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Throwing bananas . . .
http://20six.co.uk/da_xingxing
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Second Life
I have been dabbling with Second Life (secondlife.com). The whole concept is very interesting, but in order to make the most of it, you kinda have to give up your Real Life… and I can’t go that far.
Anyway, after 2 months I have a few shirts and a pair of trousers and about $40 in that life, and I spend most of the time chatting and dancing and wandering around accumulating crap. I have a Rolls Royce and a yacht and 3 sturdy penises.
It occurs to me that many of the inhabitants of Second Life need a Third Life.The world is getting very weird.
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Remember blogging?
When I started 20Six about 3 years ago it was a festive, fun kind of place. Relationships were being forged all over the place, sweeties were being hoarded and used to buy power and influence and verbal duels abounded for comment after comment. A good and popular blog entry might have 200 comments appended within a couple of hours and I took delight in following the trials and tribulations of my favourite bloggers. Remember blog parties? Are there still blinks?
Somewhere along the line I feel we have lost our soul. It may be that after 3 years those sparkly blogs of yesteryear are a little jaded, their owners a little tired. I certainly include myself amongst their numbers. The change of platform was, I believe, a huge mistake, the community feel of the old 20Six vanished overnight and we all lost touch. Half of my favourite bloggers list are broken links.
That’s my little piece.
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Tiredness can kill, take a break
I now consider myself something of an expert on Motorway Service areas. Whilst they are the very spawn of the spawn of the devil, I have a perverse delight in visiting them, so much so that I’ll choose the motorway over the A Road just to fuel this perversion.
Am I a Services Anorak?
On Saturday I managed to visit 7 different Services on 5 different motorways, during a 550 mile epic from Surrey to Lancaster and back. Is this a record? I don’t even have food poisoning….
The greatest of all Services was undoubtedly Aust on the old M4, by the Severn Bridge. It was almost the Maldives Centerparcs in its amenities and aspect, commanding a very decent view across the river to God’s country. Sadly it is no longer. We shall never see its like again.
I love to sit in the cafe area of the services watching the people. This assumes I can find a table that somebody’s cleaned up. The people are always fascinating; a coachload of Fat Fighters, a bunch of soldiers or an old folks trip from Aberdare to London. Everybody walks with a nautical gait after their ordeals by car, and all have glazed eyes from watching the country flit by.
The Services is a great place to study humanity.
Out in the car park amidst the crows you will find those anti-social types with thermos flasks and home-made sandwiches in their Montegos. There will be a pervert leafing through one of the porn novels in the shop (why are they all about Mistress Kitty and her stable lad taking advantage of the milkmaids?) and a bunch of people wandering around the shop admiring the crap and trying to peep at the road atlases to find out where they went wrong.
Marks and Spencer will bring back happy memories of that recent holiday in the Arctic, they seem to have their own ecosystem in there.
And why, oh why, is the RAC man always hanging around the Services, trying to ensnare travellers into joining. I noticed one in the Services on New Year’s Day, poor chap.
The toilets are always good for a few minutes too. They have these machines selling disposable chewy toothbrushes next to the condom machines. One wonders if there is a difference. I always like to cast an eye over the condom machine too, in case Durex have introduced something new – we’ve had ribbed, flavoured, tingly and spotty, how about explosive?
Not that I would ever take a dump in the Services . . . perish the thought!
One wonders why they bother with the amusements place. Aren’t people hyper enough after a couple of hours on the motorway? Do they need to get out of their car and sit down for a race driving game?
You might spot me at Membury on the M4. Anybody else got an opinion about these resorts for the travel-weary?
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Cheesy
Why is it that my feet sweat more in the winter than in the summer?
People are starting to call me Mr Stilton….
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Bonking
It’s high time this blog once again rose to greatness and I apologise to the Daxy Fan Club for being so remiss over the past few months. Life got in the way of blogging, which is an intolerable state of affairs. And also I’ve been w**king too much.
I did not have a spectacular Christmas. The haul comprised a bloody awful mauve tie from Mum (thinking of sending it to Africa in a food parcel) and a couple of acceptable shirts that look suspiciously like the same shirts that Dad wears . . . kind of puts me off. Then there were chocolate coins, of course, and some chocolate banknotes too (can’t wait for a chocolate credit card), a couple of books (presently in the lavatory library) some socks and pants (boooooooooooring) and a CD of family photographs dating back for the last half century (this latter surely the best present, especially the scenes of me defaecating in somebody else’s wind-break in Pembrokeshire (while they were in the sea)(I would point out I was a baby at the time).
New year came and went. The country is gradually becoming Chinese in its use of fireworks to bring in the new year, however, we would need to be using about 1000 times the fireworks we are to have a comparable effect.
I’m off to Portugal next week, my old stamping ground. I need to bed this particular girl and I only get a chance every 5 years or so. So far all my schemes have come to nought and I’m racking my brains for a way to scythe through all the mild-mannered preliminaries and hustle her into bed for damned good bonking. Any bright ideas out there? Come on girls, rally around, support your local Dax!!!
A Happy 2007 for all – I have a gut feeling it’s going to be better than 2006.
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Fiddling
Rome may not be burning, but I am fiddling, tip-toeing through the jobs looking for easy ones. When I can’t find an easy one, I go and have a coffee, then I reach for the blog…. anything to avoid thinking today.
Some days I can be a dynamic work-killer, and others I can be a slothful yawning imbecile, and I seem to have no control over whichever I turn out to be on a particular day.
So there.
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Throwing bananas . . .
