No explanation

I have absolutely no explanation for the two images below, other than I was high on the enthusiasm of youth, and I was a total nerdy geek.

Back in April 1989, I was coming towards the end of my first year at University, but I still enjoyed regular correspondence with an old friend from sixth form college where we'd spend much time laughing at a couple of my teachers (very good teachers, incidentally).  Anyway, for some reason Dr Gibb and Miss Exley drew our attention and this cartoon, written on the back of a letter nearly a year after being taught by them, was produced at a time when I should've been learning the Krebs cycle for the umpteenth time.  I have no idea what the content refers to, other than Dr Gibb's partner's car and my friend Peter's car.  Nice to see an early hatred of the Guardian building in me though.

Dicta Apr 1989 by cakesniffer

Tina Apr 1989 by cakesniffer

This little gem of a self portrait is quite good fun, it has my hair as it has been much of its poor life: mullet.  My hair has three main states:

1. Mullet


2. Out of control mop


3. Accident

It's currently a Number 2, having not encounter cutting implements since September 2009.  The little dog has had four haircuts since then.  He always gets better looked after than me.

Holiday!

We went on holiday the other week, to Northumberland.  It was lovely!  The little dog came and he had a fabulous time, enjoying the freedom of running around huge stretches of near-deserted beaches, biting waves because he didn't know what they were.  He's so crap at water, just doesn't do the things normal dogs do.  I had to coax him into a shallow stretch of water so we could go for a paddle at the shoreline, but he froze in fear when the water touched his tummy and had to be rescued.  Pathetic.  But quite sweet.  Once through that trauma, his bravado returned immediately and he was off hurtling around, harassing anything that he could get to without having to go through water more than 3 inches deep.

We did self catering, which is great because it gives you the freedom to do what you like and there are plenty of places that allow little bastards to stay too.  So, you don't have the worry of getting up for breakfast, people hearing you have sex (in the middle of nowhere... unless you're REALLY noisy), the little dog disturbing people in other hotel rooms, etcetterah, etcetterah.  And you can eat what you like too: cook for yourself a few nights, go out and sample the local restaurants a few others.  Only this is where we came across a major problem because there's nowhere to eat out in the whole county, nowhere open at least.  Such an unbelievably poor choice of restaurants in a county where you should be spoilt for choice.  We weren't.

"Would you like milk in your espresso?"

Anyway, I VOW that the next time, some numpty waiter/ress brings me an espresso in a mug and asks if I want milk in it, I will throw the offending, watery brownness over said numpty and drag them by whatever is easiest to get hold of over to the coffee machine and make them watch while I show them how to make an espresso, not an Americano, an esfuckingpresso!  And then I will set them on fire, which I am now an expert on.

Because being on holiday, and the paucity of restaurant choice, meant that I did BBQ!  Yes, I was allowed a box of matches and a couple of disposable barbecues and I set fire to things.  "I make fire.  Woman bath child!", which loosely interpreted means "Ali, I'll try to get this barbecue going, are you OK giving Rocky a shower?"

Of course, you had to burn food up there too because shopping in the supermarkets, nice and shiny as they are, was like trying to get supplies in post-communist Russia.  The nice big, shiny, new Sainsbury's in Alnwick (yes, where the castle is that they do the Hogwarts in, that doesn't allow dogs in, so we didn't visit) is shit.  It doesn't stock ANYTHING.  No fresh meat counter, no fish counter, only one aisle for fruit and veg, absolutely terrible shop.  And the checkout people are ignorant too.  Wendy (who I got) was really pleasant to the older couple in front of me, taking time to talk to them about their holiday there, and when she came to me, she threw my stuff at me (struggling to identify a lemon in the process) and barely made eye contact with me throughout the transaction.  Witch.

But don't let any of this, or gun-wielding maniacs on the run from the Police (we were in Rothbury the week before, don't you know), put you off Northumberland.  It's a beautiful part of the world and I'd highly recommend it.

And I'm sure there are some wonderful places to eat there too.  Just not the Olive Tree in Bamburgh.  Got that?  The Olive Tree in Bamburgh has the worst service I've EVER ENCOUNTERED in my entire life.  Shame really, since the food was pretty nice.  But bloody hell, here are a few tips:

1. Don't ignore people when they arrive - about four people walked past us when we arrived without even acknowledging our presence, and it wasn't busy


2. When asked "Do all these spotlights flicker, or is it just this area of the incredibly brightly-lit restaurant where diners are given a free migraine?", don't just shrug your shoulders


3. When asked to "please bring the olives with our drinks", do NOT bring drinks, starters, THEN olives.


4. Try putting some bottles of water in the chiller and if you don't have a chilled one, BRING SOME FUCKING ICE! Don't serve it at 24°C, for fuck's sake.


5. If a waitress asks "would you like coffee after your dessert?" and this is confirmed with a very affirmative "yes, AFTER dessert please", don't bring it BEFORE the dessert, then bring exactly the same cups of the worst excuse for espresso I've ever seen once the diner has had chance to finish their pudding.


6. Never, ever, EVER ask somebody if they want milk in an espresso, that would make it an Americano.  If you don't know your coffees, you shouldn't be anywhere near a coffee machine.


7. FOR FUCK'S SAKE!

But anyway, for a Fawlty Towers dining experience - go to the Olive Tree at the Lord Crewe Hotel, Bamburgh.