So, the much anticipated update. The thrills and spills of last week included live music, stomach bacteria and a spot of extreme gardening – though not all at once. 
On Monday I went with Jeff “My Wang Is Black As The Night” McDeath and Charlie to The Thekla, to see Tokyo Police Club – a curious indie band from Canada. Charlie and I thought they were pretty good, but Jeff – who regards himself as the High Lord of All Indie – was less convinced, and chose instead to amuse himself by getting very drunk and describing in graphic detail to Charlie how he planned to brutally violate her. What a class act.
A few days later, I decided to try and reclaim our back garden from the forces of nature which were, at that time, very much in control. Stage One of the operation was a de-weeding mission, carried out using a serrated kitchen knife (necessary due to the inch-thick stems on some of the more established weeds), and a pair of “thorn resistant” gardening gloves – an application of the English language that quickly proved to be creative in the extreme.
After filling seven bin liners with nettles, thistles and all other kinds of crap I ain’t never seen before, it was time for Stage Two – Lawn Assault. I plugged in our recently purchased lawn mower, and went in for the kill.
I’ll admit that I’m not much of a gardener, but
I’m still pretty sure that cutting grass shouldn’t require a run-up. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that the grass hadn’t been cut since October last year, and was now a good foot and a half long. This would also explain how our relatively compact back garden yielded five more bin liners full of grass, and took over two hours to bludgeon into submission.
The next day I took Sam to the doctors so that he could find out that he was suffering gastroenteritis. Hurrah! Now, as well as hearing all about his bowel movements, we get hear his wails of despair as his rebellious digestive tract sends him fleeing to the nearest toilet at very short notice. This was exacerbated today when Charlie - seeking revenge for Sam’s failure to fill up the dishwasher despite being asked both nicely and repeatedly for a day and a half - locked the downstairs bathroom that is closest to Sam’s room from the outside, thus forcing him to run up two flights of stairs to use the other one. Charlie refuses to concede that this was an act of pure undiluted evil on her part, because a) she feels it was entirely justified, and b) it’s funny.
In any case, it all seemed like a good excuse to escape from the house and pop over to Bath to visit my friend Terry. We went out to see local band Mea Culpa at a pub called The Porter Butt, officially the crummiest venue I have ever been to ever. The band were good, though – kind of metallic-post-rock-grindcore, or something. The singer did a lot of jumping about, climbing chairs and speakers, and taking the mic out onto the floor; at one point managing to get all the way to the bar, where he ordered himself a drink mid-song. It’s a shame that there were only about twenty people there to see it really.
The day after that I went all the way back to my parents in Surrey for a meal to celebrate my sister’s birthday, before coming all the way back on Sunday for The Boy’s birthday party. The 90’s theme was observed by just a few of the attendees; The Boy herself dressed up as Tank Girl, her friends Chrissie and Bryony came as Lara Croft and (children’s TV presenter/wife to Fatboy Slim) Zoe Ball respectively. Sam – who by this point was feeling a bit better – also stuck to the 90’s theme, but chose a different century to the rest of us, donning some of his historical re-enactment garb and assuming the appearance of a 1690’s Dutch Merchant. And then there was me.
Guess who?
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