Recently in the Daily Grind Category

I was reminded of his closing paragraph as I brushed past three builders today. They weren't the pot-bellied kind, more the underwear-model kind; tanned, perspiring, incongruously foppish hair, stubbled, one of them hanging off the end of a smoke, in dark blue cargo pants, boots, tool belts and nothing else. I didn't really check my wandering gaze until I realised that one of them was looking me in the eye -- the other two were cruising some mini-skirts across the road -- and almost certainly recognising exactly what it was I saw. His eyes; they were a bright and beautiful steely grey-green, and an immediate reminder of the handsome eyes I see as I close my own each night.

No abuse though; he seemed to take in the unspoken approval civilly, which was cheering. The unimaginative or bitter might simply conclude that he was gay, but I really didn't see it in his eyes. Besides, secure and sensible straight men make for a more appealing image in my mind; it adds to the ever romantic vision of how the world should be, rather than demoting something of potential significance to something that is simply easier to accept.

No, the song never materialised, did it? And since it'd be bad luck to do it now, it'll have to wait for next year. Before electing to have me punished, please understand that I was in a bit of a bad way this holiday, laid low and in bed with the flu from the 24th to the 27th. While all the celebrations went on without me, making it the first Christmas I've 'missed', it was still kind of nice to hear my family and closest relatives making merry downstairs, and having the occasional mad person come to partake of my tainted atmosphere. I was really well looked after on each and every day, so it's hard to feel gloomy, even if it wasn't an ideal situation; now just hacking up a lot of mucus, which isn't beautiful (the condition, not the mucus, though...), but otherwise starting to totter around comfortably enough; it feels good not to feel so sick.

Germans throw a wicked Christmas party; pictured is the Feuerzangenbowle, a totally innocent looking tureen of mulled wine over which a block of packed sugar is ignited and constantly fed with rum until it has all caramelised into the fragrant goodness below. This is the attempt carried out by my pet Italian and I; it's highly toxic (half a bottle of rum to two litres of wine; relatively little alcohol actually burns off) and very, very good for the soul on a cold winter's evening.

Today I decided to remove the humerus of my right arm entirely from its socket. Although the situation got a little old for my liking in all of one point eight (1.8) milliseconds (ms), it was novel to see my shoulder take on a whole new shape, and to have the length of my arm extended by an inch and a half. Ultimately, it wasn't worth the effort, since re-seating joints is a needlessly painful process, but on the bright side, it did involve nitrous oxide, which true to its common name can make a person a little bit smiley, a healthy shot of morphine -- from which I'm just coming down; the room is only rotating a little bit now -- and a comforting BK double cheeseburger with fries, which means that I've eaten fast food twice in the last two and a half years (there's a Catholic church nearby complete with confessional). Arm in sling and pills aplenty, the patient is both comfortable and cheerful.
MJ, for getting me to the Accident & Emergencies unit under highly testing conditions and at great pains to yourself, you have my heartfelt thanks.

Last night was the first of the season in which Cambridge could be seen through Autumn eyes, slipping on her shimmering ghost of a Winter dress that only improves with the shortening of days and the slow bleeding of vital colours from the trees and buildings around. With the advent of sundown materialised a light mist that cast everything into soft relief, and with the ever deepening moonshadow, punctuated here and there by the cheery, orange glow of college lights through ancient leaded windows, came whispered memories of bone aching cold, heavy coats and warm cider steaming between clasped, gloved hands.

Above all things I'll miss the warmth, but part of me is glad that winter is on its way.

Now into day four of a particularly nasty little bug, I think I may have seen it all; there has been sore throat, high fever, mild chills, neck and joint pain, wracking cough, phlegm and nausea. Also three sleepless nights, two laid waste by streaming eyes and nose, and pain when swallowing, and the third by four rounds of violent vomiting, each episode one hour between, keeping me up and shivering in anticipation of that wretched feeling, the special, bitter taste of bile for company. And then, in the early hours of today, my intestines turned into the Rio Negro (which is appropriate since I've just seen the touching and beautiful Motorcycle Diaries).

And so I feel haggard and exhausted and desperate to take a little time off work -- I've been stealing the odd nap, but really can't be away at the moment -- and yet when I looked in the mirror this morning, I saw nothing of that in my appearance. I had to laugh; if even a body can pull off a facade without the effort of a mind to guide it, then it's no wonder people still think I'm cheerful during the occasional times when I'm fucking miserable.

Roll on, weekend, roll on.

This is where I tell you all how wonderful the London Open House weekend -- an annual event where various private buildings and features in many London boroughs are opened up to the public -- was, except that I wasn't in a position to go.

I'm hoping that a few of the people that I'm chained to post some pictures; though vicarious living isn't quite the same as doing it yourself, there's still something to be gained from sharing other peoples' experiences.

The one I wanted to see the most, besides the inaccessible 30 St. Mary Axe, was the Kingsway Tram Tunnel at Holborn... but these pictures take a little of the edge off my disappointment. All said, it really has been a fun and relaxing weekend; there's always next year.

I've finally prostituted myself to science in a bid to make some money; things are becoming increasingly strained financially, and since students in my position are forbidden from working whilst at the University, they invariably end up doing all sorts of things to make up the shortfalls.

This is the first time that I've done something more than teach, and I've certainly given it my all. Only two more days of this in the week ahead; it's an interesting study to be a part of, but in some small way, it makes me feel sad that I'm having to do this just to feed and house myself for a few more weeks. I guess that I should be grateful that I don't have more serious things to worry about, but a little security would really feel good right now.

After looking at sex toys and a hot-positions catalogue in Anne Summers yesterday, Huéy took me on a hunt to find some new loafers since I am slightly impaired in the shoe department -- I live almost exclusively in Cat Boots or trainers, though I've walked all over Cambridge barefoot on more than one occasion now and found it very freeing -- we narrowed it down to one pair of shoes in each of four different shops, and whittled those down to an eventual success in Ravel; I am pleased. It was a welcome escape from the lab, much needed too since I ended up sticking it out there past 21:45 last night, and was a chance to spend a little extra time with the lovely lady before she left for the US this morning.

Passing a moody person in a wheel chair, brought home a hypothetical question. If someone in a wheel chair approaches you and gets a bit pugnacious, do you treat them like anyone else, or offer just a little more temperance given their situation? And if they start trying to hit you, is it fair game to release their handbrake, whip them around and shove them down a steep hill?

I've managed to miss a good few sessions on the river, of late, as a result of the heavy work schedule and two consecutive weekends away from Cambridge that were on the books for weeks in advance. On Tuesday, however, I managed to sneak in a session between dinner and my later return to the lab, and what a wonderful experience it was.

After splashing around aimlessly for a while (no one was prepared to go for a long distance paddle, which I like best as it's a proper workout), one of the überpaddlers drifted over and asked me if I wanted to try learning to roll (correcting yourself after capsizing), even though it might take weeks to learn.

Stairs explodes into a broad nervous grin

This is something I've always wanted to have a go at, and while I'm not a big fan of being upside down in water, which learning to do it would invariably involve, I figured that then was as good a time as any to have a go. I was described the theory of the technique, then asked to try setting myself up for a roll - upside down, thank god for nose clips - whilst not actually trying to execute the roll itself.
After doing that, I was invited to try for the whole hog; I went over, didn't move an inch, stuck my tongue out in consternation, regretted it, and then used an adjacent stern to bring myself upright. Told not to concentrate on my paddle but on my knees, I went over again, and this time, my draw stroke lifted me half way out of the water - whee! - except that it wasn't enough, and down I went again. That little bit of motion was enough for me to work out what it was I should have been doing, and having enough air for a second attempt before I had to come up, I attempted. And it worked! And it was the most thrilling feeling I've had in absolutely ages!

Two minutes of grinning and whooping ensues

Each attempt thereafter, whilst not always pretty, brought me upright, so even though I wouldn't yet claim to be capable of rolling, the foundation is there, and I'm totally chuffed. Yippie-kai-yay!

Excessive exposure to Depeche Mode whilst working the substerranean plant growth chambers this morning has caused Stairs significant brain damage - no, it wasn't by choice - he is therefore leaving the United Kingdom for a few days to recover. More detail and some extra images from the last two weekends was intended, but work has managed to get in the way yet again. Eventually...