Over in the students union, where they regularly have various promotions, leaflets, giveaways, and the like, the latest offer is a free drink. Cans of a certain caffeine/taurine energy drink (no, not the bovine one) are stacked up in boxes outside the shop, free for all comers - and of course, students are never ones to turn down a good offer. I squeezed past several people fitting as many cans as they could in bags and pockets to grab one myself (’cool bite stimulation!’, the can announced).
Back in the office, I realised why they’re giving it away. It’s foul. Also, I think they put it in a can to hide the Really. Offensive. Colour. The final ingredient on the can reads, ‘Flavourings, incl. Natural Strawberry’. Does that look like it’s been anywhere near anything even remotely resembling a strawberry to you? Ugh.

I really seem to be running across troublesome situations one way or another lately. This time, it’s trouble that’s directly affected me. My bike has been stolen out of my garden shed. My tenant got back home, and noticed shortly after that the shed door was blowing open, and my bike had vanished. Someone’s gone in there whilst we were out, half-inched the bike - D lock and all - and made off with it. Bastards. I’ve reported the crime to the police, and called the insurance company. Highly doubt I’ll see the bike again, though.
I suppose it could have been worse - they could have broken into my house.

I’ve never really been a big fan of South Park. I’ve seen some episodes, and I know the names of the characters, and whilst it can be funny, it can also be pretty gross (Mr Hankey, anyone?). I couldn’t miss the story on the BBC News website recently though about Isaac Hayes, voice of Chef, and his quitting of the show because it lampooned his ‘religion’, Scientology. I use the term religion loosely because… well, that’s a whole other post.

Anyway, the creators of South Park, never ones to miss out on a chance to twist something into a parody of itself, have come up with a new episode. They’re killing off the Chef, with another thinly veiled poke at Scientology. If I ever I watched an episode of South Park, it would have to be this one. Courtesy of the BBC, a synopsis of the new episode:

In the new show, Chef is brainwashed by the “Super Adventure Club” - thought to be a veiled reference to Scientology. The other characters are angry at “that fruity little club for scrambling his brains”.

Hayes did not participate in the episode but his lines were apparently patched together from previous recordings.

Chef arrives after travelling the world with the Super Adventure Club and repeatedly tells the children he wants to “make sweet love” to them. The children take him to a psychiatrist and then a strip club, where he remembers his love for women and is cured. But he is brainwashed by the Super Adventure Club again - before falling off a bridge and being burned, stabbed and mauled by a lion and a grizzly bear.

Genius.

So in the past 3 weeks, I’ve come across a grass fire, and a car fire. Thankfully, neither of them have caused any injury to me. I know they say trouble comes in threes, but can you count it as trouble if nothing untoward happens to you? Who knows. But anyway, because it’s something to write about, here’s the third.

I decided to walk at least part of the way home last night. It’s three miles, and takes me about an hour. As it was still bright and sunny (if cold) at 5pm, I started walking. I figured I’d go as far as Ponds Forge, which is the last tram stop before I turn left away from the tram line to head down The Wicker. It took me about 25 minutes to get there, and instead of turning left I decided to follow the tram line further. That way, I could either carry on walking all the way, or cop out at the next tram stop. I got as far as Hyde Park, and decided to catch the tram. They run pretty frequently that time of night, and I knew I wouldn’t have long to wait.

I’d been standing there for about 5 minutes when I caught sight of a stationary bus across the road, past the other side of the tram line. The driver had his window open, and was gesturing, beckoning and pointing in my direction. I don’t know any bus drivers, so I looked behind me. No-one. The penny finally dropped when I made a ‘Me?’ gesture, and he beckoned some more. I was bemused. I crossed the tram line and road, and he told me to hop on, the trams weren’t running. I got on and he explained there’d been an accident, and there weren’t any trams going in that direction. He said he’d take me back into town and drop me at the bus station, and I could get a 68 or 69 bus that’d take me out my way. By this point, he was already driving. I was -really- bemused. I was basically doubling back on myself. He dropped me on Pond Street and pointed me in the direction of the bus stand before driving off. I was just in time to see a Meadowhall tram (my route) come down the hill. I dashed to catch that one, and made it just in time. The conductor told me, when I asked, that there had been an accident and that they were the first tram who’d been allowed back out there. It wasn’t until I got to my tram stop and got out to find several tram workers in neon jackets that I discovered the accident had been right there. Turns out it was Tram vs Pedestrian. The pedestrian had been taken off to hospital, but that was all they knew.

I’m keeping an eye on the news to see if there’s any more about it.

Update: The BBC has posted a story about it here. Thankfully, the pedestrian wasn’t fatally injured.

My tenant housemate gave me a shout shortly after he went up to bed just after midnight, to say there was a fire. He pointed out his window and sure enough, just over the soundbreak hill, a fire was blazing away next to one of the buildings on Chippingham Street, just across from the Telewest grounds. I grabbed my coat and shoes, much to his protest and concern, and dashed out to go and see what was burning.

It turned out to be a car, with smoke and flames billowing out of it. Two security guys from Telewest were standing inside the railings of the compound, so I leaned up against the other side of them and asked what was going on. They said that they’d heard a few bangs, and gone out to investigate only to discover the car ablaze. They’d already called the fire brigade. The three of us watched to the accompaniment of more pops and bangs from the car, and an additional gout of flame as the petrol ignited. At one point there was whoosh and bang, and one of the security guards remarked that the airbag had just gone.

The fire station is only ten minutes walk away, so the guys turned up really quickly, and set to work putting the fire out. It took some time, especially when the trailing ivy and bushes on the wall of the building behind the car caught fire too. The two security guards and I watched until the fire was out, and then I headed back home. I found my tenant downstairs, out of his PJs and back in regular clothes. He said I was bad and should have stayed away in case it was dangerous, and I just grinned and called him a big mommy, told him I wouldn’t have done anything stupid. [But I bet my Dad will say the same thing when he reads this, though] .

Post midnight excitement. ‘mazing. I should have grabbed my camera too.

A very happy St Patrick’s Day to all those with Irish ties. Are you wearing green today? I am.

May the road rise up to meet you
May the wind be always at your back
May the warm rays of sun fall upon your home
And may the hand of a friend always be near.
Trad.

I got an email this weekend out of the blue, from a woman called Jenny Anderson, via Genes Reunited. Her maiden name was McCourt, and she’d seen my family tree and noted similarities with her own. It turns out that she’s the granddaughter of my great-great-grandfather, John McCourt, who was married three times. I think that makes her something like my half cousin, twice removed. I’m a descendant of his first marriage, and she’s a descendant of his third marriage. Both his first and second wives died very young, at 30 and 28 respectively. He had 13 children in total, the first when he was 21, and the last two (identical twins, one of whom is Jenny Anderson’s father) when he was 54. Two of them, Charles and Ellen, died when they were toddlers.

The family tree is great to research. It’s fascinating to realise that from just one person, there are so many different descendants and branches of the family.

9 March, 2005 - In the middle of a week long run of the theatre adaption of Terry Pratchett’s Carpe Jugulum. One performance every night, and by god, I was shattered by the end of it.

9 March, 2004 - Missing America. I’d just got back from a week’s holiday in South Carolina.

9 March, 2003 - Packing in anticipation of a week’s holiday in America! It was just 4 days away. It was coming up on the six month anniversary of working at the University.

9 March, 2002 - Ordering carpets and furnishing for the house I’d just bought. Mortgage, property, responsibility! The house was new build, and I was down there every evening checking out the progress of the construction. Within a month and a half, I’d moved in. I was working for Siemens.

9 March, 2001 - One week short of the first year anniversary of me moving to Sheffield. Working at a web design company, and looking to get out of there.

9 March, 2000 - Desperately trying to get things together in anticipation of my move from Cardiff to Sheffield. I was due to move in just 8 days, and I still hadn’t found somewhere to live. Found somewhere on 11 March, with just a week to go. I was offered a job up there on 3 March, and had to start the job on 20 March. It was a crazy time.

9 March, 1999 - Living in Cardiff in a house with 4 other people, all of them students. I was the only working person, in an ISP tech support job for BT Broadband.

9 March, 1998 - Living in a grotty, disgusting house in Cardiff on my own. It was rented accommodation, but the other 3 guys living there moved out into a better place a few months after I moved in. At least it meant I had exclusive use of the phone line, and could play music as loud and obnoxiously as I wanted. No television. I forget how I survived. I was working for an educational funding council, and I was bored out of my wits.

9 March, 1994 to 9 March, 1997 - At the University of Glamorgan, studying an unusually named BSc in Business Decision Analysis (Business Maths and Accounting, to simplify).

Before that, it all fades into an adolescent blur!

And today? Well, I’m still at the University, and enjoying it. In a week’s time, I will have been working there for three and a half years. In a week and 2 days, I’ll have been living in Sheffield for 6 years. I have a good job, a great house of my own, I’m settled, and financially comfortable. Life is good.

I don’t usually post links to quizzes or generators, but this one was passed to me by my ex-housemate, and it had me actually crying with laughter. It’s fair to say that it completely tickled my sense of humour. It’s the Advertising Slogan Generator. Created such gems as, “Only the Crumbliest, Flakiest Elaine”, “With A Name Like Elaine, It Has To Be Good” and “Go on, get your Elaine out.”
In tears, I tell you.

I went out this evening with the intention of getting some night shots around the abandoned warehouses. I did get some shots of that, but the more exciting part of the evening was discovering a grass fire.

I was walking down past the stadium when I saw smoke rising from the top of the hill. Ever curious, I headed up there to investigate and found a wide circle of scrub grass on fire, mostly just blackened ash, but in patches here and there flames were still licking away. I heard approaching sirens as I took some cautious pictures, and backed off just in case the firemen didn’t see me in the dark and decided to turn the water hose on to put out the last of the flames. Within a few minutes, three of them came to investigate, and started stomping out what remained of the fire with their boots. They didn’t see me until I called out to ask them if they knew what had started it. They said they assumed it was kids, and asked me if I was the one who’d called it in. I just shrugged, replied that it wasn’t me, and watched from a distance as they made sure nothing was still burning before returning to the fire engine.

I’ll probably go back there tomorrow to see what the damage is in daylight. Perhaps it’s lucky that the ground was damp from the snow we had recently. I shudder to think what the fire could have turned into if we’d had a spate of dry weather instead.