h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

6am yesterday the fire alarm in the hotel went off. The first thing I put on was my headphones, which sound-insulated the head-splitting piercing tone of the alarm down to a tolerable clamour. I got dressed and made my way out into the cold wind and snow, as in 'married me a wife, she gave me trouble all my life...'

Other guests assembled in various states of undressed carrying their most prized possessions, but, honestly. I'd have thought that a pair of shoes would count for more than a laptop if the alternative to wearing shoes is standing barefoot in a snow-covered wind-blasted pavement.

One guy emerged, fully clad, with a lady companion, similarly fully and ver' stylishly clad. I thought, he's way out of his league... The guy went down to the main road and hailed a passing cab for her. I did not see that money exchanged hands, but demmy if she was going in to town at 6am to get two frappocinos to bring back... (i.e. her work was done).

My work went OK. We were out Easter Road way, in the shadow of a big footie stadium. We found a splendid patisserie to lunch at - braw cakes, first rate bread, soup, pizza, tarts and... at £1 per pop, a TRUE novelty. An Italo-Edinburghian attempt at an Aiberdeen rowie (roll), sold as a Butterie. Now, the rowie is a true Aiberdonian delicacy and is capable of bearing comparison with any bakery produce in the world. It is on a par with any Parisiean croissant. But an Italo-Edinburghian £1 a pop frippery, gee-gaw; surely not? The Butterie was twice the height of a normal rowie and about 1.25x the surface area. It was clearly well larded with butter. I bought one and shared it with Susan last night. I thought it was fine. Susan would have preferred it toasted.

Mind you, demme veggies have pretty much malky'd the true Aiberdonian rowie these days, as bakers have dropped lard in favour of vegetable oil in the making thereof...

Miah has been a bit down on account of the weather and missing me, but from the amout of fur shed in the two days I was away It is a possibility that some other cat has administered her a cuffing.

On the train back to Aiberdeen - loadsa cancellations - a hen night, a girly night out and four drunken scouse oilmen - geezers - turned the carriage I was sitting -reading, let it be noted, Mark Napier's Commentaries on the Law of Prescription in Scotland, 1853 complete edition, Avizandum bookshop, £40 - in into a simulacrum of Tophet. One oilman blasted out Bonnie Tyler, Jim Steinman, Blue Mink and - oddly -jungle at full volume while geezer 1 made moves on the 20 year-olds and his wingman - 50 if he was a day - showed them family photos, one of whioh was of his three years old grandson got up as the John Travolta hitman character from Pulp Fiction (the girlies all went awwwwww).

I have been on the train up with these people before. They get on ay Monrtose (where RGIT have a survival centre) and inflict Cilla Black lorra lorra fun parrrtaaay misery on a whole carriage all the way to Aiberdeen.

Also in the carriege - two iPad-bearing Italians, who spent the entire trip up from Edinburgh looking at A3 prints of pictures of equipment and on the phone asling "how big is the failure? Both pieces have failed?" then looking at technical specs and blueprints on their Macs - oilies also, and, I suspect, oilies looking at a big contractual penalty clause hit. They were so depressed looking by Stonehaven I would swear that they might well have been thinking about joining in with the scouser party.

I must admit to a degree of prejudice. Respect for the Beatles, but Lucian and his bloudy rabbits then Bread did it for me mega, irredeemably.

Sad news. Our favourite Italian Restaurant in Edinbro hads changed hands. The old Italiam mamma (shout a lot, terrorise the waiters, intimidate the customers, run a first-rate eaterie) had retired. The new owners were, as to her, like the 60s Tom and Jerries as to the 40s ones. Nuff said.


Douglas

Snap, Douglas. In Derby, in mid-Feb, at 02:30. Also with snow on the ground. Turned out to be a faulty sprinkler.

A colleague was in the room underneath and woke to find water streaming down his bedroom walls. While the rest of us went back to bed he had to wander round with the night porter trying to find another room.

I have not been well since.

PJ's OH

Susan had to go in to work today and has gone to an eveing meeting so I won't be seeing her til' 10-ish. I have made a cheese and broccoli quiche which she can have some of tonight and some for lunch tomorrow. It tastes OK. Miah is out. She has eaten two sachets so far today and is in fine fettle after her seedy early week demeanour.

I have spent the day doing £££ work - report writing.

I have been sitting in the back room all day going clacketty clackety clack. Kinda boring. I have listened to Frank Zappa, Bobbi Humphrey and the Ian Gillan Band (i.e. the '77-78 model). The FZ was good. In his early days FZ was an observant and incislve lyricist. He always was a first-rate social critic and satirist, but something like Oh No is so poigniant ...

I phoned Peet. I am going to see him on Saturday.

Ho hum, now I'll read my Telegraph.

I saw Gillan in 1979. RAndy California was the support.


Douglas