Monday 28th November 2011

*Yawn*

One night in London; three nights sleep of five hours or less and three nights out watching comedy or music.

*Yawn*

And I am shattered. I was more shattered on Saturday, slightly less shattered yesterday, and slightly less shattered today. But, I'm still dog tired. It is five fifteen in the afternoon, and I'm thinking about going to bed.

*Yawn*

So, lets go back to Friday. Mulder woke us up at half four in the morning. I got up, made coffee, fed the cats, and made packed lunches for us to take to work. So, I went to work, dropped Jools off on the way, and drove to Ramsgate. And nine hours later, drove back.

I cooked some kind of chicken for dinner. I believe it was a dead chicken, or part of one. I hope it was dead when they liberated it's breast from the rest of it's body. If not, I expect the chicken would have been quite upset, and made quite a scene.

So, we made our way to funky Folkestone, where Ade Edmonson and the Bad Shepherds were playing; we had tickets. Had we not had tickets, I don't think I would have wanted to go, bed sounded really inviting. As it was, it was a cracking gig, punk classics played in a traditional folk style. With banter as you would expect from Vyvian from The Young Ones. And it was packed; we stood at the back, but in front of the mixing desk so the sound was great.



Yes, it was great; apart from the drunk, dancing dwarf who kept waving his hands and standing on my feet as he tried to persuade his girlfriend to do the same (dance, wave her hands in the air, stand on my toes).

The gig ended, we cheered for an encore, the band came back on and did a version of 'White Riot'. In a new and radical departure, I shall try to embed a video in the blog.



We headed home, and once home we had a quick supper of Christmas Stollen and a cuppa, and then went to bed. Mulder woke us up again at half four. I didn't really get back to sleep.

So, off to Tesco at seven in the morning; it was fairly empty and they had full shelves everywhere. Back home for breakfast of croissants and more strong coffee. I then headed out to Preston to get meat for the month, once again doing this before most folks were up and about and getting back, armed with the meat plus pork scratchings and pork pies in time to lay on the sofa and listen to Danny Baker on the radio.



And then Fighting Talk, and then watch the game on TV.

And sleep.

And then, in the evening, we head out to Deal for an evening with Germany's Comedy ambassador to the UK, Hening Wehn. Link below (hopefully).



We drove to Deal, found a place to park and walked to the Astor Theatre. Our tickets were waiting, and as its a small place, seats are first come, first served. So, sit where you can. And we waited for showtime.

Hening has appeared on several Radio 4 shows, as well as QI on TV, and he is really very good, very good at holding a mirror up to Britain and showing us what we as a nation is like.

We laughed.

Lots.

The theatre is a wonderful old place, and is a great place to have a comedy club. We even met Hening, but two rude drunken older women butted it, still, it was nice to say how much we enjoyed his work.



Sunday morning, we went for a walk along the lanes near the house. It was a grey and gloomy morning, but it was good to get out and stretch our legs, despite still feeling very tired. I took a few shots, then came back to make the season's first batch of mince pies. They were a disaster, I undercooked them, and then they wouldn't come out of the tin. So we ate them as a pile of pastry and mincemeat; they were still good.



Finally, Sunday afternoon I visited a friend of mine who also lives in the village, to photograph garden birds from his living room. Doesn't sound very rock and roll, but it is always wonderful to watch wildlife at close quarters. And photograph them.

Back home before four to watch the football, and at the same time cook Sunday dinner. Both were good.

and that really is it for the weekend; comedy, music and catching up on sleep.

Yay!

Friday 25th November 2011

And the newspaper says it is Friday, so that must mean it’s true.

This week has been hectic to say the least, and that will continue into the weekend, only in that in a major change, we have three nights out in a row planned. In fact last night was the first of these, a night in Folkestone watching Jack Dee on stage at the Quarterhouse. It’s a test run prior to him doing stand-up next year on the arena circuit, and he had decided to play Folkestone.
Being a subscriber to their newsletter, we got the heads up and I bought tickets seconds after they went on sale. Just as well I did as they sold out in 10 minutes. So, that’s where we were last night, and as I had also been away for two days, it meant I did not get home until a quarter to eleven, well past bedtime.



So, for the for the first four day of the week, I did not go into work. Monday and Tuesday, I worked from home, which is always nice. On Monday we had a central heating engineer call round to fix some leaks and other problems. So, inbetween waiting on the various cat’s demands, I got work done and dealt with the engineer when he turned up. Tuesday we were due to have a new tumble dryer delivered, and their best guess was ‘between 8 and 6’ not much help, so I worked from home again. They turned up with our all new quieter, cheaper to run tumble dryer just after two, and went back to work.



Each evening I sat down to watch football on TV. For some reason I was shattered all week. And that was not helped on Wednesday at getting up at five in the morning so I could catch a train to London. I had been booked on an audit course, and so two days and a night in ‘The Smoke’ was for me.



Jools dropped me off at Priory Station, and I was able to get onto the 06:12 train and was soon speeding my way up through the blackness of a Kentish early morning and into a waking London. I got off the train with an hour and 40 minutes to kill before I had to be in the venue; so, I had my camera with me, so I had better go and snap some shots.
I snapped the ongoing work at neighbouring Kings Cross and walked down to Euston Road. I headed west before turning off and walked down towards Russell Square. I found myself walking through some splendid houses, down quite streets. I snapped them all, along with shops, hospitals and colleges. In the end I arrived ain Russell Square, with the venue for the course is found, The Russell Hotel. I walked over to the square and snapped what was going on; mainly dog-walkers and fallen leaves.
Time then to grab a coffee and something to eat before it was time for the course.



The course went on until 5: I won’t bore you with details, just to say it wasn’t as bad as you would imagine, and the day passed quite quickly.

I left the hotel at 5.

Well, should I leave it at that? No, probably. The venue for the course, The Russell Hotel, is a Victorian palace, all marble and chandeliers and bell-hops in uniforms. And I was there in my jeans and plaid shirt, for a conference/course. And the great thing is, most of us were the same, and there we were mixing it with the rich and jetsetters who could afford to stay there. I took a few shots of the lobby and stairs, and was happy enough with that. I was told I could not stay there as the cost for a basic room was an eye-watering £230 a night, with breakfast an extra ££20. I stayed somewhere round the corner and half the price.



I did get to walk across the square, through the fallen leaves, past the fountain and out of the square, round a university, and there was my hotel, a Georgian townhouse, now a boutique hotel. What is a boutique hotel I hear you ask, and I would reply I have no idea. My company booked it, and so I walked in and apparently was in a cross between an office and a living room. My reservation was good, and after checking in, was shown up to my room, six flights of stairs up. The room was fine, big bed and a shower and all the usual facilities. It had a mini-bar, which I have a policy of not using because of the cost and having to explain to my boss why I HAD to have those peanuts.



I laid on the bed and listened to the radio 4 news for an hour before heading out into the night, camera at hand.

I walked down into Bloomsbury to the British Museum, found one pub that was crowded, and another, The Plough, which had room enough for one fat bloke for a pint or two. I then went searching for a place to eat, and settled on a small Greek place. The food was simple, but good: tzusaki followed by mousaka and then coffee and baklava. All very good and in the end, filling.



And after draining the coffee, I walk back to the hotel to watch the end of the Chelsea game on TV; but the TV did not want to show any ITV channels, so I made do with Sir David Attenborough and another stunning episode of Frozen Planet.



I had the luxury on Friday of waking up at 7 and laying bed for nearly an hour listening to the radio again, then having a shower, packing then checking out and looking for a place to have breakfast. The café on the square did not take cards, so I had a coffee at an East European place just up from the square, and then I walked to the hotel and back to the course.

At 16:45, the course finished and I raced to St Pancras to try to catch the 17:10 train back to Kent as we had tickets for the Jack Dee show in Folkestone that night. I got to Russell Square station, squeezed into the lift down to platform level right away, and then onto a waiting train. In the end I was climbing onto the train before 5 and I even got a seat. I called Jools to arrange her to meet me at Folkestone, and so I could relax.



Once we were near the venue for the show, we found a parking space on the side of the road and with nearly two hours to kill, we went for dinner, a curry, in a place just along the road. I had garlic chilli chicken, which was great. And then we went to the harbour for me to take some shots, and there was even time for a wee dram in The Ship beside the harbour.

Jack was great, and it was wonderful to see him up close, as I had booked seats in the middle of the front row, which worked well as he does not really interact with the audience, so we were not subjected to ire or spite as could have happened.

Monday 21st November 2011

And outside it’s a real pea-souper. As Sherlock might have put it. The mist rolled in yesterday afternoon and we, like most of England, have been covered in a thick blanket of fog. Fog is my least favourite weather, well, to drive in, and the idiots really don’t get how dangerous it is, and carry on as if they can see for miles. And end up shunting some poor unsuspecting fellow driver from behind when they can’t stop in time. And then there are those who think lights really are not required. Accidents waiting to happen for the most part. I had a friend whose Father would follow the white lines along the centre of the road; great until you meet someone coming the other way doing the same thing.
Anyway, I am working from home for a couple of days, and then I have two days in London Town when I attend a course. So, All I have to do for Monday and Tuesday is negotiate the stairs to the dining room table, which I can manage.



Today, Monday, a plumber is calling to do some running repairs on our leaking heating system, and tomorrow we are getting a new tumble dryer, which both days calls for someone to be in. So, here I am.



And the to the weekend:

Another weekend, more wall-to-wall sunshine. It was glorious, such a shame then to spend Saturday morning dealing with mundane matter like haircuts and buying birthday/Christmas cards. But, such is life, and I am continuing the theme of trying to be completely ready when the festive period arrives. On our lat trip to Tesco, we bought packs of puff pastry (for sausage rolls) and mincemeat (for mince pies), the meat is ordered, beer, Christmas Cake and sloe gin are all made and ripe for sampling. And last week I ordered and received the calendars and books I ordered through Flickr; so most presents are bought too.

So, Christmas; do your worse.

I dropped Jools off at half eight, and had half an hour to kill, so headed up to Tower Hamlets in Dover to snap a pub; as you do. And then parked up outside the barber’s in order to be there when the doors opened so I could be done with it as soon as possible. As usual, I got my dose of abuse, which seems to be the way, but that’s fine as for £7 I get my barnet mangled and as much abuse as anyone could want.



And then we got out of Dover as quickly we could and headed back along the cliffs to St Margarets. However, we stopped off at the National Trust place so we could walk on Foxhill Down to take advantage of the fine weather. Fine weather, I hear you cry. Yes, 15 degrees and unbroken sunshine. We walked towards the ponies kept to keep the grass down, and snapped a few with the castle in the background. I like the shot, and the light was fantastic anyway.



And then back home to spend the fine afternoon in front of the TV as Norwich were on TV playing Arsenal. I wish I could say it was a pleasure; City were poor and never really got going, failed to press the ball and it came as a shock when we took the lead. It did not last, and Arsenal came back to score two goals and win the game. In truth, it was men against boys, and the 2-1 scoreline was flattering. Saying that, the difference was Van Persie and the lad Walcott; take them out and there wasn’t much between the teams.



Sigh.

And then lay on the sofa to listen to the rest of the day’s games on the radio whilst the day came to an end outside. Jools went to get fish and chips for dinner, which was a real treat, and then we sat down to watch Yellowstone on BBC. How glorious and wonderfully cold it looked in wnter, and how animals coped with the terrible cold. Makes me want to go all the more of course, snap those geysers and mudpools in the mind-numbing cold.



We were up before dawn on Sunday, wrapped up warm and headed down to the cliffs to watch dawn and the sun rise. As we waited, jetliners passed 30,000 feet above, them and their contrails turning from blue to white to gold as they approached the horizon and the light of the rising sun. Seabirds and migrating birds flew around us and there was quiet all over the land.
At 07:17 the sun poked it’s head over the horizon, and made its way up and over the band of clouds that obscured part of the sunrise. Once the light was too bright to look at directly, we headed home for a warming cup of coffee and breakfast.



At 11 my friend Gary came round to take me to Sandwich Bay to look for birds on the beach. I did snap a skylark amongst the pebbles, but not a clear shot. But I was happy enough. The hide at the pond was full, and anyway there were no birds to be seen. We headed back home, along the road that winds through the golf course, passed players dressed in spikes and plus fours, all the world looking like idiots.



After lunch, Jools and I went for a quick walk along the lane at the end of our road, just to sample the warm afternoon sunshine and the golden light. Mist was rolling in, and soon the church was hidden from view. Darkness fell and I went into the kitchen as we were having our good friend, Frances, for dinner, and I wanted it to be really goodIt was; roast beef, Yorkishire Puddings, steamed veg and the crispiest of crispy roast potatoes. And fresh onion gravy. All rather wonderful, I have to say.



This week is going to be crazy; two days/one night in London, Jack Dee in Folkestone on Thursday (if my train gets me back from London in time, Ade Edmonson on Friday and Henig When on Saturday. Expect no posts until Sunday at least, and tales of roads paved with gold, and laughs and more laughs when I do.

Monday 14th November 2011

We left the office at two. The sun was now shining, but getting low over the horizon. All was well until we got onto the motorway, when the banging began. We pulled over expecting to see a flat tyre. But it was a panel that was loose and was banging when the wind caught it. We had a choice, call the recovery truck or drive slowly so the banging didn’t begin.
Thankfully, the panel only began to bang at 90km/h, and so we trundled along at 80, and the rest of the world rushed past us. But, we did get there, eventually, and in time for Philip to fill in the accident report. See, on Wednesday, he reversed into a wall. We thought nothing about it at the time, only annoyed at the damage caused by a 5km/h impact.



I checked in, and by the time I was eyeing up the bar in the departure lounge, my boss caught up with me and told me to try the business lounge. Worth a try!

So, we walked up to the desk, presented our tickets, and after a while we were allowed in. And there was a beer pump, but the other way round; we could pour our own beer!

FOR FREE!

Free Christmas beer and snacks. Even free wine, spirits and coffees. So, I had a couple of beers and once Philip left to catch his earlier flight, I watched the sun set over the airfield. My flight was called, and made my way down to the gate; we had to wait for a while, but we were let on half an hour late, and the 17 of us were allowed on the flight.

Wine with your meal, sir?

Yes, please.

A glass of whisky or brandy, sir?

Yes, please.

Oddly enough I was getting sleepy again.



We flew down the north sea coast of Denmark and Holland. From my window seat I could see the lights of the towns and cities below reaching to the coast. Moonlight glinted off the sea, and the winking lights of ships could be seen. Needless to say, England was shrouded in cloud, and as we approached London we descended through thick clouds. I could see nothing out of the window; the engines roared and the plane was heading for the ground at a 30 degree angle. My heart paced. I caught a glimpse of the soon through a gap in the clouds. And back into the cloud.



Then, at the last minute well after the landing gear had been lowered, London Docklands came into view; we flew low over a bridge and then we were down.

After taxiing to the terminal, we climbed out to find our bags waiting for us already. Through customs, through arrivals and along a corridor. I swiped my oyster card, climbed the stairs and onto the DLR platform. A direct train to Stratford came along, and I even got a seat. And within 45 minutes of getting of the flight, I was climbing on a train heading to Ashford. Jools came to pick me up as there was no connection to Dover, and we headed along to M20 towards the coast via Burger King as we were both hungry.

And that was my three days away in Denmark; mostly good, but with some bad news.

To be honest, with the time difference, and general lack of sleep, I was shattered and headed to bed after a shower. Next morning, we laid in bed until half seven, and then time to face the day. That I still felt crap was not good, and after managing to make a coffee or two, I sat down to look at the shots I had taken in Denmark as usual whilst listening to the radio. Jools took Molly to the vets; turns out she has an infection, but a shot of something set her right, and within 6 hours was back to her bouncy self. I made another loaf of Tiger Bread for lunch, which was great with melted butter and fig jam.



That evening, I sat down to watch England play Spain, the world and European champions, and won. Not that England played that well, but did enough, defended well and scored. Without the pube-headed, potato-faced shrek-a-like Wayne up front. We’ll take anything.

Sunday morning dawned bright and clear; we headed to Kings Wood for a walk and to look for fungi; and there was lots and lots to snap. The light shone through pale green and golden leaves still hanging onto branches. I snapped away.
It would have been very pleasant but for the packs of dogs that were running around pissing and crapping and trying to mate with each other. Calls of their desperate owners could be heard through the trees and another dog ran away. One would have thought that if a dog could not be controlled by voice commands, it shouldn’t be let off the lead. But then what do I know?

We headed back to the car and then back to Dover and lunch. Steak and ale pie with fresh veggies and roast potatoes. Just what we wanted to eat I have to say. No football on in the afternoon; so we sat down to watch the new adaptation of Sherlock Holmes, whilst outside the mist and fog rolled in.

And that was your weekend……………

Saturday 12th November 2011

Hello. Good afternoon and welcome from Denmark.

It is Friday afternoon and our time in this land is shot. We are due to leave our head office in Randers within the next hour and drive back to Billund, hopefully in time to catch our flights back home. I wish I could say the trip has been an unqualified success, but as another round of cut backs and redundancies were announced on our first morning here, it rather cast more than a cloud over the trip. Because, no matter how positive we are after two shiny new projects were announced last week, they are still about a year in the future. So, once again, we wait for the executioner’s axe to fall. Or not.



The week began with us heading once again to Folkestone for another event in the book festival; a chat with Andy Kershaw. Andy has lead an interesting life, going from running Leeds University’s SU, to roadying for Billy Bragg, to being offered a job on BBC 2’s Whistle Test to comparing part of Live Aid all in four years, and then having his own Radio 1 show, and then his love and passion for ‘world music’ and his move to Radio 3. What wasn’t mentioned was his fall from grace following his split from his ex-wife and mother of his children, and his spells as HM’s pleasure.
All in all, the evening was too short, and it quickly ended before we had heard half his story.



Before hand, we had found a place to grab a drink and something to eat, and pondered how odd, in a good way, it was not to be in our kitchen cooking dinner as would be usual.



On Tuesday, I worked from home as in the middle of the afternoon I had to go and catch a train to London City Airport to catch the flight to sunny Denmark. And that is what happened, I arrived at the airport, and found that the usual getting there three hours before departure did not apply there, in fact, I could not check my bags in until two hours before departure. So, I sat in Costa and drank coffee, read a magazine and watched famous tennis players try to mix with the common people.



I saw some old friends from the Thanet Project, now working for our competitor, So, after checking our bags in, we met in the bar for drinks. I ordered a pint of Hoegaarden, and was shocked to my core to be charged £6.30 for it. I thought the guy at the bar was joking, but no. Much better was when Andy bought the second round, which must have smarted.



We boarded a tiny plane, and strapped ourselves in before roaring off into the night. We got a small cold meal and apparently unlimited drinks, as unlimited drinks can be on a flight lasting less than 2 hours. I did have beer, wine and a whisky as well as the food. And was glad it would my boss driving from the airport to the hotel in Randers.

It was too late to get anything to eat when we arrived, and so we just took our keys and took to our respective beds.



Next morning we drove to the head office; I was given a tour and shook many, many hands and nodded greetings. Then we sat down to listen to the CEO give the Q3 results on a telecast. And that’s when we learned that things are going not so well and jobs would be lost. It took the wind out of our sails to say the least, but life goes on and we wait for the axe.

That night my boss and I ate in the hotel, which is always something slightly surreal. Not eating with my boss, but in a hotel. It always seems to e the last refuge of the unadventurous. As predicted, we struggled to get served, but the food was OK, and the Christmas beer was very fine. And as I felt like I had not slept since last Christmas, I took to my bed very early and slept through the rumble of the traffic outside.



Thursday morning we headed back to the office again and had our departmental meeting, which was the main reason for coming over for. It is an interesting thing to be sitting the same room instead of talking on the Office communicator. And then in the afternoon I headed off with Helle to Arhus to the art museum to have a social networking seminar. No, really.



So, we sat there and listened about pushing our company through the various social networks and how it would help the company. It was harmless stuff, and demonstrated how easy it could be for something like a rumour on Twitter to almost bring a company down. So, we listened and hopefully learned. And then we had time to walk round the museum, and I had my camera with me. It seems that when an art gallery is designed means that the architect leaves his gloves off and goes bonkers. It has a wonderful spiral staircase and on the roof a circular rainbow, and being as we were there at dusk, the colours were wonderful, and I think the shots came out fine.

Back then to Randers to meet up with our boss and head out for dinner at a ritzy place. We could have had a nine course banquet, but stuck with three. Along with beer, wine and much chatting. And afterwards we went for a wander round the town, so I could snap yet more shots of the lit buildings and street scenes.

And today, we have sunshine. I was told the sun would not shine here until the spring, but there it is all sunny and shining. Time then to get my stuff together and be ready for the trip back to the airport. By the time I post this I will be back in England, so, brew up lads!

Monday 7th November 2011

And so Saturday drizzled on and on. The rest of the country was bathed in bright autumnal sunshine, but East Kent was under a low dark cloud and we got wet.

In the afternoon, I sat down to watch the game on TV, and then once that had finished I switched to the radio to listen to the main batch of games. Sadly, City could not carry on their fine run of results, and gave away two cheap goals, and yet rallying in the 2nd half, lost 3-2 to Villa. Reminds me of the headline in The People after the 1975 League Cup Final; Aston Villa, Canary Killer. It still hurts it does.

At a quarter to seven we set off once again for Folkestone and the Quarterhouse to see another show. This time it was Barry Cryer in conversation. We arrived ten minutes before showtime, and settled down in the same seats as the night before.

Who is Barry Cryer? Well, he is a comic and writer who has spent his whole life in showbiz, and has worked and written with all the comic greats of the last 50 years; Bob Hope, Morecombe and Wise, Tony Hancock and so on. He has appeared on the Ed Sullivan show when it was a huge deal, and is one of the mainstays of the long running antidote to quiz shows, ‘I’m Sorry I haven’t a Clue’. He was accompanied on stage by Colin Sales, also from ‘Clue’ and it was rather wonderful; gentle but wonderful.



At one point we did join in ‘singing one song to the tune of another’; The Laughing Policeman’ to the tune of the ‘Dambuster’s March’; it works so very well.

And then it was time to head back home, by this time the fireworks had mostly been let off, and it was a quiet journey back.



Sunday was more of the same; dark and drizzly for most of the day. After breakfast we went out for a walk in the woods for another hunt for fungi. And as before there were very few. That is despite it being wet and rainy for most of the week. Maybe next week? We shall see. We walked through a deepening layer of golden leaves, already starting to decompose; I snapped a few things, but as we walked the rain fell heavily, and we returned to the car and then back home for an early lunch.



That afternoon I watched yet another game on TV; Wolves v Wigan, and if ever there was a game between two relegation-threatened teams, this was it. Very little skill but lots of huffing and puffing. The home ground growing ever more anxious but Wolves getting two late goals to win 3-1.



Time then to watch ‘Frozen Planet’ before putting the beef in the oven for Sunday dinner.

Not very exciting, but it’ll do. Maybe next week we shall venture further that Waldershare if the weather allows.

Before then I am off to sunny Denmark to head office. I hope to return on Saturday with tales of Vikings and pickled herring.

Saturday 5th November 2011

Remember, remember the 5th of November. when we Brits celebrate the fact Guido did NOT blow up the Houses of Parliament. Surely some mistake? Its not quite as big an event as it used to be, or so it seems. Many the year I spent watching Dad trying to light a pathetic Roman Candle or a Catherine wheel that refused to spin. Now, most go to organised displays I guess. I was going to buy some sparklers this morning from Tesco, but the counter was not manned, and so we came away sparkler-less.

We will not be watching any fireworks tonight, as we are heading back to the Quarterhouse to see Barry Cryer in conversation on stage. Should be interesting, and not very rock and roll at all.



Last night we went to Folkestone to see top raconteur Nicholas Parsons on stage talking about his life. Also not very rock and roll either.

So, after another week at work, we set off at half five to try and find a place to eat before the show. We found a place to park on Tontine Street and then walked up the Old High Street whilst I took snaps of the night scenes.
We found a nice looking place on the new High Street; we ordered Belgian beers and some Mexican food; I had chilli burrito which was real good, doubly with the garlic bread.



We walked down to the theatre, took our seats and settled down for a fine evening of tales and comic asides.



Apart from that, it has been a quiet week; just work and me scanning photographs in the evenings. Oh, and watching football on TV. There has been some good news at work, but as that has not been released as a press statement as yet, I had better keep that under my hat.

Autumn has arrived now, although still mild; the wind has blown and the rain has fallen. And now the clocks have gone back, it is getting dark as I drive home from work.
Oh, on Monday I was subjected to a road rage incident. My fault really as i gestured to a guy in a high powered old Volvo as he overtook me,and he took it personally and forced me off the road and got out to give me a piece of my mind. Not that he had much to spare, but he did rant, and as he ranted his spittle coated the half open window of the car. I threatened my life if I did it again, before he climbed back in his car and driving off.

I was shaking, but drove off too. In all the excitement I forgot to take his car registration number, but so far he has not tracked me down to cut my heart out to defecate in the hole.

Lesson learnt; don't make rude signs at other drivers no matter how small you think their genitals are, Ian!