... okay, now imagine that toilet seat is a basketball ring...

According to the bathroom cleaning check list at work, one of the cleaners is a ‘C. Taylor’.  A little part of me really wants the ‘C’ to stand for ‘Chuck’, though ‘Carol’ is more likely.  I don’t know if Chuck was even married?

gregarious, adj: fond of the company of others, sociable, friendly, extroverted

Sums me up pretty well I reckon.  I was invited to a friend’s birthday party last weekend and although there was never a doubt in my mind that I would attend, I was acutely aware that said friend would be the only person I knew not only in the restaurant venue but in the whole county.  Unless someone’s upped sticks and kept it quiet.  So I was a bit nervous… I fancy my chances of getting on with most people and winning over any that prove to be tougher game, but there’s always a fear that personalities will clash and it’ll be a tough occasion.

It went well.  The folk I ended up sitting and chatting with I felt like I knew already and I hope they felt the same way.  I don’t plan on writing an instruction manual on successful mingling: some of you will be reading this and thinking “yes I tend to have that knack” and others will be reading this and thinking “me and forty strangers?  No thanks.”  Neither is right or wrong.  We’re all different and I’ve been in situations where my gregarious nature has let me down… I recall the time when I was re-tiling the kitchen at a local convent.

Joseph-Louis Lagrange (25 January 1736, Turin, Piedmont – 10 April 1813, Paris), born Giuseppe Lodovico (Luigi) Lagrangia, was an Italian-born mathematician and astronomer, who lived part of his life in Prussia and part in France, making significant contributions to all fields of analysis, to number theory, and to classical and celestial mechanics.

I was studying a map of the UK last night, trying to figure out which town or city lies approximately equidistant between Barnsley and Rugby.  It struck me that the two towns are about the same size in terms of square area and population so if the central town or city was smaller in terms of square area and population, we’d have a pretty crude analogy to one of Lagrange’s celestial mechanics proofs…  Don’t ask me why all this came to mind; I cannot explain why, it just did…

… the Lagrangian points are the five positions in an orbital configuration where a small object affected only by gravity can theoretically be stationary relative to two larger objects such as a satellite with respect to the Earth and Moon.  The Lagrange point would be the position at which the relative gravitational fields of two larger objects provide precisely the centripetal force required for the smaller object to rotate equidistantly between them.  Simple.

I won’t make a habit of that^ so don’t worry.

Bishop’s Finger, Old Peculier, Riggwelter, Spitfire, Headshrinker… just a few of the great real ales I’ve sampled over the years.  Periodically, I become bored with lager and that can be a confusing emotion that I don’t particularly enjoy.  To reduce the frequency of these uncertain periods; any time I find myself in a remote country pub or a free house then I will make a point of giving the local or guest ale a chance.  Some of these brews taste like witch piss, but now and then I’m pleasantly surprised.  And pissed.  So I jumped at the chance of going to the Nottingham Beerfest in a few weeks time… lots of cool beer, munchie style food (God, I hope there is anyway) and excellent company.  All this in a castle!  It wasn’t really a decision; just a confirmation of my attendance.

One last thing… how much of an unprofessional, insecure, egotistical, self-indulgent wanker do you have to be in order to talk about a pay grievance with your employer live on air?  Chris Moyles, wind yer neck in and please don’t paraphrase Spike Milligan on your Twitter page ever again.  Thanks.

Your mate looks like Morrissey...

You know you’re going well when you come to a hill and the cyclist you’ve been slowly catching struggles out of the saddle as you spin past still seated.  Then a mile down the road you make a cursory glance backwards to survey the scene and there he is: a hi-vis spec in the distance.  Of course it’s all relative, but it’s very reassuring in these headwinds that cyclists have been treated to this summer.  If my Physics is accurate then the power required to maintain a given forward velocity into an introduced headwind is proportional to the square of the force produced by the wind… so although a lot of my rides are in largely flat terrain in Yorkshire and Humberside, the inevitable headwinds do go towards making up for the lack of hills!

I headed out towards Cawood, Ryther and Ulleskelf on Friday and made my way back through Towton and Saxton.  Ferocious headwinds made sure I had a good workout, but it was nice to have a tailwind for a few miles and drafting a combine harvester at 25mph for a mile or so also helped.

Saturday wasn’t quite as athletic.  I rolled out of bed at 10am, ate some Weetabix and then drove to Altrincham.  I did shower and dress in between the healthy breakfast and getting on the M62 – driving naked and with bed-head would be a social faux pas.  That afternoon and evening consisted mainly of Saturday football, bizarre strangers and strong Belgian beers.  It must be evident to strangers that I'm very approachable – whenever we’re out as a group and someone collars us, it’s always me who ends up fielding the press conference and making the small talk.  I don’t actually mind this, but it was annoying on Saturday when the lady who befriended us (because Andrew looks like Morrissey, apparently!) thought I was taking the piss out of her when really I was just trying to be pleasant as is my nature.  I was a little upset that I’d upset her and it played on my mind for a while… but it’s water under the bridge now and looking back; it was slightly booze-fuelled.

And that brings me to the Belgian bar we spent a large chunk of the night in.  Table service, dozens of beers to choose from and a pretty waitress… what’s not to like?  Well Rob didn’t like his second drink and likened it to Dettol.  I wish I could recall the name to ward you all away.  I stuck to ‘Orval’, a 6.2% light brew… all the 10% proof offerings were tempting, but for once I remembered that I had to make it through the rest of the evening AND drive home the next morning.  A good night was had by all and there were one or two revelations, which I am not at liberty to divulge.

Facebook gets a bad press from a lot of people.  I use it regularly and enjoy reading friends’ status updates and looking at photographs of their travels and adventures, but it really is the all-seeing eye and that can be dangerous – the “I’ve nothing to hide” argument is a weak one and we all know it.  Last week I ended up chatting to an old friend from a few years ago at work when we were based at The Old Brewery offices.  We’d been connected on the book of faces for a short while, but hadn’t really been in touch.  Anyway that’s all changed for the better and it turns out we have more in common than we ever realised back in the day… it’s been a tough few months, but this little re-acquaintance has helped to cheer me up. :-)

Thanks for reading!

Tell us about yourself...

Well today finds me in a bit of a shitty mood.  I’m finding myself being wound up very easily, which is not like me at all.  Ahem…

I miss working in Leeds.  I don’t miss the God-forsaken (other deities are available) business park where the current Leeds office is (for now), but I miss the days of working in the city centre initially on The Embankment and more recently at High Court.  Then, work itself was bustling and interesting; I had colleagues hailing from various backgrounds, cultures and countries and we were bloody busy delivering one or two very big schemes!  At lunch or after work; the options for food, drink or retail therapy were plenty.  The social scene was good too – the week was somehow incomplete if one didn’t end up half-cut in Aire Bar on a Friday early evening.

Fucking hell, how times have changed…

The Leeds office has been on its last legs for some time now and is about to be euthanized by means of a corporate lethal injection.  A part of the failed treatment for this once great ailing power has seen your favourite blogger (No; me!) farmed out to a client’s head offices.  I’m grateful for the opportunity as it keeps me off the overheads radar, gives me the opportunity to broaden my CV and, most of all, I’ve met one or two really good people.

So I’m currently based in a town with a great history, potentially a great future but a struggling present.  The outskirts are burgeoning with lovely new build developments and some of the surrounding villages are home to sought after properties, but the town centre itself leaves a lot to be desired.  Now I’ve probably been spoiled working in Leeds and Dublin [briefly] over the past nine years or so and I guess if I ventured into Pontefract or Wakefield during the day (something I haven’t done for a couple of years) then I’d be faced with a similar sight; one or two worthy shops bobbing along in a sea of competing bakeries, bookmakers and run-down public houses.

I just find it all so depressing and frustrating.  I don’t know what the official unemployment figures are, but a significant proportion of the people I see wandering around the town centre at lunchtimes appear to be in no rush to be anywhere in particular.  Okay some of these amblers are of pensionable age so I won’t begrudge them the opportunity to while away the day in provincial northern England, but it’d be nice if some of the younger timewasters tried to get a job or at the very least didn’t spend all their benefits on Bensons, cheap lager and Greggs.

Speaking of trying to get a job, I have an interview tomorrow for an internal vacancy.  I have no idea what to expect; the last interview I had I was only 21 and had just graduated from university.  As far as I can recall the interviewers were just keen to know that I could fasten my own shoes and knew how to catch a bus i.e. that I wasn't as thick as two short planks.  And here I am, the Velcro shoes worked!  I envisage tomorrow being a real test of my experience and knowledge... watch this space.

I think I’m off to the pub for a quiet pint and having a night off from cycling – I did 170 miles last week, got soaked on my ride last night and my knee is a little sore… aiming for Friday in the saddle.

Thanks for reading!

We Love It!

I realise you must have been feeling neglected and cast aside over the past couple of weeks; it’s a while since I posted ‘Control’.  But I have an excuse in that I have been on holiday on America’s West Coast – I refuse to sit at a PC, when there’s a beach and the Pacific Ocean.

But I’ve been making notes in preparation for my return and reading them sat here in Barnsley Council offices; the occurrences, which I saw fit to report to you good people, seem like a million lifetimes away.

Three Fridays ago (13^th August); we (me, Gav, Gaz, Sam, Phil, James, Louise and Megan) jetted out of Heathrow towards LAX.  Despite being delayed for 2hrs and the flight almost being cancelled (according to the bloke checking my boarding card), the eventual journey was otherwise uneventful, which is always nice when hurtling along at 500mph and 38000ft in a giant cigar tube.  Phil’s seatback monitor worked and Gav managed to make it all the way without having OJ or tea spilled on him.  So we landed late in Los Angeles, negotiated the man with the torch and rubber glove and then caught a transfer bus to the Radisson.

We stayed there one night, before collecting the hire cars from Dollar, tramming down the 405 and eventually settling into the beach house at 114 35^th Street, Newport Beach.  We had been there 2hrs, when our old friend Tim “TJ The DJ” Johnson showed up… he took us to his friend’s house on 41^st to collect our bikes, which he had kindly stored for us.  They were in surprisingly good condition although if I had more than US$150 invested in mine, I might have gone to the bother of adjusting the headset and sorting out the rear derailleur indexing – but I was on holiday, didn’t have the tools and will probably never see the bike again!  Back to the beach house, quick change, few more beers on the balcony and then a cab to Sutra nightclub where we met a lad who was a cross between Michael J Fox and Justin Bieber.  He gave us his number and the assurance that he throws awesome parties where he “really fucks it up” and we were “very privileged” to have his contact details.  We never saw him again – through lack of trying!

Do not fear, I won’t write about every day individually; just pick out a few highlights from the fortnight!

The first highlight was the weather.  It was positively chilly on Saturday evening and on Sunday, we didn’t see much sun until about 2pm.  Residents told us this had been the case all summer so we feared the worst.  Fortunately, we seem to have dropped on the West Coast’s beach town’s best period of weather as we were treated to clear blue skies until the day before we headed home.

We were urged to visit the OC Fair before it finished and so we did.  I always enjoyed visiting the annual fair with my parents at Friarwood HGV park in Pontefract so this brought back some good memories!  The only mistake we made was eating before we got there…  the food selection was greater than the ride selection – I so wish I had room in my stomach for giant turkey legs and deep-fried butter.  Despite my fear of heights which follows no set rules and varies between cliff-tops, ladders, roller coasters, garage roofs etc I revelled in the Ferris (Bueller?  Bueller?  Bueller?) wheel and the sky ride from one end of the park to the other.  Looking back, the sky ride wasn’t particularly safe and Sam’s subsequent white knuckles and pale complexion were very much testament to this!

We went out for a drink just about every night; nothing heavy, but on a few occasions I ended up pretty wasted.  Me, Gaz, Phil, Louise, Megan and Tim headed to ‘Landmark’, in Laguna, to meet our friend Alexis and her friend Tina.  We had a really good night and it was great to catch up with an old friend and make a new one.  By the way, I recommend you have a read of Alexis’ blog which is all about delicious food!  I blame my state of intoxication on the free sample shots and proper European lager…

The following Saturday, we headed up the 405 freeway to downtown LA and Sunset Boulevard to be more precise.  We started in a pretty lame bar called ‘The Red Rock’ for a few warm-up drinks and then proceeded to the Viper Room and Whiskey a Go Go.  As usual (speaking as though I go every week) there was live music at both venues: we caught the whole set from ‘Phil Baranchik's Eyelash Factory’ at Viper Room and the tail end of the set at Whiskey a Go Go.  Once the band had finished, we finished off the night by laying down some moves on the dance floor and then heading to Mel’s Drive-In for a bite to eat… well most of us did; one or two chose to sit in the car park…

A day to recover before heading Las Vegas.  We stayed at The Mirage – two adjoining quad rooms for US$27 each which was spot on really.  No point spending anything more when only being in them for a few hours.  During the day, I was accosted by a girl working at one of those mobile stores in the ‘Fashion Show’ mall.  She was selling skin treatment products.  I had half hour to spare so I thought I’d be polite and let her do her thing.  After having a good few $ worth of product massaged into my face (which I’ll be honest, I was impressed with), I told her the majority of my cash was back at the hotel so she basically told me to fuck off.  There’s a moral to this story, but I’ll let you make your own interpretations.

Come 8pm, we got suited and booted (not ideal in Vegas temperatures) and headed off for some Roulette action.  Gav came away even, but then tipped the croupier $5 and was hence ‘down’ for the evening.  I don’t gamble (used to), but put $1 in a bandit while waiting for a drink - $26 return, thank you very much Mr Caesar!  On to ‘Jet’ nightclub in our hotel – we were told it was a good place to go and we also had complementary tickets.  I thought it was okay and me and Gav stayed there til the early hours once again trying to impress on the dance floor.  We went for a wander and on a search for food… I headed back about half hour before Gav and in that time he bumped into Ron Jeremy who apparently acquiesced in a delightful manner when asked to have his photo taken.  Don’t pretend you don’t know who Ron Jeremy is!

The remainder of our stay in Newport was taken at a leisurely pace: beach, bar, beach, bar, bed, beach, bar… you get the idea.  We did go to the baseball (Angles; not Dodgers) for Big Bang Friday and although the game itself was boring, the firework display, beer and food was pretty good.  We finished our last night in Newport Beach in the only way imaginable; getting tanked in District bar.

Good times.

I’m already planning my next trip, so if have any recommendations or can even offer me accommodation then let me know!

Thanks for reading.

PS. items that didn’t make it into this post:

1. Phil playing golf with the plunger in the bathroom;
2. Gav being man-handled by a girl with unfeasibly large hands;
3. James attempting to use the till/computer in BJ’s to make his own dessert order;
4. Tim’s 36hr bender;
5. and Sam losing his money then realising it was in his wallet.