Multi-purpose vehicle

Today, my long lasting, ever-able car found another use. My beloved 1986 Ford Escort 1.4 GL Estate in champagne gold has almost reached legendary status. Not only do you all know who Ernie the Escort is (unless you a new reader, in which case, welcome), but so does just about everyone in my social circles. In fact, if you search Google for Ernie the Escort, he is the first result, and the first two image results.

Since buying my car for £300 in 2005, my car has risen to every challenge thrown at it. It has been a mini(mini)bus, a van, a long range kayak transporter, a mountain driving car, an off-roader, an ambulance, a police car (albeit only in videos), a band car, and very nearly a submarine (see a post from a few weeks back). But today, Ernie become something else: a break-down recovery towing vehicle.

My slightly mad Uncle had to get rid of his wife's car, down to a scrap dealer. It had been sitting so long that it wouldn't start, and the brakes were ceased. So, using my car (and the tow rope I always have with me) I heaved the car off of it's ceased brakes. Then I towed the car for a while. As we were driving along, every now and then, my Uncle's car became very heavy. Why? Was Ernie finally giving up? No, my mad Uncle was trying 'bump starting' the car as we drove along. It worked, but I swear that my clutch has never smelt like that before...

As it turns out, my car will soon be something else soon. A continental cruiser. We are being forced to go to the Alpes in a few weeks, and in an effort to travel cheap (and for me to find some enjoyment) we're driving. In Ernie. Yes, my 22 year old Escort will be covering over 700 miles to Grenoble in Southern France. If anyone wants to leave a snide comment about breaking down, don't bother. 1 - I am 100% sure that we're going to get all the way there, and all the way back. 2 - I've already heard them all. Thanks friends and family for all your faith...

Oh good, it's Christmas. Again...

There are some people at there that this year believe I have developed a dislike of Christmas. Whilst I freely admit that Christmas isn't the happiest time of year for me, I don't hate it. The majority of my friends are elsewhere (and this year, with Michael in Wales, I think I can say that all of my friends are elsewhere), I guess that I just feel a bit lonely. Add in the fact that for two weeks, I have nothing to do (NTC is closed, and I admit to missing them, no Uni, and not much to get out of bed for), and I am locked in a house with my family. Are you seeing my point? I love Christmas, but when it's time to go and buy that Christmas tree, it's generally an early warning system being switched on in my head that two weeks of misery approaches.

But I do believe in the good that Christmas has to offer. At this time of the year, Lancing and Sompting Lions club (of which I am a member) go around my home town of Lancing with Santa, on a brightly lit sleigh, towed by another of our member's old Rover, playing loud Christmas tunes. For someone who truely hates Christmas, I imagine that it is hell on Earth. But I actually quite enjoy. Despite having the wonderful Chavs of Lancing lauching rocks at us, and old gits shouting at us (we just say 'Merry Christmas' extra loudly to them...), we go out in the cold, and knock on doors, and rattle tins. Although it brings in over £2000 a year, I enjoy it to see the small children smile at Santa. Soppy I know, but proof I hope, that I don't hate Christmas.

On a side note, you have not lived until you have ridden in the back on an old trailer (I mean sleigh), towed by an old Rover at 30mph along the A27, with the sound system set to inappropriately loud, playing that tune that goes: 'Hallelujah! HALLELUJAH! Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Halle-hey, Lujah!' Please imagine me singing that, I think it makes for better imagery...

Merry Christmas from CATCOUK (if I don't manage to post again before Thursday). Incidentally, just 5 shoplifting days left until that special day...

Just setting the record straight

Whilst having a conversation recently, the topic of my nickname arrised. For those of you that don't know, I am known as Flora in some circles. Quite an unusual nickname for a heterosexual bloke like myself, and one that always causes questions. So here it is, the reason I ma known as Flora (well, as I understand it anyway)...

In the first few weeks of University in the first year is when nicknames start to appear. In our year group we have Batman, Gadget, Extreme Paul (later XP), Fella, 'Our Kes', Irish Kerry and so on. Around this time, people started to refer to me as Flora. Apparently, my need to help people, and constant offering of help and stuff had earned me a reputation as being a very pro-active person. At the time (and maybe still, I don't know) you could buy a margarine called Flora Pro-active. Hence the name, Flora.

Cheesy, I know, and at first it certainly felt a little odd. But I've grown to like it. Unlike Batman and Gadget, whose real names of Simon and James have been long forgotten, I've managed to keep mine. I guess that would be largely due to the fact that it's difficult to introduce myself. 'Hi my name's James, but my friends call me Gadget' works alright. 'Hi, my name's Andy, but you can call me Flora' sounds even weirder than I look.

So there you have it. Done.

I also want to just say that I am going to the Alpes in January. Whilst for many people this may seem like a fantastic opportunity, as the University trip gets closer, I am beginning to resent it, and worry about it even more. Worse still, because of the enormous expense involved, the trip is going to wipe out my savings, and possibly even put me in debt. I wouldn't mind so much, if it was actually something I wanted to do, or maybe was for the benefit of others. But it's not. Am I a bad person for hoping that some personal tradgey will befall me, and give me a good reason to not attend? Of course, as soon as the idea even hints in my mind, I remember that people do rely on me -

I am driving, in my car, the glorious 1986 Ford Escort 1.4 GL Estate in champagne gold (Ernie) to Grenoble. Maybe that's the funniest thing you've ever heard, but only because you don't think my car's up to it. Rubbish. It's only a 1500 mile round trip. Ernie used to cover that in two weeks.

And on that note, I'd like to open up to comments from the floor. If you have another suggestion as to my nickname, please feel free to share it with us.

I don't know why he worries - it only cost the equivalent of 40 Ernies...

I know, I know, I haven't posted for a while. And it's not like I have a good excuse. Or even a crap excuse. I just couldn't be bothered - I've had a very lazy week, now that Uni is 'over' (although I still have a dissertation to be getting on with, and lots of things to be reading about ready for the Alpes).

Wednesday night, I received a phone call from 'Amy Mike'. Very confused (and obviously the name meant something when I put it in) I answered. The young lady asked me if I'd like to go and see a movie at the Brighton marina (all is looking up I guess you're thinking). Unfortunatly, it was my best friend, Michael's girlfriend. They and their neighbour were going to watch Transporter 3. Was their neighbour female - no.

Single female company asside, the movie was okay. The editor of Transporter 3 needs to be shot - I haven't seen poorly and fakely sped up film since TV shows of the late '70s! Also, I hope that the BBC and the producers of Top Gear have been paid for their creative input - we've seen BMX cycling in Budapest before, and vehicles being pulled out of the water and restarted (although it wasn't a Toyota pickup). To add insult to injury, the observant viewer will notice a copy of Top Gear magazine on the top shelf of the magazine rack in the petrol station...

[once again, no image - I still can't access my external hard drive - curse you Western Digital]

3 Escorts out of 5: not a bad movie, but just about worth seeing.

Lastly, to the title of my blog. Michael recently purchased a very nice Audi A4 2ltr sport diesel. Asside from using the fuel of the devil, the car is very nice. But despite costing 40 times what I paid for my classic special edition multi-purpose '86 Ford Escort, I ask you - should it take 20 minutes to park in an empty (yes I said empty) car park. Michael, I love you, but you really are a tart when it comes to parking. Just when he'd taken three attempts to park straight in the bay, Amy (his girlfriend) pointed out some muddy football marks on the wall next to the car. The parking process started again...

I didn't find it funny at the time

The Adventure Activities Director of the Corps, and responsible for the organisation's safety policies nearly parked his car in the wet bit of Shoreham Harbour today.

At least that's how I imagine the Corps magazine (if it was published regularly) would report the matter. I ran a conference and a training course today, and arrived at the centre to find ALOT of cars in the little road leading to the centre. I don't know what was going on, but it was busy. I backed down the lane (because you would never turn around), and went to park behind a van. I backed the car in, and then went to go forward and turn the car in behind the van. All sounds fair enough...

I should explain that this road runs directly next to Shoreham harbour's canal. What I hadn't noticed, is that unlike the the rest of the quayside, the quayside where I was parked suddenly cut in, and got narrower. From a distance, it looked straight, and the actual point where the quayside came in, was hidden from my view by my bonnet. So as I drove forward to go behind this van (and I think you can see where this is going), my front left tire found the gap and... CLUNK! 'Ah,' I said, 'that's not gone well' (or words similar to that, I forget the exact wording).

Fortunately, some of my friends from NTC's London region were there to help (and they even managed to contain their laughter). They got in the boot to counter balance the car, and Mark pushed from the front, whilst I put the car in reverse, and put the wheel full over. With the help of some of the centre's neighbours, Ernie crawled back onto the bank, and avoided going for a swim. I asked the guys if they had seen that James Bond movie, and explained that the Lotus had gone due to budget cuts...

The irony is, I was convinced I would end up in the drink this morning. It's a steep little road, and my driveway was very icy. Funny though, ice played no part in it. (I wish it had, at least then I's have an excuse other than being a muppet...).

She's got a PhD - yeah, in incompetence

Facebook readers will have been slightly mistified by a status I left up last night. Yesterday, I received an E-mail from a lecturer at University. She may well have a PhD, but she sure missed out on the common sense when they were handing it out. All semester, I have been saying that she's an eejit, but everyone else keeps telling me that I'm being harsh. Well, let's put it to a public vote:

She has missed three lectures on short notice, and she only had to present 6! Worst still, one of the lectures she cancelled was a rescheduled lecture that I travelled into Uni for, because she had cancelled it first time round! And to add further insult, she only cancelled that lecture after we had been waiting for twenty minutes, and got bored and phoned her office.

The E-mail I received contained the lecture notes of the lecture she failed to deliver. I got them Friday - not Monday when we should have had the lecture. Maybe this wouldn't be such an issue, if our exam wasn't this Monday! Still at least we got them before our exam, which I imagine was largely due to luck, and not because she realised...

Lastly, the main reason she had sent the E-mail (I guess the lecture notes were an after thought), she wants some help running some tests at a school. Money would be paid for assisstance, and even better, the school is near me! Just as I am about to reply, and say I'll do it, I look at the date. What day do you think this testing is happenning? That's right, the day of our exam. Well-f**k*ng-done.

So, what's your verdict. Is she: A. A idiot. B. A smart person (spelt S.M.R.T.) C. A dullard. D. A tard. or (in the interests of fairness) E. Someone vaguely intelligent.

Answers of a postcard please!

Bloody Cliff Richard!

Christmas is fast approaching, whether I want to admit it or not. So I have managed to get alot of Christmas shopping done this week. Today, I had to get the last thing for my mother - a Cliff Richard CD. Now I'm certainly no expert, but I've seen adverts on the TV, and I was pretty sure he'd just released a new album.

I wondered in to HMV, and was confronted with row upon row upon row of CDs and DVDs. I buy a fair few DVDs, but I can't remember the last time I bought a CD. Being short on time, I swallowed my pride, and asked a shop assistant. Just as I approached a guy to ask, I suddenly felt very apprehensive. What self-respecting 21 year old guy is going to buy a Cliff Richard CD?

Feeling like some seedy bloke, looking for the adult videos, I approached the shop guy for help. Feeling like I should be wearing a long trench coat, a hat, and some sun glasses, I asked him where I could find a Cliff Richard CD. He walked me over to the area, and feeling like a filthy depraved pervert, I picked out Cliff's jolly, if not slightly gay face. Then with a fair ammount shame, I approached the counter, and purchased this disgusting CD, trying desperately to cover up the front cover. I shoved the CD in my bag, and quickly exited the shop.

Having gone through that ordeal, I proceeded to Mum's work, to help her out with something. You'll never guess what was sitting on her desk next to her CDE player - the same bloody Cliff Richard CD that I had just got from HMV (well not the same one, but you know what I mean). There was Cliff's smug (and slightly camp) face looking back at me, taunting me. Now I have to go back to HMV, and get a refund. Oh, the embarressment...

Normal service will now resume

Hello all. Just when you thought that you had got rid of me for good, I resurface like a bad smell, or that embarressing rash you got from an old wetsuit...

I have been a bit quiet of late, as I have had a metric sh*t ton of University work. 2500 words of the worst module on the face of the planet (Water Based Research), a 700 word poster of the worst subject of all time (Physiology - sorry JK, it's just not my thing), and 2800 words for Environments (despite being a pretty dull topic, this was my favourit module of the semester!!). So with that in mind, I hope you'kll appreciate that I didn't really feel like writing anything else.

Anyways, the horrors of water based research are now a dull and distant memory, and I have forgotten all that I had written on the physiology poster (thank god I wasn't asked any probing questions...). Many an amusing thing has happenned over the past few weeks, but I can't remember any of them. So you'll just have to settle for a quick message today.

The last time we did a poster presentation, I dressed uber-smartly in my best (and only) pin-stripe suit, and looked the business. No on else bothered with their attire, so I looked like a bit of a fruit. Today we had another poster presentation,a nd everyone else had dressed really smartly - we all really looked great. Well, I say we... I actually thought they were joking, so didn't make the effort. There were suits wondering about, and very smart looking people indeed.

I on the other hand went a little more casual. Suade jacket, and a cowboy hat. I was asked of I had recently discovered oil, or of I now owned a major leage US football team. It turns out, I just wasn't able to attend Wild West night at the bar on Monday, and I didn't want to miss out!!!

So once again, I ended up looking like a loon - but at least this time it was on purpose.

PS - Yeehaw!