Monthly Archives: September 2013

I’ve been away for a while. Well, technically not away, just busy.

Very, very busy. Lots going on. 

Didn’t even get to see Man for five whole weeks. Longest time not seeing him in the almost four years I’ve known him.

Finally this weekend I got to go to Nottingham for the weekend :) woo hoo.

And how better to celebrate than a road trip? We chose to go to Southwell to see the Minster and then went on to Newark to see the parish church there and visit the market (and have a late lunch).

Then yesterday we took the bus into the city centre, went and saw some tentacle porn at the Nottingham Contemporary (yes really) and sat eating bread, olives and humus watching some friendly neighbourhood drunks cause chaos.

But rather than tell you about the places we visited, I thought I might tell you about some of the people we met over the weekend … because, quite frankly, they were as mad as a box of frogs :)

In Southwell I decided that I really ought to get the prescription I had been carrying around in my handbag for a while (a couple of weeks to be honest) so we popped into the pharmacy and found …

461b… the comedy chemists assistants :)

They were having a chaotic day. The barcodes weren’t working for them, the chemist had locked herself in a room and the orders were stacking up and they couldn’t find anything. And they laughed and joked their way through the chaos and certainly made me smile. They spotted the camera around my neck and decided I was paparazzi.

Tomorrow I’m going to email this photo to them from my work account, which signs me off as group deputy editor – then they really will think I’m paparazzi :)

We stopped a little further down the street for a drink in this pub.

462bThe Saracen’s Head.

There was an older guy behind the bar, in his 60s I would guess. Extremely well spoken.

The conversation went like this.

Me: I’d like a lemonade please.

Man: Lemonade’s off.

Me: Um ok, I’ll have an apple juice.

Man (perfectly straight face): That’s off too. We only have water.

Me: Great, well I’ll stick with the lemonade then and a pint of bitter please.

Man (giving me the lemonade and attempting to pour a pint): Oh great, the bar manager hasn’t put those little thingies on the end. That gets right on my tits. I’ll have another go. Oh bollocks. That’s not going to work. I’ll have to go and find him, the bastard.

Man goes off and returns with a younger guy who decides the barrel is empty and says he will go and change it and bring the pint outside.

Man (giving Man the dregs in the glass): Here, you might as well have this bit for free. That will be £23.72.

Without a word I handed him a ten pound note. Without a word he gave me £4.50 change. 

It was possibly the most bizarre service I have ever received in a pub.

On to Newark and we were wandering around the market square when we heard a busker and went to listen. Turns out we’d seen him before. We ran into him a couple of years ago in Lincoln.

Here he is, he’s quite distinctive and he was wearing the same hat.

483bBusking in Newark, September 2013.

buskerBusker in Lincoln, October 2011.

He’s a nice guy and a really good busker and it was great to see him again.

Yesterday we got the bus into town. It’s actually cheaper than parking the car. We had a mooch about, went to see the Aquatopia exhibition at Nottingham Contemporary which included tentacle porn – Katsushika Hokusai’s Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife from 1853, which is basically a woman being pleasured by an octopus or two. It’s actually quite brilliant, as are many other of the exhibits (although some are just weird).

We caught the bus back home and for the second time this weekend, someone wanted me to take their photo.

565bIt was the bus driver.

This is him striking a pose. I’m not sure what pose it is, but it is definitely a pose and it made me smile.

See, mad as a box of frogs… we do have a habit of attracting them :)