Fortysomething...

It's official. I am now old. This is because I have now turned 40. I have grey hair, hair now grows from my ears and nostrils with gay abandon and I sometimes feel very stiff (and not in a good way).

On the plus side, though, I feel pretty damn good about it. And even though my pool game may be going down the shitter, I'm leaner, meaner and fitter than ever before because of the cycling, boxing and hapkido. And I'm geting lots of writing done, too, and I'm more settled and more domestically happy than I've ever been.

So it's still all to play for and I'm still in charge of when, how and where I wee. Excellent!

Neighbours...

The neighbours have kicked off again. We had major problems with them a few years ago and the noise has been steadily building again for a few weeks until they had music blaring out at 1.30am last Wednesday morning.

As cordial relations broke down some time ago – and the last time we asked them to turn the volume down we got a load of abuse – we called the council and they arrived on the scene and paid them a visit and issued a warning. You'd think that would be the end of the matter...

But you haven't counted on the pettiness of our neighbours. They spent the rest of the night tapping on the wall separating our bedroom from their living room, then had another party on Saturday night which culminated in more wall-tapping with the addition of foot-stomping and banging metal pots with a sticks. At 2.30am.

Sadly the council were busy and didn't make it over but I took a sound recording of what was going on as I thought nobody would believe me if I tried to explain it. So in a final bid to sort the situation out I've now written to their housing association to lodge an official complaint.

You'd hope that will be the end of the matter and they'll shut up... but I suspect it won't be.

On the plus side another of our neighbours did say 'Hello' this morning. We met him some time ago and he explained that he'd been away 'shooting animals' so I asked him if he killed anything good.

He looked perplexed and smiled and edged away. The Missus then pointed out to me that he was a photographer. Ho-hum...

Bloc Party...

I am in the kitchen with the Missus discussing the previous night's trip to see the quite brilliant Bloc Party at Olympia when the Boy walks in and goes up to the new cat Willow.

'Be careful,' advises the Missus. 'I stroked her and she tried to nip me.'
'She already bit me earlier,' replies the Boy.
'Well I picked her up and nuzzled her just a few minutes ago and she didn't try to bite me at all,' I say, before ading: 'But then again she probably recognises me as the Alpha Male in the household.'
The Missus smiles...
'We don't recognise you as that, my love, and we're the same species...'
'Well... me and you are, Mum,' adds the Boy.

It's my 40th birthday tomorow and they both have to be nice to me all day. I don't reckon they'll last longer than an hour before they revert to type.

Thinking about it, maybe an hour is being optimistic...

Let The Right One In...

We're all fans of horror films at From Beer To Paternity Towers and vampire movies in particular have been a source of fear then fascination for me for a number of years...

So I could wax lyrical about Let The Right One In as it takes an established genre and turns it into an arthouse rites-of-passage love story between a bullied boy and a 12-year-old vampire.

A wonderful film, beautifully shot, sparsely written and superbly acted, which features under-stated and brilliant performances by its two young leads.

I was going to see it on my birthday but I'm glad I didn't wait.

Hell, it's so good I may even go and see it again...

The Kids...

I went to Yorkshire for a few days to see my older brother play in a pool championship and to catch up with my family and, even though it was only a flying visit, I saw my nieces and nephews and they remain truly fantastic.

It gives me genuine hope for the future because they're such lovely, bright, fun kids and they have such great potential. They really could achieve anything they want to.

They also taught me a rugby league chant, which is sung to the tune of She'll Be Going Round The Mountain When She Comes and it goes along the lines of:
'I'd rather live in Baghdad than East Hull...'

Bless 'em...

Le Corsaire...

I am with the Missus at the London Coliseum to see American Ballet Theatre perform Le Corsaire, a tale of derring-do and piracy which they're performing alongside Swan Lake on a tour of the UK.

As a dance novice I grab the programme and read the plot outline while the Missus grabs us drinks at the bar.
'What's the story?' she asks as she returns.
'It's not very cheery. It's about a princess who gets a spell cast on her and turns into a swan. The some bloke falls in love with her and they both end up dead but reunited in death...'
'Are you joking?'
'No. It's what it says here...'
'You really are a fucking idiot...'
'Why?'
'That's the plot to Swan Lake. You're reading the wrong page!'
'I wondered why it didn't have any pirates in it...'

I get the look. I start to drink and decide to keep my mouth shut...

I Predict A Riot!

To read several internet news sources yesterday and most of the press this morning you could be forgiven for thinking that the British Government were about to toppled by marauding armies of crusties with dogs on bits of string.

Instead, of course, a small percentage of the assembled 4000 protesters kicked off a bit and got kicked back a bit by the assembled riot police. Then some others barged their way into a branch of RBS and smashed a few windows. And that was about it…

From what I could see there were as many would-be journalists and onlookers wielding mobile phones hoping to get a picture of the action as there were protestors. It was all a bit low-key really and most of the assembled throng were law-abiding and peaceful and it all went off pretty quietly.

The media coverage, however, was way over-the-top and suggested London was on the brink of civil war. There are times I hate large sections of the British press but, as ever, thank god for the BBC website for its balanced and factual instead of emotive and sensationalist reporting.

On a related note I chanced upon some very posh, crusty, anti-capitalism protestors on my cycle home who were blocking my route and refused to move. So I threw a £5 note on the floor and they all scrambled after it and my route was magically unblocked.

Down with capitalism and a corrupt financial system? Yeah… right… You should have the speed they went after that £5…