The Return to the Fortress of Solitude

Hiyaaaaaa!!!

I write this electronic postcard-thingymyjig wearing just a frown and my pants (savour the image folks) as once again it's too hot to do anything. With that motivation I figured I'd update y'all for the last time before I jet back to the Auld Country on Wednesday. I'm also feeling pretty ropey after a very good, but physically draining weekend of crazy times and suchlike. It seems I'm no longer the spring chicken that my disarmingly youthful appearance would suggest. But a wee bit about all that, in a bit.

I read Charlie Brooker's column earlier, and while blatantly not grasping anything of what he said, I did enjoy it. But luckily for you, I will not bore you with my opinions about Royal babies, BRF or anything like that. My aim is to instead bore you with stuff about me, a subject close to where my heart would be, but sadly which no one else cares enough about to drone on about. So, on with the show...........

You may be wondering about the title, as is your right. For the past few days I've been living in the bliss of my own company. After a minor understanding t'other day there have been no serious arguments, a wee bit of tetchy silent treatment, but nothing too bad. Oh, the joys of leaving the bathroom door open! Of writing blogposts in my pants! Of watching as many action films as I can stomach! Truly, the gloves (and shorts) are off, and I'm living like a king! But as all monarchy know, this State is a relic of the past with no modern function, so can't go on forever, and just as surely as day turns to night, so my solitude has its own dusk, but that might not be such a bad thing, as someone will need to clean up after me. (Don't get me wrong, co-habitation's nice, but I also like being by myself sometimes).

My whole book idea has chrystalized a wee bit more, and I've written what will more or less count as an introduction, which is pretty satisfying. But, as a result you will be dismayed to hear that I'm going to stop talking about football on here. As my book will be about football supporters, I have to go and meet some, and it'd work out better (both in terms of not getting a beating, and in making the contacts in the first place) if I give the impression of not having nailed my flag to any particular team's mast. There are a couple of groups of supporters whose reputations are not entirely positive, so I'd much prefer to try and meet them as a Scottish guy doing research for a book, rather than being tarred with another label. If I meet you in person though, don't worry, I'll be able to talk for hours about footy.

So yesterday, I went to a barbecue out in the countryside, which was most nice. I managed to imbibe a quantity of wine that would make Alex Ferguson proud, and also honed my rugged outdoorsman image that you all know and love. Someone had brought along a bow and arrow, so we all larked about with that in a totally responsible way, absolutely not trying to shoot a haybale with fags in our mouths and a beer between our feet. Incredibly, no one was maimed, and the target got away more or less unscathed too.
There's a wee river near where we had the barbecue, and while I was scouting about I saw a couple of (absolutely not dead) fish in the water. What then ensued will surely pass through the ages as one of the most titanic struggles between man and beast, of the ouevre of Ahab and the doomed-skipper in Jaws. For what seemed like hours we smote each other, with no clear winner. I woke up today with some scratches on my arm, so after that, and now I'm intelligently-guessing, I was set up on by a bear or mythical river serpent. Needless to say, no on else witnessed this, but trust me, all the battles in 'Monkey' have nothing on what happened. I imagine. My memories of it all are foggy, but I assume it's because my brain is trying to shut down the horror, the horror of it all. Finally, having driven off the attacking fiend, I claimed my prize and got a photo taken of it. It is officially the first fish I've caught in my life. Please bear (here comes a flashback; the horror) in mind, that the camera famously takes off about 150 pounds and several feet in length. Behold:

Che cavolo succede!?

You may have seen that there was a bit of a crash in Italy this morning, which for keen Michael-watchers will understand that I've made a point of not reading about it. I really can't stand it when people air their problems and unhappiness on the internet, so will instead focus on the exciting new additions to Genoa aquarium.

On Friday there was the official welcome and unveiling of a new dolphin tank at the aquarium here. There was a gig and then loads of fireworks, which surprised me as I didn't know dolphins liked pyrotechnics. You learn something new everyday. Despite being here for 5 years, I've never actually been to the aquarium as it's about 18 euros to get in, which to look at a bunch of fish seems a bit steep to me. I went to the Sealife Centre near Edinburgh when I was younger, so I get the idea. As a constituent part of any self-respecting aquarium is made of glass, I guess you could say that they see the paying punters coming.

I want to plug a cookery website which I've started proof-reading (any mistakes should be kept to yourselves), so if you like recipes and all that jazz, ch-ch-ch-check it out: http://foodfulife.wordpress.com/

That's about it kids, til next time, stay safe and look after each other!

Chow!