Cantrix: I’m sure I’ve asked you this before, but have you ever tried skiing at all?
Cantrix: I know you don’t generally, I just wasn’t sure if you’d had a go
Brosencrantz: I tried it once ages ago and sucked, but I’d like to give it a proper shot!
Brosencrantz: I went on one skiing holiday with a school friend when I was like 13, I definitely preferred the toboggan, I kept falling over and twisting my ankle in skis
Brosencrantz: we were staying with his uncle in Austria
Brosencrantz: his uncle had a cool lodger called Gunther who was meant to be working at the ski lodge but just sat around all day eating coco pops in his underpants
Brosencrantz: the day we left he got fired from the lodge
Brosencrantz: then he actually went outside to go skiing, and crashed into a tree and broke all his arms and legs
Brosencrantz: then he got called up for national service
Brosencrantz: such is life in Austria
Cantrix: This is not how skiing normally works.
Brosencrantz: Oh.
Tag: candidcantrix
Fran and I have been using a shared .txt in Dropbox to plan itineraries for our various cultural exchanges around the UK, to ensure that we don’t forget to go to armouries and chocolate factories and such. As I’ll be visiting her in Japan at some to-be-arranged point in the next year, we’re using it for that too (everything below the Mikasa is her.)
I’m pretty sure reading this has had a significant subconscious effect, as I had a dream last night in which I was in Japan with her and all we did was buy food. The location was a weird mashup between a market and the air force museum at Monino, with people selling noodles and things out of the engine intakes of fighter jets.
We just ate food. The whole time. It was admittedly amazing. At one point, a highly enthusiastic Senor Chang sold us boxed lunches. She told him he wasn’t even Japanese, but the boxes were delicious.
Just before waking up I also had to forcibly restrain her from going into a shop with a sign saying WAGONLOAD OF EROTIC CAKES SUPER CHEAP, but that’s actually a pretty realistic and normal scenario.
(hay I had a dream involving you, that makes it tru luv 5ever rite bbz?)
Cantrix: (re: wireless issues) Hopefully it won’t go on much longer, I want to finish series 3 :(
Brosencrantz: Bleh, my sympathies. You’ve got me back on an Avatar kick, I want to rewatch it all now!
Brosencrantz: In fact I might even go on a bit of an Avatar…
Brosencrantz: B-)
Brosencrantz: bender.
Cantrix: …
Brosencrantz: So uh
Brosencrantz: am I dumped now?
Last week the lovely Cantrix and myself were being INTREPID and ADVENTUROUS by going on a stomp down the country lane near her place. It wasn’t originally intended to be particularly intrepid or adventurous, but owing to the torrential rain that characterises British summers, the path occasionally turned into Passchendaele-esque mudpits or, at one point, a river. Between this and the way the path narrowed to be about six inches across through foliage taller than her, we were feeling pretty intrepid by the end of it.
On the return walk, we discovered a grizzled chap hauling a bike up the path, and he found a decent enough place in the matted nettles and brambles to stand aside for us. I thanked him for his courtesy as we passed, and he offered up friendly comments about how nice it was to see young people out and about being all healthy and stuff.
Which segued seamlessly and cheerfully cheerfully into a tirade about how much he hated fat people who remained at home. And ugly people. Also people with tattoos. And piercings. Fat ugly tattooed pierced people who didn’t go on country walks. Peppered with praise for our clearly upstanding morals and superior physical forms, based on the fact that we’d gone on a one-kilometre stroll during a break in the rain.
This Kraft durch Freude-themed lunacy continued with him deciding we were going to have good children, and bring them up right with hill walks. Tall (there’s a 13” height difference between us) attractive children! He expressed pity for our parents, because we wouldn’t visit them in hospital (I think he was implying they were in hospital for being fat and ugly) once the cars and oil ran out; these vague apocalyptic meanderings quickly gained a religious component, though fortunately, he was chilled when I said I didn’t believe in God (“he believes in you”) and I was in turn chilled when he announced that he was a prophet sent by God (he had a black eye; being a prophet isn’t easy.)
After introducing himself (John), and wishing us long and happy lives, he admonished us a final time to ignore the blandishments of people tempting us to get rings in our eyebrows by telling us they’d improve our vision, and not get roses tattooed on our cheeks.
Cheshire is weirder than I was expecting.
Tea Society’s end of term Murder Mystery event. Between my fake moustache and hideously sleazy mostly-fake persona, I had FAR too much fun.
underneath the open sky 