESENTS WHEN YOU KNOW THAT YOU’LL BE CRIPPLED WITH DEBT WELL INTO NEXT CHRISTMAS?? JUST BECAUSE SOMETHNG ISN’T FAIR DOESN’T MAKE IT ALRIGHT TO DO SOMETHING RECKLESSLY STUPID TO “FIX” IT!

Obviously, having children who are being bombarded every day with the message that the more things you get, the more that you’re loved, (and if you get an Xbox 360, which will allow you to spend hours bathed in the radioactive glow of the television, alienated from your family, you’re loved the MOST) piles the pressure on more acutely. So it’s obvious that there is more than one problem here. And no amount of spending is going to fix it. Exactly the opposite.

So, we’re off to the races in the Christmas stakes. May your financial escapades be prudent and thoughtful. And be kind to shop assistants. This will be the first day of the next 30 or so that they will have to listen to “Silver Bells” on perpetual loop. This will take a high toll on just about anyone.

In the US today, we celebrate the pseudo-historical event that took place after the pilgrim’s first year in the New World. (Lord knows why the British don’t celebrate a holiday around the same time known as “Thank goodness we got rid of those sanctimonious Puritan prigs” Day) At any rate, the first Thanksgiving was basically a harvest celebration- a celebration of surviving a difficult year.

Well, it’s Thanksgiving and after all that 2006 has thrown at me, I’m still standing. Just barely, but standing. And I suppose that’s enough to be thankful for. The Rock Star and I have been trying to locate some kind soul to spend the evening giving thanks with us over a large pepperoni pizza and perhaps some of those little garlic breaded mushrooms.

Happy Turkey Day to everyone. I wish you full bellies and good company.

We now officially have our first “bit” for our house. We have a duvet. Now all we need is a bed. And the house.

It’s been a while since I could be bothered to write a housing update because it would have sounded like this:

Day 31: Still haven’t heard anything.

Day 32: Still haven’t heard anything. Yelled at someone. Think they were counting ceiling tiles instead of listening.

Day 33: Still haven’t heard anything.

About 2 weeks ago, I called our estate agent just to see how things were proceeding and was informed that the current owners of the flat had decided to go ahead a start a house purchase in lieu of renting, like they’d said they were going to do when we first entered into this bargain with Satan, thus rendering the whole “no chain” aspect of the purchase a complete falsehood.

Feeling like the top was about to come off of my skull, I stammered something about calling her back after I’d spoken to our solicitor and hung up, feeling grey matter oozing from my ears.

We had been absolutely desperate to move in before December 15th, when we leave for our Christmas holiday in the States. (It sounds like a small thing, but I really REALLY wanted to put up a Christmas tree) Obviously, this is no longer an option. The occupants have actually been fairly apologetic about the whole thing and have sworn 8 ways til Sunday if they haven’t finished their purchase by the New Year, they’ll find some temporary accommodation to allow us to move in. This assertion doesn’t ignite the flames of hope within my breast nor extinguish my desire to do unpleasant things to them.

As I will be more than 31 weeks pregnant when we finally get in, I’m fairly certain I’ll be of little help in any area of moving logistics. Since The Rock Star’s mum was lifting steel girders a few weeks prior to HIS birth, it’s my thinking that I can probably handle a roller to cover up the slightly larry yellow walls with something vaguely more tasteful. (Although my father, a master house painter, has informed me that yellow, for some reason, is one of the most difficult colors to cover up. Lucky for us it’s only covering, oh, THE ENTIRE FLAT.) The Rock Star, to stem the flow of molten crazy spewing forth from Mt. Potamus, has insisted that all I have to do is sit on the couch, make tea and tell him what to paint and where to put things.

The blame for this situation cannot rest squarely on the sellers, to be perfectly fair. Our solicitors and mortgage companies have been on the receiving end of a fairly large volume of COULD YOU PLEASE PULL YOUR FINGERS OUT AND DO WHAT WE’RE PAYING YOU TO? o-grams. It occurs to me that a house purchase falling through is not exactly an uncommon occurrence. It also occurs to me that it’s ALSO not uncommon for the purchasers in question to fairly rapidly find a second property and want to begin proceedings on that. However, this seemed quite beyond the comprehension of both our mortgage provider and our solicitors and we spent many weeks getting documents related to our PREVIOUS purchase before our mortgage advisor (who’s been great, by the way) managed to untangle the complicated mass of paperwork and chewing gum that had been holding the whole deal up.

So that’s the story, as it currently stands, from the housing front. We feel more sausageified than ever.