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!