Mathew Browne

Not quite. But still, what have I been up to recently?

I was supposed to visit the in-laws a few weekends back but backed out to go and see Guns N Roses. In a nutshell: great show, but he turned up late again and I didn’t get home until 4. The ginger prick. Shared the nightbus with two journalists from NME, one of whom had so much cleavage on display it was painfully obvious they knew where the afterparty was and were going to use her feminine charms to get in. I think I was right - they got out at Regent St, which is where the afterparty turned out to be. When passing through Canary Wharf I happened to see a pair of bums sitting on the pavement. Turns out the truth was far worse, it was Liam and Marek!

Work has been plodding along - I’m a little anxious to fuck off for my holiday now, to be honest. I have nearly finished all the websites I’ve been working on, so a long holiday is due.

I took the day off on Friday to attend the funeral of one of my best friend’s father back home in Wales.

As I’m sure you’ll agree, the best way to deal with grief, or anything else for that matter, is to drink yourself stupid. And that’s exactly what happened. It seems to be a little-known fact that the Welsh are just as keen on wakes as the Irish are. I’m digressing…

I went out with my friend and a bunch of people I hadn’t seen in about 4 or 5 years, but it was if I hadn’t left. One chap in particular - a training MMA fighter, no less - took it upon himself to get everyone else drunk at his own expense, then jab cocktail umbrellas into his scalp, and then yell a Quagmire-esque “Giggidy-giggidy” at passing barmaids. At one point I had 3 Guinnesses, 2 double-vodka Red Bulls and a tequila in front of me. In retrospect I’m quite grateful I didn’t shit or piss myself.

18 hours later, I’m sitting on a park bench outside the pub where we’d managed a lock-in, but pretty sober. Or so I thought. Turns out I was still drunk. I didn’t get my hangover until Sunday. Though it wasn’t as bad as I’d feared, seeing as I’d had a fat Sunday lunch to soak it all up courtesty of my Mum.

One final note - the Missus has the first of three exams this morning. (The other two being tomorrow and Wednesday.) So, if our flat was a station right now it would probably be called Tension Central. Or maybe West Stressbury. I’m hoping she flies through the exams this year and the next two, and becomes a doctor. Then the station would be called Bank.

Over and out.

Went to the Farnborough Air Show with my dad-in-law on Saturday. T’was much fun, and I somehow managed to take 1800 pictures in the process. Ah, the joys of continuous shooting…

The journey there and back was made incredibly entertaining by my dad-in-law’s zero-tolerance for any driving-related tomfoolery by fellow road users. Such actions are met with a rolled down window and a stream of verbal abuse, punctuated by expletives. Road rage rules.

It was sunny when we got there, which was nice. Got to mill around and take photos of the pretty planes, then found a nice spot to watch the air show. With the Red Arrows visible in the distance, the aerial display was about to start. And bang on cue, there was a thunderclap, and then it rained. A lot. We braved about 5 displays before the lightning bolts and torrential rain saw us take shelter in some corporate hospitality tent. (Capacity: 50, but with about 150 surplus commoners like ourselves piling in when the weather got shit.) We were shooed back out into the rain by a very apologetic steward, waited behind a door for a minute, then strolled back in. We ended up watching the rest of the show from there, to avoid the intermittent showers.

Seeing as the weather was so shit for the aerial display, I’ve had to do some hardcore Photoshopping to get the pictures looking decent. Shitty lighting and underexposed shots galore, I’m afraid.

I am pleased to say I have a holiday coming up - 4 weeks of doing nothing. Glorious.

I had a lovely weekend at home in Wales, as mentioned previously. Our journey there was marked my the presence of two know-it-all would-be boxing pundits, one of whom fell asleep with his hand on some other blokes knee.

In an effort to relieve boredom Louise and I initiated a game whereby you name a celebrity A, then the other person has to name a celebrity B such that the first name of B begins with the last letter of the surname of A. for example:
Axl Rose > Edward Woodward > David Hasselhoff > etc…
Of course, the flaw in this game (besides the obvious - it’s shit) is that so many surnames end in Y but so few first names begin with Y. We thought of Yasmin Le Bon, Yasmine Bleeth, Yusuf Islam, Yvette Fielding and Yuri Gagarin. Any other famous people come to mind? (And no cheating by using Wikipedia or - for shame! - scanning through Heat magazine.

Though I had unkind words for Wales a few years ago (there is nothing there for a teenager with no car nor driving licence), now I’m all grown up I like it more and more. Perhaps it’s because I only ever visit, and have forgotten the things that made me want to move away in the first place.

One thing sure has changed - the capacity of my stomach. You see, my Mum is very much like Mrs Doyle from Father Ted, in that she is always (ALWAYS!) cooking. If you’re not eating, you’re either unwell or you don’t like her cooking. I love my Mum’s cooking but she makes so much of it, I feel like that guy from Se7en by the time I’m finished, as I feel incredibly guilty leaving food uneaten - a mentality I’ve probably acquired by my Mother’s doing. I just can’t see good food sent to the compost heap. I can say, without hyperbole, that when I’m at home I eat at least twice what I usually would. Living away has obviously shrunk my stomach (thanks to hideous slop for meals while living in halls, plus the fact that one tends not to overeat when one is paying for it…).

Louise and I had quite a serious discussion about moving to Wales once my contract finishes in two years, and she’s a doctor. We like living in London but the cost of living is crazy for anyone thinking about owning their own place (and I do. A lot.).

It’s gutting to know that, for the rent I pay, I could afford the repayments of a £192K mortgage. Unfortunately, no mortgage providers will go anywhere near that amount on a 22 year old fresh out of uni and a single income, and I’m nowhere near saving up the 10% deposit one would need. The silly property prices rule out any of London’s surrounding counties either, hence upping sticks and heading up the M4 is looking an increasingly attractive option. (Though not SO far up the M4 such that parents would pop in without warning. I still like my independence)

I have four weeks off starting in August and I can’t wait. I like my job but I’m feeling a little bored at the moment and a break would do me good.

Over and out,
Math

PS - I’m digging Marek’s adventure in the Far East right now. More please.

What with work-work and freelance-work book-ending my waking hours for the past few weeks it’s only as it winds down I’m finding myself with some free time to post here. I’ve made myself a tidy little sum, however I have no tangible evidence of that, thanks to a hefty council tax bill, renewing my travel card, and an impulse purchase.

I got a new Pentax ist DL2 digital SLR camera the other day. It is the proverbial dogs bollocks. Brand new art-wank photo galleries coming soon…

My effort to shift some of my paunch has withered into nothing, again. It’s just too hot lately to exercise! Comfortable and bellied beats knackered and toned.

I had a work experience kid start this week. Less said the better. On his second day he got me into trouble by arriving early, then going to find my boss (interrupting a big meeting) and asking if he’d log him in. Which made me look like a total schmuck.

I am going home to Wales for all of 30 hours this weekend. The Joe Calzaghe fight I’d booked to see was put off (but the rest of the card wasn’t). I managed to cancel the tickets but my seats on the coach there and back were non-refundable. So I figured I’d go home anyway, seeing as I’d paid for them…

I was in Tesco this lunchtime and observed the 2 minute silence there. Not the most tasteful location but there you go. I could have gone to Russell Square or Tavistock Square (as both are about 5 minutes from my office) but I’m knackered and look a right state, so didn’t want to be an unwitting extra for a live Sky News/BBC/ITN/CNN broadcast…

Actual quote overheard:

Person A: Why kill innocent people? They should bring back the death penalty.
Person B: For who?
Person A: The bombers
Person B: The bombers died
Person A: How?
Person B: They were suicide bombers [long pause] that means they blew themselves up too…
Person A: Ohhhhhh riiiiiight.

For those of you who watch Big Brother, there is an unintentionally hilarious photo of Nikki (a few moments prior to entering the house) doing the rounds at the moment.

It’s quite astounding - perhaps sad - how dependent I am on my email and Internet access. The former, thanks to some technical cock-up at UCL, has been unavailable for 48 hours and I’m totally lost. Wishful thinking and pressing the Send/Receive button are in vain. If it was possible to exert physical wear-and-tear on an on-screen button, the Send/Receive button in Outlook would have melted.

The Missus bought me Smackdown Vs Raw 2006 and Sonic Mega Collection on PS2 for my birthday. Fantastic choices.

Finally, an addendum to the post-before-last: I’ve also got a web design job lined up to redesign the online store of a big telecoms supplier AND I sold the bike I won a few months ago. My ISA won’t know what’s hit it…

My early present to myself was seeing Guns N’ Roses at Hammersmith Apollo on Wednesday night. In case you don’t know this, and in which case you’ve probably never talked to me, Guns N’ Roses are my favourite band. This makes my disappointment at their show two nights ago all the more disappointing. You see, they appeared on stage 2 hours late, thus ensuring that the tubes would be closed by the time they were finished. Furthermore, the 2 hour wait was exhausting, given the heat of the venue on what had been a boiling day. The only saving grace is that I’d had the good sense to get seats for the show - two rows behind Brian May, Roger Taylor and Elle McPherson, no less. So I ended up getting home at 3am Wednesday night/Thursday morning, only to have to get up again 4 hours later as I had a presentation to give at Hammersmith hospital the next morning. I’ve always been one who values his sleep dearly, so I was incredibly gutted.

The show itself? It was pretty good actually, but by the time they’d come on stage I was already looking forward to announcement that the gig had been cancelled so I could just go home at a decent hour.

My plans for tomorrow were to go and have some drinks with friends. Unfortunately, most of these friends are football fans and insist on watching England’s match. I won’t watch it on principle - I’m not sacrificing one minute of any day to watch that shit, let alone on my birthday. So I’ll join them later and make sure we only venture into pub without a telly, in what may prove a vain effort to avoid football altogether.

I’ve been up to my eyeballs in work recently. But that’s a good thing - it’s all been freelance web design work. In addition to the NHS forum I’m setting up, I have completed a site for a photographer in North London. Unfortunately, good web design practices didn’t fit in with the minimalist style of site she wanted so it really isn’t suitable to be showing in my portfolio. I did try to convince her to adopt some good web practice (i.e. not having a splash screen, not making your links invisible on hover) but she was having none of it. And the customer is always right as they say…

The sites I’m still working on are for a wedding photographer, a cleaning company, an event planner and a communications company.

But it’s only in the last 24 hours that things have really picked up - an estate agent and a big media firm have asked me for quotes. I realise that doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll get them, but I am pleased that I’ve made a sufficiently good impression that they’d ask.

And now comes the unwelcome burden that is tax self-assessment. Although given the nature of my work tax shouldn’t have to be taxing. My records should look something like this:

Date - service: website design - cost
Repeat.

I hate the taxman.

Quite literally. An unexploded WW2 bomb has been found at a building site directly across the dock from me. It better not go off and interrupt my sleep.

Click this link. (and check out the OOOOOOLD photo when Canary wharf was the only big building in the distance)

I just got a call from a lovely Irish lady working for a magazine saying I’d won £3000-worth of stuff. Here’s the blurb from the magazine…

Wilkinson Sword are giving one lucky person prizes totalling nearly £3000. They include a lightspeed Titanium Teramo road bike, a Ben Sayers MX7 titanium golf set, a Boccia titanium gent’s watch and of course a Quattro titanium razor.

I don’t exactly know what I’ll do with a bike or a golf set, but fuck it, it’s free!

Scroll back a few posts and you’ll see somewhere I said “if good luck comes in threes, then I’m due a third”. How right I was.

Not because she’s landed a ridiculously good looking gentleman such as myself, but because she’s passed her latest two exams - one of which was 100% correct. And I’m one step closer to being a kept man.

I’ve had my parents staying for the weekend, which has been nice. Despite being our guest my mother has insisted on cooking, then criticising the weight I’ve put on in recent years. Joyous.

I was pleased to hear that a good friend of mine (and reader of this blog) has finally plucked up the courage to ask out his crush, and is waiting eagerly for their first date. How very Dawson’s Creek.

My father and I were out shopping on Saturday, passed a generic electrical retailer and were rather pleased with ourselves at Wales’ 8-0 lead over Italy. We weren’t so pleased when we got home to find we’d drawn the match 18-18, at home no less. We were equally unimpressed by today’s cack-handed performance by England against the French. What a load of bollocks this Six Nations tournament has been. However, it must have been great for the bookies.

Speaking of sport, rumour has it that Joe Calzaghe will headline a monster night of boxing in the Millennium Stadium, sharing top billing with Ricky Hatton. Looks like I’ll be in Cardiff on July 8th then… Of course, barring a sudden lottery win or the abolishment of airport taxes, this will certainly put paid to my plans to see Guns N’ Roses in both Dublin on June 9th and Paris on June 20th. Nevermind. Speaking of Guns N’ Roses, Gilby Clarke is playing in London in May. I must get myself a ticket.

On Friday I’m at Guy’s hospital manning a stand promoting the site that I’d made for work, in the company of a Nobel prize winner, no less. I also need to somehow find the time to get the medical image database up and running, which is a tall order considering I know fuck all about databases or web servers, and my go-to guy leaves his job on Friday.

Ooh, and I won a Wrestlemania T shirt. If good luck comes in threes, then I’m due my third soon…