29 August, 2006

The Itch is worse than ever

I woke up after a dream about asthma, walking and gone-off meat to discover that I was in the midst of an asthma attack. Being too lazy to get out of bed until I was up, Rosa kindly fetched my inhaler and got me up.
We'd washed a sheepskin rug, and left to hang up and dry in the room I was sleeping in, which pretty much goes against every allergy thing there is and I've been feeling the itch in my nose, sneezing, sniffing and scratching all morning.
The rug must be full of dust mites, and there's dust everywhere as we took the curtains down to wash them, too, and then damp stuff hung up everywhere is perfect for dust mites to breed in. Aaargh!
It gave me a feeling of involuntary loss of bodily functions (careful, now.) I wandered about the flat tic-ing and running about for loo roll, scrunching up my face and saying, "Gahk!" a lot.
I then had to post bike keys off to France (after having borrowed bikes and wandered off with them) and started getting all morose about being back in the city again (and having rubbish vegtables, rant, rant, rant ...)
I came home the other day to find Rosa had covered our kitchen wall in a kind of brain-storming exercise for how to survive the pending oil crisis (and corresponding economic collapse according to Rosa - I'm sceptical that it will be as bad as she says). More on that, and maybe a photo, another time.

24 August, 2006

Getting over the countryside

Its been hard coming back from a holiday in the countryside, going back to work in tis dusty, crusty city.
My nose has got blocked up again, my lungs have recognisably got worse (although I'm not back on the Ventolin yet), I'm back in my routine of staying up until about 1am, which means getting up for work really hurts towards the end of the week.

Basically, I think I need to leave town and live in the countryside, is what I'm saying.
The view from mum's garden

I had a good long hungover think whilst I was waking up in the shower this morning and felt almost copernican about buggering off for some countryside goodness. My mate Caleb made it out to Yeovil, but I don't really know how that whole lifestyle is going. I guess it must be good.

Too tired to be angry now. I think I'll join Rosa on th sofa sucking up that telly juice through her eyes.
Mmmm, telly juice.

23 August, 2006

First posting

So. I've been trying to develop my own blogsite for a while with all my recipes and photos and gubbins on, and it's amazingly silly trying to get my head around all the coding necessary.
This, in other words is an experiment to see how flexible a blog is and if I can adapt it to do everything I would like in my own blog.
I know I can do fancy biz with this, to allow people RSS feeds and such like from it, even put in photographs and change all the colours around. But I want to find out how easy it is to tag, sort and categorise my pages, personalise layouts and generally mess with it all.

Sorry, that was a bad start and a typically terrible blog entry, just spurting whatever rubbish is in my head; let me start again.

I am a 29 year-old guy from Bristol, UK. I've been toying with the idea of keeping a diary again for a while after my live journal got lost to the wilderness of internet moribundity: Called Pippinsfeet & Pippinsback .
I'm really into food and photography, so expect lots of recipes, reviews and photos of food here. I also seem to get typically lateral thoughts on a variety of topics, so expect random entries on any topic I fancy (recent favourites include Google Earth Models, real nappies and pigs).
I've got my driving test on Wednesday 30th, but I've been having lessons on and off for years, so I'm not too worried (unless I fail again and have to pay up another £100 for lessons and a test; Yaargh!)
I have an online alter-ego as a fake Elvis on Choke forum, which is chat area for the Bristol music scene that rarely sticks to the point.
I set up a flickr account once, too, but won't link to it as it was never used once the work server blocked me from abusing the internet from my desk. The End.