Of course, this being April means there's just been the long weekend. We'd been after going to Belfast for the weekend, but that fell through. Instead, as time off does, it just seemed to fill up.
Friday saw the usual weekend stuff—which translates to comics, coffee, and a wander past Tesco to find out how the others shop. Wandering around Tesco was someone I've seen there before, a large gentleman in a suit so worn it's shiny. A man who truly and utterly stank of urine. Not just the standard smell of piss that you sometimes encounter in alleys, this was and is an offensive weapon. They had a security guard following him around with an air freshener, and it remained possible to smell this creature on the other side of the shop. Apparently he goes in every couple of weeks for a perfectly normal grocery shop. The checkout people simply have to avoid vomiting while they serve him.
After that, we retreated home. After retching, I made the Stiry Fry of the Gods. I spent the rest of the night in the arms of S.T.A.L.K.E.R., the Chernobylicious spiritual successor to Deus Ex. Fantastic stuff.
Saturday was spent underground with other Torchies, making torchballs. Five of us at any one time, and we got through a hundred of the things. Which is a good start, but we need 300 by the day for me to be happy. We'll get the others soon enough. After escaping, watched The Shakespeare Code, which to my mind was a bit shit. It wasn't bad, don't get me wrong. It wasn't Love and Monsters or New Earth. It just felt shallow compared to The Empty Child or The Impossible Planet. If they're sensible modern-occult fiction, TSC was Harry motherfucking Potter. Which is appropriate, given that that was about the level Rusty appeared to aim at. Dangermouse works for both kids and mature viewers, Rusty could stand to learn some lessons from it when writing for anyone over the age of 12 who doesn't wait for Rowling to vomit forth her latest lack of imagination.
We were considering Absynth, but we only remembered around half eleven, when I was swearing at the Orks in Dawn of War, and watching 28 Days Later. On the other hand, I got nine hours of blessed slee. Nine glorious hours! Something I've not seen for a long time.
Sunday. The Glenhas Cafe on Cannongate was closed, hence no brekky. Up the Hill for the torchies, raar. Plenty of stuff done, another fifteen torchballs made at the end while the drummers were warming up. On to the pub briefly, then back to pork medallions and Lego Star Wars II. It was a day for relaxation, not doing too much, and not really thinking. Oh, and Wii boxing.
Today. Last day of the longest weekend in the calendar. Rather than fucking around wishing we'd done something with the time, we instead went to North Berwick.
It was, to use a word, windy. Really fucking windy. Windy enough to steal the breath out of my mouth and to make me worry about being blown away into the sea, never to be seen again. It's not that I'd want to be blown out to sea, but it's a common thread. It plays in to my insane and irrational fear of exposed heights. I like being attached to the ground... which doesn't explain all the flying dreams.
So... yeah. North Berwick. Just what my brain needed, a holiday in half an hour's train ride.
Tomorrow, I return to work. I'm dreading it already.
: My main supermarket is Marks and Spencer now. I'm a traitor to my class.
: No, I don't have issues with J. K. or Rusty. Certainly none that either being good writers wouldn't cure.
: Need to grab a copy of the soundtrack.