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Welcome again, loyal readers, to my latest almost-weekly edition of the blog you’re all getting slightly bored of. Don’t worry, I understand. Sort of.

Firstly, I could have died last week! Well, alright, I might be slightly exaggerating there. But during Jess’ visit (the rest of which I’ll get to in a minute) we went for a nice walk in Avenham Park. Strolled around the Oriental/Chinese/Japanese Garden (I forget what they call it exactly) and then wandered along the river for a bit.

Then it started to rain. And those of you who were in or around Preston last week will remember what came next. Lightning and thunder. Now, I’m not scared of storms, don’t get me wrong, but I’m still not overly fond of being caught in one armed with only a small brolly between two people, under a load of trees. We decide to try to get home while we can, and end up drenched from seriously heavy rain and hail.

Plus, as the squidgy cherry on a very soggy cake, Avenham is primarily made up of hills. Add this to copious amounts of liquid falling from the sky and… yeah. Rivers. My trainers were sodden, and one is falling apart inside. Buggernuts.

Aside from that rather damn escapade, the rest of Jess’ post Finland (grrr) visit was very enjoyable. I got showered with presents of Fazer chocolate (gorgeous stuff) and reindeer sausages, which were much like Peperamis. Very nice, but I still need a reindeer steak some time to rate it on the Delicious Meat Table. Also got given a cute little stuffed reindeer, the name of which I’ve already forgotten, and an awesome A4 HIM pad from Hellsinki. Even the existence of that shop makes me jealous.

Aside from initial present-exchanging and The Avenham Incident, we went to Manchester with Gina and DJ, where I finally got a new wallet, and some Pokémon cards! Now I have an Eevee and a Growlithe, which is pretty awesome in my opinion. Otherwise, we just bummed around at home watching House, which I have absolutely no complaints about. Hell, I could happily sit watching DVDs with her all day. Shame I can’t for a week or so until she comes back.

For those of you who skim over my new girlfriend-related ramblings, A) take your attitude elsewhere and B) I’m now going to talk about Google+. I ended up on it yesterday thanks to my fellow GR78 compadre Paul, which is very much appreciated, and despite me only having 8 contacts on there so far since it’s still essentially in Beta, there’s definitely some promise there.

It’s sort of like a classic Facebook in that it’s based around updates and sharing photo, video and links, but does away with all the gumph that’s made me get very frustrated with FB over the last year or two. No Farmville here, thank you. The Circles feature is very handy, and technically means with a larger audience I could spam about The Apprentice without alienating the uninterested half of my Twitter followers.

Also tested out the chat function on it earlier today, and I definitely prefer that to good old Facey-B. It’s got animated smileys, for Christ’s sake! Haven’t used the video chat (aka Hangout) function or had a multi-person chat yet, but both make Google+’s IM system to be more like an in-built MSN or Skype than a mere afterthought like Facebook’s abomination. That said, I did find the invitations, both to Google+ itself and chats, to be a bit slow to get to the other person, which I will put down to teething troubles at this stage.

It’s not a replacement for Twitter, but there’s definitely scope for it to take a large chunk of my Facebook attention away if enough of the right people end up on it. Speaking of which, if anyone wants an invite, feel free to beg. I like spreading the word about stuff.

I bought Dave “Devilfish” Ulliott’s autobiography the other day, and what I’ve read of it so far is absolutely fantastic. For those who don’t know, he’s a poker player, and is just as hilarious, outspoken, blunt, witty and generally fantastic in ghostwritten print as he is at the tables. I bought mine for a bargain £1.80 off Preston market, and if you’re at all interested in poker, I strongly suggest reading it.

Oh, and as my token writing update, I am now officially signed up to NaNoWriMo, and have also begun actually writing. Admittedly I’m currently only early into my first chapter of my novel, but it’s a start, and the ideas are flowing again like butter off toast.

I like a good analogy
Kev

Half-term report

It’s just gone July, which means we’re halfway through 2011. Which, I think you’ll agree, makes it a pretty good time to stop and reflect on how the year’s going so far.

I didn’t make any resolutions per se at the new year, but I’d say my main goals for the year were to write a book and lose some weight. Let’s see how they’re going:

Write a book:

Oops. I tried, I really tried. I got four chapters into the one I was working on over the turn of the year, but it sort of fizzled out and I just haven’t been able to restart it. Chalk that up as a big fat potential failure.

That said, I do still keep having ideas, and NaNoWriMo is coming up. Plus, Mooney has written, compiled and had a book published on Kindle (well worth a download if you’re a City fan), which is a hell of a carrot to dangle in front of me since it’s apparently very doable, and I don’t want to be left behind in the budding author stakes. So I’ll say a (slightly optimistic and very mysterious) stay tuned…

Lose some weight:

Definite tick in this box. I could have sworn I noted it down on the blog earlier this year, but around the turn of the year I think I was around 11 stone, or 154lbs (70kg to you metric lot), and was aiming at 10. Sadly this seems to have stalled slightly, I was told I was 66.6kg when I got weighed at the doctors’ in February (which is 10 stone 7 in proper money) fully clothed, a weight I’m still hovering around now.

The difference now though is that I don’t feel fat. Whether this is down to me regaining some muscle mass from walking half an hour to and from town a day or just actually being less insecure is irrelevant, the point is for the first time in 2 or 3 years I’m happy with my (lack of) physique.

The rest:

I started this year looking to get myself a job, and (admittedly through Rach and Gina taking pity on me) I got one at Styx (retrospective shameless plug warning). They must be mental.

As you may have noticed over the last few entries (I think I mentioned it once or twice) I’ve got myself a lovely girlfriend in Jess. Admittedly this wasn’t exactly something I went into the year looking to have happen, but it’s definitely a positive step for so many reasons, and I’ll make it a half year’s resolution not to do or say anything stupid to upset her. (See, much less mushy nonsense this time!)

And of course I’ve moved back to Preston, which has been brilliant. I’m not elaborating on that because I’ve included a dropdown to let you look at old entries, so if you’re new here and don’t know the full story yet, feel free to spend an evening revising the last six months of my life.

For the sake of it, I’ll end proceedings by giving myself some resolutions for the next 6 months. First, obviously, is to write a book. Even a novelette will do. Just something, preferably by NaNoWriMo. I’m going to chuck in winning a poker tournament, be it a live game down at Rileys or online. I still have dreams of playing poker for a living, or at least to provide a limited second income. I really want to see some live sport at some point this year, and as long as plans stay on track I should see some live music too. And finally, (soppy warning) see Jess as much as possible. Although to be honest that’s not much of a resolution because I want to do that anyway!

I’ll have totally forgotten about this post by December
Kev

Senna

Now I’m not usually one for doing big reviews of stuff unless it’s actually on a dedicated review blog, but having just been to see Senna at the Odeon, I felt compelled to post my thoughts on it.

First, a very basic bit of backstory for those who don’t know. Ayrton Senna was a Formula 1 driver, who died during a race in 1994, and this film is basically the story of his career. It’s particularly meaningful to me because, as I believe I mentioned in an earlier blog, Senna was on top of F1 just as I was getting into it back in the late 80s and early 90s.

I hesitate to use the word ‘hero’, but Senna was the first driver I knew, and every memorable F1 moment from 1989 to 1994 seemed to revolve around him in some way. Aside from my mum getting my two-year-old self up at stupid o’clock (or was it the other way round?) to watch the Japanese and Australian Grands Prix back then, Senna was probably the main factor in my F1 obsession.

Right then, the review. Firstly, a small nit to pick. I like to think I know a lot about Ayrton’s life (not least because of this book), and there was a great story in his earlier career that didn’t get told. Possibly it was just because of time constraints, but anything before he signed for McLaren in 1988 was either overlooked completely or brushed over in a matter of minutes, and whatever the reason, knowing what was missing makes it a glaring omission.

Also, I have to be honest, it’s a VERY biased film. Alain Prost and Jean-Marie Balestre come off as evil Gallic panto villains. Now, while there is a degree of truth in that (especially with Balestre, who I happen to think was a corrupt bastard of the highest, or should that be lowest, order), the film totally glosses over some of Senna’s flaws.

Again, I can understand it not wanting to paint Ayrton as the risk-taking madman Prost would have had you believe back in the day, but leaving out incidents such as Estoril ’88 and Imola ’89 (when Senna ignored an agreement the two had) doesn’t just tell things from Senna’s point of view as with other incidents, it gets in the way of a fair reflection of events, especially to those who don’t have any prior knowledge.

Those quibbles aside (although one last one, the ESPN commentator/narrator’s pronunciation of ‘Prost’ irks me and I’d have preferred it to have been done by Murray Walker), Senna is a magnificently done film. The 1994 season in particular is perfectly done, getting across Senna’s discomfort with the new car, concerns about the safety of the new rules and almost desperation about taking on the potentially illegal Benettons.

But it’s Imola where the film really hits home. I still remember that race as if it was yesterday, and needless to say, it’s not exactly a pleasant memory. Every aspect of the weekend is covered, and the video from inside the Williams pit during the crashes of Barrichello (whose name is unforgivably misspelled in the caption), Ratzenberger and of course Senna himself. Hearing the audience gasp and wince during the crashes really added to the atmosphere, too.

It’s an amazingly moving piece of film, and in those minutes alone, cements it as the best film I’ve seen for quite some time. If you have any interest in Formula 1, go and see it, or at the very least buy it when it comes out on DVD.

As one final note, this was the only time I have ever been to a film at the cinema where everybody stayed sat throughout the credits. Read into that what you will, but it’s not something I expect to see happen again for a long time, if ever.

Watch. This. Film.
Kev

Changes

Well. I know I say this every time, but I really need to start updating more, because I’ve got a hell of a lot to talk about now.

First and foremost, you may have noticed a new header and a new title for the blog. Wrong End of the Country was nice while it was relevant, but it hasn’t been for the last two months, and while I was listening to Minor Threat I realised that Out of Step still pretty much sums me up in handy quote form. So there it is! The blog has a new name. That didn’t take me long to sort out, did it?

But that’s by no means the biggest news. Remember Jess from the last entry, the poor lass who foolishly travelled over from the north-east to visit yours truly? Well I’m delighted to be able to say that I can now call her my girlfriend!

I’m bloody smiling again, even just writing that. We both readily admit to acting like 14 year old schoolkids around each other, basically the sort of people we’d generally retch at if it wasn’t us. Yes, we’re hypocrites. Yes, we probably sicken most people who see us. No, we don’t care.

It probably doesn’t take a degree in deduction to, erm, deduce that we’ve seen each other again since the last entry. This time I made the trip to Durham, for the bargain price of £43.30 thanks to the good people at National Express. Coach journeys still aren’t fun, for the record, and are still oddly tiring considering I was sat down reading Marilyn Manson’s autobiography or watching House on my laptop for the most part.

Commence the cuddly hypocrisy. I got to see her favourite coffee shop haunts this time, namely Caffé Nero (but in Durham, so it was new and exciting. Plus the frappés they made us were way too big so we got given cupfuls of overflow. AND we used my Nero card to get one of them free, so we basically got four drinks for the price of one! Longest. Parentheses. Ever) and Esquires, which I was reliably informed sold coffee by the bucket.

And the cooking we did. Oh, Lord, the cooking. As promised a few days earlier, Jess made her mutant pie, which I suppose is closest to a shepherd’s pie in taste and aesthetics, but this one basically involved whatever was closest to hand in the cupboard/fridge at the time. But in a display of inexplicable culinary delight not seen since Chris somehow managed to make corned beef, beans and mashed potato containing literally everything in his flat into a gourmet masterpiece, it was bloody brilliant.

The day after we somehow successfully made sushi, which I will prove with a picture to follow this paragraph. I’m quite impressed we managed it actually, I envisaged us ending up spooning a mess of sticky rice, soy sauce, mangled salmon and mutilated cucumber into our faces, but it worked a treat! And lasted right up until the next day when I made something involving chicken and noodles, which I’m told was also very nice.

Looks pretty good, if I do say so myself

Aside from cooking, a few other things to report about the trip. Durham in incredibly nice, and very similar to Lancaster in that it’s hilly as all hell and features a castle and cathedral perched atop a big-ass hill overlooking a river. This means I really like the place. And its residents, if Jess’ housemates (Alix, David, Evanna and Fiona, I really hope that’s everyone!) are anything to go by. Sadly, they’re not everyone I encountered.

Fast forward to Thursday night (day 3 of my trip, the night before I left) and we went out for a drink at somewhere called 24. For those several of you who don’t know, 24 is a student bar which seems to be in a hollowed out house, coincidentally number 24. Granted this wasn’t an all-night bender, we were only planning on being there for one drink before myself and Jess slunk home so we could get an early night before I had to catch my bus the following morning. Yeah, right. We stayed up for ages watching Paranormal Activity. Well, I say ‘we’. I watched it. Jess cowered under the duvet rather sweetly for most of it.

Anyway, there was a large group of rugby players already there when we got in. Not the salt of the earth rugby league players you get over here, oh no. These were posh boy rugby league players with greek letters on the backs of their team shirts and an unquenchable desire for Pimm’s. If that wasn’t bad enough, one of their mates, wearing RED JEANS, was passed out on the itBox. They managed to eventually wake him by chucking booze, pizza and straws at him, before he started wandering around in that sickening aimless way drunks do.

I was fairly sure he was going to be sick down our backs. What he actually did, after staggering in and out of the door three or four times, was walk past, pull a face that I think was supposed to be attractive, and stroke Jess’ hair! I’d been out in Durham for no more than 15 minutes and someone actually stroked my girlfriend’s hair! Luckily he pissed off and the rest of the short venture out was very enjoyable.

That slight hitch aside, yeah, great trip. If you can’t tell I’m absolutely made up, and incredibly happy to be able to say Jess is mine, all mine! Hopefully the feeling’s mutual. And all this over someone I met through Twitter. Suffice to say, social media never ceases to amaze me, and it would seem I owe it rather a lot now. Cannot. Stop. Smiling.

There are other things that I should be mentioning, I’m sure there are, but none of them spring immediately to mind at present, so rather than wrack my brains over them I’ll save them for another blog when they do inevitably pop back into my head. For now, I’ll leave you with one last bit of lovey-dovey trash, in the form of this picture.

Sickbags are placed to the right of your chairs
Kev

I got my adventure

…sort of. Technically it wasn’t MY adventure, but someone else’s that involved me.

For those of you who aren’t already aware, I’m a little bit nuts, and generally a lot moody. So for me to be able to tell you that I’ve been in a proper, full-fledged actual good mood since Thursday should come as quite a shock.

To cut a long blog entry short, on Thursday the lovely Jess‘ ability to avoid procrastination wore out, leading to a last minute (well, midnight on Wednesday/Thursday) decision to get a train over on Thursday afternoon for a flying visit.

Needless to say, given that it’s put me in what I’m slightly concerned might be a perpetual good mood, it was a thoroughly enjoyable 24 hours until she left early on Friday afternoon. We went to the Mystery Tea House where I had my first taste of a blooming tea (Princess Amaranth to be precise), which I’m now reliably informed is called Nightwish Tea. I showed her how awesome the food at The Guild is. We went to Caffé Nero. We indulged in a fair amount of mango Lipton. We watched Jess’ slightly-too-scratched extended edition of Return of the King, since I’ve been on a LotR kick as of late. Frankly nothing else is any of your business…

What is your business is that I am tired. I’ve been in Chester of all places today, at the Alt Fashion Summer Fair, which was pretty good. Six of us from Styx went, which may have been slight overkill but did mean it was a nice low workload since we did shifts through the day. And they had some BRILLIANT brownies there. The cakey sort, not the young girl scout things. Ew.

Speaking of Styx (great segue skills there), it’s our first birthday soon, so if you’re in the area on the 14th, which is our actual anniversary of opening, come in and visit. Maybe even buy stuff. This advertisement is in no way paid for by Styx or its affiliates.

Er, what else is new? Oh yeah, I really like the new sandwich additions to the Tesco meal deals, and that you can get some chocolate other than a KitKat, or any crisps. Well worth the extra 50p, although the ‘new improved (don’t get me started on that one) sushi rice’ seems remarkably similar to the old sort. Oh yeah, and it turns out I really like Sonata Arctica!

Totally not looking at National Express prices to Durham
Kev

My fluctuating heartrate

I’m quite impressed that I’ve survived the last week to be able to tell you about the last week. If you can understand that sentence then congratulations. Essentially, I’ve spent the last week giving my poor old heart a workout like it hasn’t had in years, since the time I had upside-down mad rabbit-like sex on top of a moving train. That might be a lie, but it’s still a fair reflection of what the old ticker’s been through.

First and foremost, Sunday was a horribly unpleasant experience. If you don’t know why (which would mean you neither follow me on Twitter nor are my friend on Facebook), it’s about football, so feel free to zone out until after the picture if that doesn’t interest you.

I went through more emotions than I knew I had. I was excited through the day, slipping into nervousness as kickoff approached. Then our defence went to shit, Blackpool went ahead, come half time I was completely speechless. I sat more or less in shock for 15 minutes, then went back to nerves as the second half started. Nerves turned to fear, fear turned to hope as O’Hara scored, hope began to become resignation as results went even more against us, and then, Stephen Hunt, that wonderful Irish saviour, scored a goal that sent me into euphoria. I was shaking and worryingly close to tears. It was complete hell, and I clocked my pulse at 141 just after our second goal. But I’d go through it all again if it meant we were safe.

My new hero

Sadly it did have a fairly strong emotional toll on me, which is hardly surprising in retrospect. Ended up at the pub on Sunday night for some contrived reason, and spent most of it sat on a table in the beer garden not saying a word. I think it’s as close as I’m ever going to come to a comedown. Although considering at the time I was having a crisis it’s probably a good thing it was only temporary, and I’m now back to my normal chipper* self

*cantankerous, pedantic and acerbic

Operation Don’t Be A Fat Bastard is also well underway. Yes, I’ve slipped with the odd Chesters lately, but I’ve also done a lot of walking. Particularly on Tuesday. I came back home, and decided I fancied a walk. Having just walked into town and back, but that’s besides the point. Rather than wander aimlessly around Moor Park for an hour, I decided I’d go somewhere. Namely, Leyland, since Katy was off, and I knew if I set off going to somewhere I wouldn’t be able to get bored. Armed with the knowledge that it was 6 miles from my house to hers, which Google Maps said should take me exactly 2 hours, I set off, and arrived successfully in Leyland… 85 minutes later. I’m pretty happy with that considering I was aiming for 90. Admittedly it was a bit drizzly and miserable on the way, but I didn’t catch a cold so it’s all good!

My wonderfully scenic route

Also on the walking front, I had a nap last night. Bear with me, this is going somewhere. Woke up at 9, and decided I needed, yes, needed a brew. Sadly, I was short in money, and very short in time to get some. Unwilling to pay Spar or Co-op prices, I decided the best plan would be to walk to Sainsbury’s at 10pm! Admittedly that’s only a mile away but it did mean walking along Moor Park. Luckily for me, no dogging or sodomy took place, and I returned with not only teabags (30p for 80!!), milk (the famed 1% fat stuff that somehow still tastes like milk) and sugar (nothing notable about it), but buns, ham, a whole entire mango and a rocky road dessert (well, I had earned it with a 2 mile round trip). Total cost, 6 quid ish. I’ll settle for that.

As a final thought, I still have no real tangible idea where this diet’s supposed to get me. I’ve got no scales to keep track of my weight, so I’m still hoping a big siren will sound when (if) I slip under 10 stone. I’m just sort of hoping that one day soon I’ll look down and not think ‘ugh, you’re hideous’. Like that’ll ever happen.

I want an adventure. Any takers?
Kev

Pronuciation and other tidbits

I know. I know. I bloody know, alright?! I’ve neglected this poor blog like a small child left in a box as a practical joke, I still haven’t updated the name or the graphic at the top, and there’s probably some other nitpicking you miserable sods can do as well. But the most important thing is that I am back blogging, and I know you’re all ecstatic about that.

I can’t even remember when my last entry was, and definitely can’t be bothered checking because I’ll probably be overcome with shame and go into a huge depression spiral, so I’ll just summarise what I’ve done in the last couple of weeks and anything I’ve missed out will have to be consigned to the great bin of wonder. I’ve done lots, and yet absolutely nothing at all.

I’ve discovered that a lot of people can’t adequately pronounce my username (KevsXe). I sort of knew this anyway thanks to some fairly shambolic attempts from broadcasters who’d read out my tweets/forum posts, mostly during motorsport events (I think I’ve had mentions on MotoGP, F1, DTM and Le Mans coverage now) and none of them got it right. So, for the record, because it’s highly likely you’ll need to say it out loud at some point, it’s “Kev-ess-ex-ee”. Not “Kev’s-ex-ee” (I don’t own any xenon), and definitely not “Kev-sexy”. There’s at least four things wrong with that last one.

Which does bring me neatly to my next point, vanity. Despite the bare-faced lies that are told to me, I am hideous. I’m now on (yet another) diet, which admittedly has started badly since Sadie decided what was needed yesterday was a ton of chocolate chip cupcakes and cookies, but at the same time I’m making an effort by eating carrot sticks, checking fat levels in food I eat and slathering everything in sweet chilli sauce. Virtually fat-free, albeit in no way sugar-free. But after some soul-searching, I think I’d rather end up diabetic and skinny than fat and diabetes-free. These are the things that go through my mind day-to-day.

I went to Blackpool a week ago. It’s hard to explain how this came about, Katy somehow came to the conclusion she needed some rock. We came home with no rock, but with cheap easter eggs and toffee dummies. And with, beyond a shadow of doubt, my favourite picture of me from the last two years.

Yes, that's me inside a kid's Postman Pat ride

I’ve been out. In Preston. At night. Faithful old Where’s Mavis, back in the day a staple, has bounced around a few venues and ended up upstairs in Roper Hall. Which sounds appalling. Upstairs in Roper is possibly, 53 Degrees aside, the worst place to get served in Preston. Possibly all of Lancashire. But despite me having to queue for upwards of 10 minutes for one J2O, and also despite me looking like a natural disaster, it wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought. Even if I have devolved to the level of a handbag with a conscience that Sadie calls at the last minute when she realises she’ll have no sober company otherwise.

Football’s going well. I’ve been bricking it over Wolves’ relegation plight over the last few weeks, but we’ve won the last two games 3-1, and now safety is in our own hands, which is all we could hope for really. I’ll be absolutely made up if we pull it off. I think the Wolves tattoo I threw together the other week might have to be inked sometime over summer. I’m itching to get a new tat, and/or my labret (re)pierced. I’ve got my old collection of horns and spikes to plonk on it sitting forlornly on my shelf. I don’t have the heart to let them go unused.

Oh, and I almost forgot. Today is Eurovision. I know it’s probably the least goth thing in the known universe, but I’ve got even more into it than usual. God help me, I do love televoting. I watched both semis, while tweeting incessantly and working my way through some Sweet Chilli Sensations (Tuesday’s semi) and carrot sticks with sweet chilli dip (Thursday). Still haven’t decided what to go for tonight, but there’s half the carrot sticks still left, along with some BBQ salsa. May have to get something else though. Breadsticks could work.

I’ve just remembered this little ditty from the 2007 edition. I think it’s an appropriate point to end this entry.

I wish I was in Düsseldorf
Kev