View allAll Photos Tagged ,Retching
inspired by natalie kucken
straight out of camera
WELL I'M GLAD WE DIDN'T EAT THIS
The eating of limited quantities of poke, perhaps of the shoots, may cause retching or vomiting after two hours or more. These signs may be followed by dyspnea, perspiration, spasms, severe purging, prostration, tremors, watery diarrhea and vomiting (sometimes bloody) and, sometimes, convulsions. In severe poisonings, symptoms are weakness, excessive yawning, slowed breathing, fast heartbeat, dizziness, and possibly seizures, coma and death.
Wednesday
A day of rain.
And a trip to Newcastle.
Hmmmm, Newcastle.
We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.
There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.
Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.
We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.
We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.
Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.
I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.
I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.
Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.
Wednesday
A day of rain.
And a trip to Newcastle.
Hmmmm, Newcastle.
We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.
There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.
Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.
We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.
We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.
Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.
I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.
I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.
Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.
Sounded fair to us, so we paid, and our guide explained the history of the arcade and the surrounding area, all gentrified in the 1830s, which so resembled fine Parisian boulevards. It was a wonderful area, and the style, Tyne Gothic was very nice and almost chic. It has been renovated in recent times, and looks like it did when new, except for the pawnbrokers and other modern shops now occupying the ground floors.
We walk along a narrow alley past pubs and old workshops, our guide giving us history behind the buildings. The world's fattest man lived and died here, King Charles 1st had dinner there. And so on. Until we came to Bigg Market.....
Bigg Market is where the young Geordie goes to have fun, or used to; according to our guide. It is not as popular as it once was, as many now go down to the Riverside. And Bigg Market is to be 'redeveloped'. So, this may be the last chances to see some of these fine old buildings, some of which now have demolition orders against them. All things must change. Apparently.
From Bigg Market, we walked to The Black Gate, the old main entrance to the city, then onto the New Castle, which gives the city it's name.
Bebe is not a morning dog. Wake her up in the morning and this is the grumpy response you get. Those constipated, retching sounds are her attempts at working her way up to barking. It comes out sounding like a puking cat. She's not good for much until she's had breakfast and a walk.
It's rare that I get the opportunity to wake her up. It's usually the other way around.
Wednesday
A day of rain.
And a trip to Newcastle.
Hmmmm, Newcastle.
We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.
There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.
Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.
We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.
We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.
Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.
I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.
I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.
Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.
We were told of the history of the Arcade before walking to the indoor market and then down the wide street past the Theatre Royal.
In the market is the site of the first ever Marks and Spencer store, or market stall, which is still going, selling end of line items.
Wednesday
A day of rain.
And a trip to Newcastle.
Hmmmm, Newcastle.
We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.
There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.
Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.
We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.
We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.
Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.
I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.
I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.
Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.
Sounded fair to us, so we paid, and our guide explained the history of the arcade and the surrounding area, all gentrified in the 1830s, which so resembled fine Parisian boulevards. It was a wonderful area, and the style, Tyne Gothic was very nice and almost chic. It has been renovated in recent times, and looks like it did when new, except for the pawnbrokers and other modern shops now occupying the ground floors.
We were shown the indoor market, the Theatre Royal, all the time heading down towards the river. We stop at The Black Gate, the old main entrance to the city, and next to it the Norman, or New, castle. I know that from the top fine views of trains arriving and leaving from the station could be had, and so I planned to return later in the day.
We walk down the old main road, the old Great North Road, as was, now a quit pedestrianised street, leading steeply down underneath two of the 5 bridges that cross the river. More history down there; merchants houses, where wharfs unloaded good from around the world, and just beyond, the once busy river.
That was the tour, we thanked the guide, and she said that along the river we would find many places to have lunch. We walked on, coming to a modern glass and steel building, a posh eateries and bar: looking at the menu, we both decide burgers were in order. So we go in, take a table, order drinks and our meal and watch the people. It is graduation at the university, and many people are in gowns, joyful with their friends and families, out celebrating their degrees and awards.
Our burgers were good, as were the drinks; Jools has a margarita, which was OK, but strong. Once we finish, I leave Jools on a bench as I cross the blinking bridge to snap the views along the river.
It all started with a knot in my stomach this morning. Not from drinking too much last night while watching Appalachian State win the national championship in 1AA football again. Of course, that along with other factors like staying up to late certainly did not help. No, this knot came from a deeper dread. Today I had to do it.
I procrastinate as long as I can. I shower, eat, read the paper, walk the dog, throw things at the cat and finally get ready to go. The drive is short. As I weave through the turns trying to avoid potholes and dead deer carcasses, the rock in my stomach gets bigger and starts to shift around. I contemplate pulling over so I can throw up, but force myself to think happy thoughts about my kids. It calms me enough to keep moving forward.
Upon parking, I take a deep breath and begin to walk. Soon, there he is. His long scraggly beard and paints that are too short seem fitting. He is at least 100 years old The light blue vest sends chills down my spine. I try to avoid eye contact, but he does it anyway. The bastard smiles and says with a retched New York accent, ‘Welcome to Walmart’. Dear God, I am in the bowels of Hell!
I walk fast skipping on the buggy. Trying to navigate one of those would only slow me down and prolong this dreadful experience. I go straight for the bikes and am happy to see row after row of them. Great I thought. I may be able to get in and out without injury to some poor old person who is unfortunate enough to bump into me with a buggy. Then I noticed, all the bikes were for boys. I’m hearing music from horror movies in my head. I began to panic and headed for the door. As I pass the 347 cash registers in the front, I see one long line. Only one damn register is running the Saturday before Christmas. What was I thinking? Why had I come to this shrine of everything unholy? I felt used and manipulated by the corporate world.
Upon leaving, my nerves were shattered. My hands were shaking. After going through about 12 extreme yoga poses in the parking lot to calm my nerves, the police kindly told me to leave. I drove over to Dick’s sporting goods where I was not greeted. It was so nice. They had two perfect bicycles. One for a boy, one for a girl. I ran them over to Santa’s storage depot and now have one more thing scratched off my list.
It’s been a rough day already.
Wednesday
A day of rain.
And a trip to Newcastle.
Hmmmm, Newcastle.
We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.
There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.
Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.
We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.
We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.
Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.
I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.
I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.
Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.
We were told of the history of the Arcade before walking to the indoor market and then down the wide street past the Theatre Royal.
In the market is the site of the first ever Marks and Spencer store, or market stall, which is still going, selling end of line items.
Day 232 (3/17) After our late night we had something of a lie-in but once up we enjoyed another mega-breakfast. Today was mildly cloudy for first time though still feeling very warm and humid. Son whinging about wanting to go swimming but the stuff was all packed (he had said he didn't want to) so they all went paddling just to shut him up (which is why he does it of course). Loaded the car over two trips and moved it into a disabled space just so we had some room to do so (and so we could get it out of the car park!). Then got checked out and paid for car park. Very gingerly got the car out of the car park then carefully climbed up the tight spiral ramp to the final exit barrier. Put the ticket in and still had to call for help as it wouldn't let me out (underground French car parks seem to have a thing against me). Tried to follow satnav but the road we wanted seemed to be not accessible (like an on ramp at the big roundabout which was all fenced off as if they hadn't quite finished it). So we went for miles into northern Barcelona before finally getting onto road to France (frustrating as we were driving parallel to the road we wanted for miles and Jane thought we were on it so her instructions made no sense at all!). Hot-hot-hot at services a few miles out of Barcelona for loo stop. As we were leaving I had a near miss as some nutter whizzed past my offside doing 3 times my speed which got my heart going if nothing else. We enjoyed some pretty crummy sarnies at that service station so hoping we get something better tonight. The toll roads were nice and free flowing with little queues so we made good progress. Son jabbered away about wildfires as we approached the border as miles around had obviously recently burned (if all at once this was a major event!). Then into France through a massive Border-station that looked pretty deserted; the wildfire damage ended here, obviously the fire didn't have its passport. We missed the satnav instruction and ended up on the not recommended route into town so (remember I've not done much driving in this car!) ended up in the town centre on very narrow roads with lots of cars and pedestrians and tight corners. Up a steep hill we found the place but Wife went ape at my suggestion if driving into their private courtyard (to be fair it was steep) so parked in a reserved space at the top and quickly unloaded. I then took the car round again and cheekily parked on slip road just a minutes' walk away. In the flat itself I was worried I lost my small camera bag but fortunately I found bag tucked into a corner of the boot. I wasn't panicking really. We walk to town which really doesn't take long and the tourist info told us where to buy groceries. Found the shop which was quite good for something so small. We bought food and trogged back up the road to the flat. Then we realised we had failed to buy pasta so Son and i went back to the shop and got more food. I decided to time our walk back and discovered I had set the timer on the iPod running some 17 weeks ago and it was still going, which Son found hilarious. It took us just under 10 minutes to get back and we took a different route, two minutes of which was climbing billions of stairs at the end, which of course Son did easily. Wife didn't enjoy the cooking as the pans were too small and electric rings means everything kept boiling over which meant the washing up wasn't great either (though the meal itself was pretty good and the children ate a tomato sauce without retching or death so we can do this at home too!). So as is normal on our first day the kids were late to bed. A little alarming that as the sun went down it looked a bit cloudy in the hills...
Today's photo reflects that mostly we were not sightseeing today, and the fact I didn't take my camera into town because I just wanted to travel light until we had gotten our bearings (and groceries!). This is the view from the balcony, you can just see the sea half-way up the left edge. The big sea-fort is in the centre right. This is one of many forts in Collioure (would you believe we never went in any of them?).
2014/06/07(sat)
Asshole Carnival Vol.2
at Earthdom
ANAL VOLCANO
Mecosario (岡崎)
Retch
GO-ZEN
SAIGAN TERROR
ZENOCIDE
DJ : LOVEJUICE
The old garage building stands alone at the intersection of the York, Pocklington and Driffield roads in the Vale of York. The For Sale notice says " Garage and Development Land: Planning for extension and residential, (other potential uses STPP) ". (STPP = "subject to planning permission")
Who will remember it's modest grace? Brick-bulit with a concrete beam supporting the lovely arched gable itself topped with stone; and the sheer utility of the curved corrugated iron roof - an industrial classic. And the flat spaces around that it defines; will they continue to reflect the sounds and smells caught within its dank interior after seventy (?) years grappling with the internal combustion engines of croaking cars and retching coaches taxed by the 1:6 steepness of nearby Garaby's ice age scarp?
Wednesday
A day of rain.
And a trip to Newcastle.
Hmmmm, Newcastle.
We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.
There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.
Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.
We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.
We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.
Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.
I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.
I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.
Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.
Sounded fair to us, so we paid, and our guide explained the history of the arcade and the surrounding area, all gentrified in the 1830s, which so resembled fine Parisian boulevards. It was a wonderful area, and the style, Tyne Gothic was very nice and almost chic. It has been renovated in recent times, and looks like it did when new, except for the pawnbrokers and other modern shops now occupying the ground floors.
We walk along a narrow alley past pubs and old workshops, our guide giving us history behind the buildings. The world's fattest man lived and died here, King Charles 1st had dinner there. And so on. Until we came to Bigg Market.....
Bigg Market is where the young Geordie goes to have fun, or used to; according to our guide. It is not as popular as it once was, as many now go down to the Riverside. And Bigg Market is to be 'redeveloped'. So, this may be the last chances to see some of these fine old buildings, some of which now have demolition orders against them. All things must change. Apparently.
From Bigg Market, we walked to The Black Gate, the old main entrance to the city, then onto the New Castle, which gives the city it's name.
From the castle it was all down hill. Down the old main road into the city, the old Great North Road, which is now Pedestrian only, but cobbled, and showing how even the main roads were so very narrow.
As we walked down, the various bridges over the river tower above us, and the city huddles under their arches.
My only thought was how tough it was going to be walking back up!
Sunderland was first (as always) and Labour was quickly on three. Things then slowed to a crawl for hours as high turnout delayed results in many areas (rendering my PA list useless). Thankfully there was plenty of gin.
Biggest cheers of the night were for Sadiq Khan in Tooting and Andy Slaughter in Hammersmith.
Other high points include Caroline Lucas winning for the Greens in Brighton Pavilion, Naomi Long becoming the first Alliance MP in Northern Ireland and Gisela Stuart holding on in Birmingham Edgbaston.
The wise Scots actually swung to Labour in this election, though no seats actually changed hands there. That Tories still have only one Scottish MP.
Biggest disappointment was the failure of the Lib Dems to make gains. For all the debates, media coverage and optimism it seems the voters didn't actually agree with Nick after all.
Second biggest dissapointment was the BBC coverage, especially the retched boat with Andrew Neil. Do we really want to know what Joan Collins thinks? There was a relief from it for a short while when its power failed. Sky News seemed more businesslike and less keen on gimmicks.
2014/06/07(sat)
Asshole Carnival Vol.2
at Earthdom
ANAL VOLCANO
Mecosario (岡崎)
Retch
GO-ZEN
SAIGAN TERROR
ZENOCIDE
DJ : LOVEJUICE
2014/06/07(sat)
Asshole Carnival Vol.2
at Earthdom
ANAL VOLCANO
Mecosario (岡崎)
Retch
GO-ZEN
SAIGAN TERROR
ZENOCIDE
DJ : LOVEJUICE
Wednesday
A day of rain.
And a trip to Newcastle.
Hmmmm, Newcastle.
We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.
There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.
Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.
We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.
We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.
Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.
I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.
I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.
Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.
Sounded fair to us, so we paid, and our guide explained the history of the arcade and the surrounding area, all gentrified in the 1830s, which so resembled fine Parisian boulevards. It was a wonderful area, and the style, Tyne Gothic was very nice and almost chic. It has been renovated in recent times, and looks like it did when new, except for the pawnbrokers and other modern shops now occupying the ground floors.
We walk along a narrow alley past pubs and old workshops, our guide giving us history behind the buildings. The world's fattest man lived and died here, King Charles 1st had dinner there. And so on. Until we came to Bigg Market.....
Bigg Market is where the young Geordie goes to have fun, or used to; according to our guide. It is not as popular as it once was, as many now go down to the Riverside. And Bigg Market is to be 'redeveloped'. So, this may be the last chances to see some of these fine old buildings, some of which now have demolition orders against them. All things must change. Apparently.
From Bigg Market, we walked to The Black Gate, the old main entrance to the city, then onto the New Castle, which gives the city it's name.
Wednesday
A day of rain.
And a trip to Newcastle.
Hmmmm, Newcastle.
We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.
There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.
Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.
We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.
We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.
Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.
I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.
I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.
Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.
Sounded fair to us, so we paid, and our guide explained the history of the arcade and the surrounding area, all gentrified in the 1830s, which so resembled fine Parisian boulevards. It was a wonderful area, and the style, Tyne Gothic was very nice and almost chic. It has been renovated in recent times, and looks like it did when new, except for the pawnbrokers and other modern shops now occupying the ground floors.
We walk along a narrow alley past pubs and old workshops, our guide giving us history behind the buildings. The world's fattest man lived and died here, King Charles 1st had dinner there. And so on. Until we came to Bigg Market.....
Bigg Market is where the young Geordie goes to have fun, or used to; according to our guide. It is not as popular as it once was, as many now go down to the Riverside. And Bigg Market is to be 'redeveloped'. So, this may be the last chances to see some of these fine old buildings, some of which now have demolition orders against them. All things must change. Apparently.
From Bigg Market, we walked to The Black Gate, the old main entrance to the city, then onto the New Castle, which gives the city it's name.
From the castle it was all down hill. Down the old main road into the city, the old Great North Road, which is now Pedestrian only, but cobbled, and showing how even the main roads were so very narrow.
As we walked down, the various bridges over the river tower above us, and the city huddles under their arches.
My only thought was how tough it was going to be walking back up!
Old, crappy car I painted for a friends brother who is participating in the Mongol Rally.
There the car will be auctioned and the money will be given to the local people.
The Universe Hates Me
The last few weeks, as you all know the universe hates me, and has just stuck the boot in again today for good measure.
Unwelcome house guests
For at least 10 days I have suspected a new house mate ,...a mouse or possibly more than 1. They are attracted by Fanta's bird seed, which is normal. It is important to have your bird cages, perches etc as clean as possible which I do, however from time to time you will get a wee rodent issue.
I have had traps and baits out now for the best part of a week and the little buggars wont even touch them. Sometimes I feel i have no floor, just traps like a bad cartoon, that I find my self tip toeing through...ok its not THAT bad, but you get the picture.
A rude awakening and 2 a.m. nekkid chase
I heard something at 2 a.m. this morning when I was asleep in bed. I turned on the light, got up and buggar me, there was a mouse in Fantas bed cage (he sleeps next to me). I have NO idea how it got through those narrow bars ffs! Anyway a mad starkers mouse chase ensued at 2am, with me throwing myself at it several times, one of which resulted in my sliding under the be! The mouse was the victor.
Dry Retch Material
At 6.30 a.m. this morning I came into my study and almost passed out from the smell. Dead mouse. Nothing else like it. Had to get my 80 yo neighbour in. Said I would pay him any amount of money he wanted if he would find and remove it for me.
What I DON'T do
I have swum with great white sharks, in and out of cages. I have worked in the crocodile infested rivers of Far North Queensland, literally up to my armpits in cyclone flooded rivers. Snakes, sharks, spiders, lizars, any form of rodent or creepy crawly I am fine with (except cockroaches. I DON'T do cockroaches EVER), OR heights, however, bad smells will bring me to my knees.
I have a highly acute sense of smell. I can smell milk or food going off in a fridge at least 24h before anyone else. I can smell a gas leak where no one else can , but equipment will validate me. Trust me I have a good nose.
So an hour later after destroying the study, no mouse dammit. I came home to work from home for the day after a morning at work, and had to find the smell first. Luckily I had the presence of mind to leave windows etc open so its wasn't totally retch worthy.
...and where did I get this picture from then?
So, to the point of the picture up there. I asked my dear neighbour to see if he could find the mouse carcass up there for me. Would have gone myself, but the insulation is that shitty sprayed in stuff and my cough is bad enough as it is.
Of course, never one to lose an opportunity, I shoved my head up through the hole to take a few shots for posterity, oh and todays challenge picture of course. I had a torch in my mouth (that bright circle at the bottom) as for that other green light thing? pfft no idea...suspect torch light is reflecting on lens or something.
Out takes
www.flickr.com/photos/fishgirl7/3520843849
www.flickr.com/photos/fishgirl7/3520840541
2014/06/07(sat)
Asshole Carnival Vol.2
at Earthdom
ANAL VOLCANO
Mecosario (岡崎)
Retch
GO-ZEN
SAIGAN TERROR
ZENOCIDE
DJ : LOVEJUICE
See album description - On the surface, one might see this tin can as a nod off to nostalgia. After all who makes tin cans for their bacon bits anymore? When did they stop doing that? And when in the world did Oscar Mayer even make bacon bits? While the canister is old, that is not the story behind this canister.
I once lived in my Grandmother’s house after she passed away. I was still trying to get back on my feet from my retched divorce, it was a means for me to have a place on my own, and it allowed my family to delay dealing with the personal possessions of my grandmother. For five years I sat in her memories while my family refused to deal with them…
I found this canister one day when I was cleaning out her things. It was in a period of my life that was very scary for me to say the very least. I was going through so many things that I wouldn’t know where to begin with them. I was being taken back to court for past due Child Support from my ex. I had every single intention of paying it, but my business was slowly dying and so I had gotten behind. I had a new bride who was a Canadian Citizen and could not work until paperwork was submitted. I was the only income, which happened to be $500 a month to cover food, electricity, gas, insurance, rent, etc. I basically had nothing except stacking bills and a lot of fear for the future.
I wanted to make sure that my new bride had something to eat in the house, so there were several days that I went without eating (she didn’t know this until later on down the road!). On top of everything else I was going through counseling. I was an emotional, physical, and financial mess.
When I found this canister I thought I struck it rich. Inside was several dollars worth of coins from Bicentennial quarters up to Silver Dollars. But could I really trade those in? These were after all my grandmother and grandfather’s collection, and as much as I didn’t want to trade them in I knew I had to survive. I told myself that I would never dip into these unless it was an absolute emergency. I carried this canister in my truck for a few years- in the console, ready to save the day. Every time I almost had to use the coins, intuition and creativity kicked in and I found a different solution. Necessity is the mother of invention and resolution.
I am proud that I made it through those days. I am proud that I never once had to use any of these coins. It was close some days- between gas, food and lawyers. But I made it through. Now, money is not so tight even in a bad economy… and every time I see this canister I am reminded again of all I went through, how I held onto my determination and never gave up!
Wednesday
A day of rain.
And a trip to Newcastle.
Hmmmm, Newcastle.
We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.
There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.
Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.
We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.
We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.
Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.
I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.
I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.
Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.
We were told of the history of the Arcade before walking to the indoor market and then down the wide street past the Theatre Royal.
In the market is the site of the first ever Marks and Spencer store, or market stall, which is still going, selling end of line items.
Wednesday
A day of rain.
And a trip to Newcastle.
Hmmmm, Newcastle.
We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.
There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.
Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.
We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.
We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.
Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.
I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.
I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.
Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.
Sounded fair to us, so we paid, and our guide explained the history of the arcade and the surrounding area, all gentrified in the 1830s, which so resembled fine Parisian boulevards. It was a wonderful area, and the style, Tyne Gothic was very nice and almost chic. It has been renovated in recent times, and looks like it did when new, except for the pawnbrokers and other modern shops now occupying the ground floors.
We walk along a narrow alley past pubs and old workshops, our guide giving us history behind the buildings. The world's fattest man lived and died here, King Charles 1st had dinner there. And so on. Until we came to Bigg Market.....
Bigg Market is where the young Geordie goes to have fun, or used to; according to our guide. It is not as popular as it once was, as many now go down to the Riverside. And Bigg Market is to be 'redeveloped'. So, this may be the last chances to see some of these fine old buildings, some of which now have demolition orders against them. All things must change. Apparently.
From Bigg Market, we walked to The Black Gate, the old main entrance to the city, then onto the New Castle, which gives the city it's name.
Wednesday
A day of rain.
And a trip to Newcastle.
Hmmmm, Newcastle.
We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.
There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.
Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.
We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.
We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.
Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.
I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.
I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.
Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.
Wednesday
A day of rain.
And a trip to Newcastle.
Hmmmm, Newcastle.
We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.
There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.
Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.
We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.
We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.
Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.
I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.
I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.
Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.
Sounded fair to us, so we paid, and our guide explained the history of the arcade and the surrounding area, all gentrified in the 1830s, which so resembled fine Parisian boulevards. It was a wonderful area, and the style, Tyne Gothic was very nice and almost chic. It has been renovated in recent times, and looks like it did when new, except for the pawnbrokers and other modern shops now occupying the ground floors.
We walk along a narrow alley past pubs and old workshops, our guide giving us history behind the buildings. The world's fattest man lived and died here, King Charles 1st had dinner there. And so on. Until we came to Bigg Market.....
We were shown the indoor market, the Theatre Royal, all the time heading down towards the river. We stop at The Black Gate, the old main entrance to the city, and next to it the Norman, or New, castle. I know that from the top fine views of trains arriving and leaving from the station could be had, and so I planned to return later in the day.
Wednesday
A day of rain.
And a trip to Newcastle.
Hmmmm, Newcastle.
We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.
There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.
Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.
We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.
We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.
Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.
I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.
I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.
Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.
Sounded fair to us, so we paid, and our guide explained the history of the arcade and the surrounding area, all gentrified in the 1830s, which so resembled fine Parisian boulevards. It was a wonderful area, and the style, Tyne Gothic was very nice and almost chic. It has been renovated in recent times, and looks like it did when new, except for the pawnbrokers and other modern shops now occupying the ground floors.
We walk along a narrow alley past pubs and old workshops, our guide giving us history behind the buildings. The world's fattest man lived and died here, King Charles 1st had dinner there. And so on. Until we came to Bigg Market.....
We were shown the indoor market, the Theatre Royal, all the time heading down towards the river. We stop at The Black Gate, the old main entrance to the city, and next to it the Norman, or New, castle. I know that from the top fine views of trains arriving and leaving from the station could be had, and so I planned to return later in the day.
David's Mark was a town with a secret. Not one of those way back when secrets the whole town was involved in a present day affair. Smuggling drugs: cocaine in wheels of cheese, stinky cheese. Some cheese went to the market but some went to the mafia. The whole town was on the payroll.
Some are born with a calling others a purpose. This one little girl was born with a goddess well a personified being of humankind's belief in too much is too much and somethings gotta give. Not a blindfolded warrior in a toga but a little girl with an extremely accurate albeit dangerous moral compass. David's Mark got a visit.
She walked into to town and started preaching... not about change, but about doom, not you'll reap what you sow, or living and dying by the sword, more like you're going to die horribly. At first they all tried to look stupid as if they didn't know they were poisoners, but Abagail was able to get her point across. Her words carried the pending doom casually like a clutch. Chocking on your own puke she said in her child's voice.
She left on her bike. Rode through the town till she reached the fountain, then she dabbed her throat with the spring water like a perfume. It sounded like cawing crows: the retching, tearing sound could be heard for miles and in less than 10 minutes everyone was dead in David's mark.
***WARNING: if you are eating, will be eating soon or have just eaten it is probably not a good idea to read this description - there will definitely be too much information. In fact I am probably delving into the realm of too much information in general so please, read at your discretion. ***
On this day I had a migraine, a relatively mild one by my standards (as in I was not so debilitated as to preclude me from taking a photo) but a migraine none-the less. My physio is going to be very disappointed when he hears the news but it has been a full 6 months since my last one and as I said, it was so very mild that quite frankly I call it a success. But wait, I am getting ahead of myself, lets start at the beginning.
I had my first migraine when I was 12. It was Christmas day - not exactly the present I'd been hoping for... since then I've had a few, maybe once a year, every now and then but it wasn't until I started on hormonal contraception that they became more frequent and by more frequent I mean every fourth Sunday like clockwork. Oestrogen withdrawals my mother calls it… apparently it runs in the family… awesome!
Now when I talk about having a migraine what I really mean is constant tension all down the back of your skull and into your neck a pressure so painful and distracting that can't be released no matter what you do and even sleep provides no relief; I'm talking about curling up on the couch in the lounge room with a pillow pressed so hard to your head you almost can't breathe because the light from the tv and the kitchen are too painful so bear but you can't get up to turn them off because even the effort of moving your arm makes your head spin and your stomach churn; or about your mother waking up in the middle of the night to find you collapsed on the floor next to the toilet because you just finished throwing-up but if the pattern of the last 15 minutes is any indication you will be doing so again in another 120 seconds only there stopped being anything to throw-up about 5 minutes ago so now you're just retching into the bowl and your so exhausted from the effort you don't even whimper as the tears stream down your face and you chant the words "make it stop" beneath your breath like a prayer of salvation to no one in particular. I am talking about the fearful anticipation you experience when you wake up on Sunday morning and realise after eating breakfast that it is not digesting the way it should and you just know that it's too late and no matter what drugs you take now they won't work because they won't be digested and therefore in a few hours its all going to start again. I am talking about the utter helplessness the total mental defeat you experience when it's your own body thats causing you to suffer and you feel trapped and hopeless within its walls because there is no-one else you can rebel against.
I am not talking about a head-ache. I am talking about a migraine.
For months last year that was my life, and it was scary as hell because a migraine doesn't just last for the period of time you're in pain, there is a whole 12-24 hour recovery period that comes after it. When your down its so terribly hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel and sometimes you need help to start finding your way out.
My physio kind of specialises in migraine sufferers, as I mentioned, mine, we believe were triggered by Oestrogen withdrawal from the hormonal contraception I was using and so I thought that all hope was lost, I had run out of options and would have to deal with having migraines once a month for the rest of my life or… Anyway, he describes migraines like filling up a glass with a small hole in the bottom; different factors contribute to the rate of liquid flowing into the cup, factors such as diet, hormones, stress levels (both mental and physical), muscular tension in the neck (for me at least), weather, sleep patterns, etc. So when all of these factors are pouring into the cup at a faster rate than the hole at the bottom allows them to drain then the cup fills up and eventually overflows - presto! Migraine - but, if you can reduce the effect of some of the factors just enough to prevent the cup from overflowing then you can prevent the migraines. Now that sounds like fun :-)
So in the months since this educational experience, through trial and error, I have developed a kind of migraine preventative program: physio once a month to loosen up my neck (which I am sure is not assisted by my pole dancing but that is a hard limit and I refuse to give it up), attention to diet *sigh* sugar and junk food appear to be the main culprits which really sucks (girls: you know that time where your stomach becomes like a bottomless pitt and you feel like you could literally spend ALL DAY eating chocolates and scooping ice-cream from the carton? Yeah well that is especially the time I shouldn't :( ), also eating regular meals - skipping meals can be disastrous, 100mg B12 every day (or when I remember) because apparently some studies have suggested that in high doses it can prevent migraines - whether its a placebo or not its been working for me so I'll stick with it (a bottle of B12 is infinitely cheaper than any of the prescription migraine medications on the market anyway), and just in general paying attention to my body, slow down on the days I feel iffy, take a break when I am feeling stressed and take time out to just chill.
I've learnt that migraines are kind-of my bodies warning system that I am pushing too hard and need to slow down for a little while and now that I have come to terms with that it all seems a little more manageable. On Friday I felt the signs, I knew I should go home and rest but I was feeling stubborn and really wanted to go to dancing. So I did, and I paid the price. On the plus side though it gave me sweet inspiration for today's 365 photo and I got to test the new nasal spray migraine medication I was prescribed - best news ever - it works!!! :-D
normally i'm not one to criticise the press (...), but this story (the text above is a direct quotation) just popped into a newsfeed i come across every day and made me retch. dear media: this is not news. it is a press release. until you learn to tell the difference between those two creatures, which are as alike as whales and microscopic theoretical crystalline alien colonies, you may not publish anything further.
to add more misery to the situation, i saw it upon refreshing the page i'd been reading, and this bullshit had replaced a story about a career politician caught breaking the law. the original picture, when i saved it, was titled 'stop the presses'. indeed.
he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut. he was sitting at his desk when he heard shrieks coming from his co-workers. they'd just learned that bieber had changed his trademark haircut.
repeating these lines shows them to be a hypersexualised yet genital-less sūtra composed by an angry, fearful and ultimately insane god. it is absolutely of minimal syllabary, unambiguous, pithy, comprehensive, continuous, and without flaw: who knows the sūtra knows it to be thus.
2014/06/07(sat)
Asshole Carnival Vol.2
at Earthdom
ANAL VOLCANO
Mecosario (岡崎)
Retch
GO-ZEN
SAIGAN TERROR
ZENOCIDE
DJ : LOVEJUICE
Wednesday
A day of rain.
And a trip to Newcastle.
Hmmmm, Newcastle.
We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.
There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.
Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.
We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.
We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.
Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.
I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.
I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.
Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.
In loving memory of
Harry M. LAWSON
Bugler R.M.L.I (Royal Marine Light Infantry)
H.M.S. Rapid
Who died August 9th 1896
Aged 22 years
Beloved by all who knew him
Erected by his affectionate shipmates
New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXIII, Issue 10206, 10 August 1896, Page 5
DETERMINED SUICIDE.
A ROYAL MARINE TAKES POISON.
Last night, about half-past ten o'clock, a young man named Henry M. Lawson, a bugler of the Royal Marines, belonging to H.M.S. Rapid, committed suicide in the Coffee Palace, Lower Queen-street, under somewhat peculiar circumstances. Lt appears he came ashore in the afternoon, and was about the town. At about half past ten he called at the Coffee Palace in order to procure a bed for the night. He was shown one upstairs, and shortly afterwards came down again and asked for a cup of hot water— very hot. In passing to his room upstairs with the cup of hot water he asked some persons sitting at a table, jestingly, if they would have some whisky, After he got in he locked the door of his room. Shortly afterwards he was heard to cry out, I'm poisoned Come in!' An attempt was made to force the door, but it was unsuccessful, and a key was got. On the door being unlocked it was found that he had retched a little and was gasping slightly. An attempt was made to give him an emetic of mustard and water, but it proved fruitless, as he at once breathed his last. At the outset Dr. Hooper was telephoned for, but before his arrival the unfortunate young man was past all earthly aid. Constable McCarthy, who happened to be on his boat opposite the Coffee Palace, was informed of the affair, and he took charge of two empty bottles labelled 'Poison,’ found in deceased's possession, and the cup in which something had been mixed. One of the bottles was labelled chlorodyne, and bore the mark of a local chemist. The other bottle, also chlorodyne, appeared to have been procured in London. Owing to the suddenness of his death it is supposed he took something else than chlorodyne, oxalic acid being mentioned. Lawson was said to be sober at the time, and is stated to have been formerly a member of the Star of Newton Lodge I.O.G. T. Lawson was about 22 years of age, a native of Dartmoor, and has a brother a drummer in the Royal Marines at Home. His father is an official in Dartmoor Prison. Deceased's comrades ashore, on being notified of the affair, insisted on carrying the body of the deceased from the Coffee Palace to the morgue themselves, the police giving them the use of the stretcher. Dr. Philson. coroner, will no doubt hold the usual inquest today, when the circumstances surrounding Lawson's death will probably be elicited.[1]
Thames Star, Volume XXVIII, Issue 8427, 11 August 1896, Page 2
An inquest was held to-day on the body of Lawson, bugler of H.M.S. Rapid, who committed suicide in Waters' Coffee Palace, Queen street, last evening. It appears that he came in and asked for a bed, locked himself in the room, and took a dose of oxalic acid. The man died in five minutes. At the inquest, a verdict of felo de se was returned. Nothing has transpired to account for the rash act. He was keeping company with a girl, and intended trying to get his discharge to marry her.[2]
The HMS Rapid
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HMS_Rapid_(1883)
A few months earlier in February 1896 there was another suicide at Water's Coffee palace when John LEITH, new to Auckland shot himself through the mouth with a revolver
paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/cgi-bin/paperspast?a=d&cl=s...
SOURCES:
[1]
paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/cgi-bin/paperspast?a=d&d=NZ...
[2]
#4139 121/365 2021
We went on a geocaching walk near Heath and Reach (or heave and retch as I generally call it!) and took in a different section of the canal from my usual. It was a cloudy and overcast day, but sometimes you take advantage of what you have been given
2014/06/07(sat)
Asshole Carnival Vol.2
at Earthdom
ANAL VOLCANO
Mecosario (岡崎)
Retch
GO-ZEN
SAIGAN TERROR
ZENOCIDE
DJ : LOVEJUICE
In loving memory of
Harry M. LAWSON
Bugler R.M.L.I (Royal Marine Light Infantry)
H.M.S. Rapid
Who died August 9th 1896
Aged 22 years
Beloved by all who knew him
Erected by his affectionate shipmates
New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXIII, Issue 10206, 10 August 1896, Page 5
DETERMINED SUICIDE.
A ROYAL MARINE TAKES POISON.
Last night, about half-past ten o'clock, a young man named Henry M. Lawson, a bugler of the Royal Marines, belonging to H.M.S. Rapid, committed suicide in the Coffee Palace, Lower Queen-street, under somewhat peculiar circumstances. Lt appears he came ashore in the afternoon, and was about the town. At about half past ten he called at the Coffee Palace in order to procure a bed for the night. He was shown one upstairs, and shortly afterwards came down again and asked for a cup of hot water— very hot. In passing to his room upstairs with the cup of hot water he asked some persons sitting at a table, jestingly, if they would have some whisky, After he got in he locked the door of his room. Shortly afterwards he was heard to cry out, I'm poisoned Come in!' An attempt was made to force the door, but it was unsuccessful, and a key was got. On the door being unlocked it was found that he had retched a little and was gasping slightly. An attempt was made to give him an emetic of mustard and water, but it proved fruitless, as he at once breathed his last. At the outset Dr. Hooper was telephoned for, but before his arrival the unfortunate young man was past all earthly aid. Constable McCarthy, who happened to be on his boat opposite the Coffee Palace, was informed of the affair, and he took charge of two empty bottles labelled 'Poison,’ found in deceased's possession, and the cup in which something had been mixed. One of the bottles was labelled chlorodyne, and bore the mark of a local chemist. The other bottle, also chlorodyne, appeared to have been procured in London. Owing to the suddenness of his death it is supposed he took something else than chlorodyne, oxalic acid being mentioned. Lawson was said to be sober at the time, and is stated to have been formerly a member of the Star of Newton Lodge I.O.G. T. Lawson was about 22 years of age, a native of Dartmoor, and has a brother a drummer in the Royal Marines at Home. His father is an official in Dartmoor Prison. Deceased's comrades ashore, on being notified of the affair, insisted on carrying the body of the deceased from the Coffee Palace to the morgue themselves, the police giving them the use of the stretcher. Dr. Philson. coroner, will no doubt hold the usual inquest today, when the circumstances surrounding Lawson's death will probably be elicited.[1]
Thames Star, Volume XXVIII, Issue 8427, 11 August 1896, Page 2
An inquest was held to-day on the body of Lawson, bugler of H.M.S. Rapid, who committed suicide in Waters' Coffee Palace, Queen street, last evening. It appears that he came in and asked for a bed, locked himself in the room, and took a dose of oxalic acid. The man died in five minutes. At the inquest, a verdict of felo de se was returned. Nothing has transpired to account for the rash act. He was keeping company with a girl, and intended trying to get his discharge to marry her.[2]
The HMS Rapid
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HMS_Rapid_(1883)
A few months earlier in February 1896 there was another suicide at Water's Coffee palace when John LEITH, new to Auckland shot himself through the mouth with a revolver
paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/cgi-bin/paperspast?a=d&cl=s...
paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/CHP18960323.2.43
paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/AS18960324.2.35
paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/AS18960325.2.17
SOURCES:
[1]
paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/cgi-bin/paperspast?a=d&d=NZ...
[2]
See album description - On the surface, one might see this tin can as a nod off to nostalgia. After all who makes tin cans for their bacon bits anymore? When did they stop doing that? And when in the world did Oscar Mayer even make bacon bits? While the canister is old, that is not the story behind this canister.
I once lived in my Grandmother’s house after she passed away. I was still trying to get back on my feet from my retched divorce, it was a means for me to have a place on my own, and it allowed my family to delay dealing with the personal possessions of my grandmother. For five years I sat in her memories while my family refused to deal with them…
I found this canister one day when I was cleaning out her things. It was in a period of my life that was very scary for me to say the very least. I was going through so many things that I wouldn’t know where to begin with them. I was being taken back to court for past due Child Support from my ex. I had every single intention of paying it, but my business was slowly dying and so I had gotten behind. I had a new bride who was a Canadian Citizen and could not work until paperwork was submitted. I was the only income, which happened to be $500 a month to cover food, electricity, gas, insurance, rent, etc. I basically had nothing except stacking bills and a lot of fear for the future.
I wanted to make sure that my new bride had something to eat in the house, so there were several days that I went without eating (she didn’t know this until later on down the road!). On top of everything else I was going through counseling. I was an emotional, physical, and financial mess.
When I found this canister I thought I struck it rich. Inside was several dollars worth of coins from Bicentennial quarters up to Silver Dollars. But could I really trade those in? These were after all my grandmother and grandfather’s collection, and as much as I didn’t want to trade them in I knew I had to survive. I told myself that I would never dip into these unless it was an absolute emergency. I carried this canister in my truck for a few years- in the console, ready to save the day. Every time I almost had to use the coins, intuition and creativity kicked in and I found a different solution. Necessity is the mother of invention and resolution.
I am proud that I made it through those days. I am proud that I never once had to use any of these coins. It was close some days- between gas, food and lawyers. But I made it through. Now, money is not so tight even in a bad economy… and every time I see this canister I am reminded again of all I went through, how I held onto my determination and never gave up!
2014/06/07(sat)
Asshole Carnival Vol.2
at Earthdom
ANAL VOLCANO
Mecosario (岡崎)
Retch
GO-ZEN
SAIGAN TERROR
ZENOCIDE
DJ : LOVEJUICE
Dispatched to Geonosis. Those bugs were vile, ugly and discussing. They were like killing an ant. Effortless, and no pity for their death. But enough about those retched 'rebels'.
Day one. We encountered umpteen rebel soldiers. Shit load they did. It was like they were commanded to just look at us when we fired.. Maybe th.. Maybe they were ordered to do that so we would not fight at our best, then surprise us when our guard is down.. Interesting strategy..
We didn't see hardly any Natives. They must have been hiding, for they might have known the terror we shall enthrall them with. Either that, or our eye sight strength has been depleted from the heart melting, neck burning sun. I swear my amour is hot enough to cook an egg right now!
Ba~~~~~~ Sorry, Qurtz just bumped into me. Qurtz says he doesn't want to wright, because he says it's a sign of madness writing to your self. "if your the one who wrote it, and your the only one who is going to read it, isn't that what thinking is for? It's madness" -Qurtz.
Wednesday
A day of rain.
And a trip to Newcastle.
Hmmmm, Newcastle.
We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.
There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.
Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.
We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.
We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.
Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.
I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.
I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.
Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.
We were told of the history of the Arcade before walking to the indoor market and then down the wide street past the Theatre Royal.
In the market is the site of the first ever Marks and Spencer store, or market stall, which is still going, selling end of line items.