Around an hour ago, we left the van in prison hospital.

Where it shall have cosmetic surgery.


Anyone with an A level in Sociology knows this boot.

Only three and six. A bargain and still available in a bar in Newcastle. Until someone spots it.

And, if they don’t, it’s mine.

A clue. The Town Wall.


Walking to a bus stop in town the other night, I noticed bright lights to the side of the high level bridge. On investigation, I found that a film crew were at work.


After watching this morning’s cycling, I made my daily trip to the storage yard; this time to fit carpet.

Unfortunately, I’d been supplied with a set of Right Hand Drive carpets, so the main cab floor piece doesn’t remotely fit.

Which means I need to wait for a replacement before we can re-fit the front seats. This is something of a pain since the van’s booked-in for re-upholstery on Monday.

One positive, though, is the carpet provided to cover the (not very attractive) under seat storage compartments.

Tour of Britain

Yesterday afternoon, we went into town to watch the end of the third stage of the Tour of Britain. It’s quite a few years since I’d seen a stage, so the scale and organisation were a great surprise. Definitely a good thing for Newcastle.

Since today’s stage was to start across the river in Gateshead this morning, I walked down to the quayside to watch. All 20 teams were introduced as they signed-in, before the 11:00 start.

An excellent way to spend a morning.

Viva Las Vegas

A lady (who I relied on a lot) I used to work with is currently in Las Vegas. She sent me pictures of a crappy van.

Isn’t this the most beautiful thing ever.


It may seem a minor thing, but I fitted new seatbelts in the van today. However, the originals were ancient and were frustrating to use when one is used to modern belts.

I’d never previously fitted a seatbelt, so the job took longer than it probably should have. I do have some leftover bits, but I’m assuming these were optional.

Cab floor III

Well, that’s the floor finished.

There’s just a small amount of rust to sort out, where the new kick boards will be fitted, then we can lay the floor insulation and carpet.


This is a glass of Sherry, in a whisky glass.

We have no Sherry glasses. This is because I’ve not tasted Sherry since the age of nine. Yes, nine.

I’ve had asthma as long as I can remember and, when I was a kid, medication was pretty much non-existant. My own treatment mostly consisted of tranquelisers, with the aim of preventing me from exerting myself, thus triggering an attack. There were some pills in the event of an asthma attack, but they were ineffective.

Now this is weird, since inhalers were available. Che Guevara used French inhalers, which I assume we’re something like the current mainstream reliever. Of course, these weren’t readily available in Bolivia, resulting in the inevitable attack, delay and capture (the rest is history).

In the UK, I can’t say why Ventolin (I’ll use the brand name) also wasn’t available in the UK all those years ago. Maybe the drug was accessible then, but it was never offered to me. Or maybe it wasn’t available on the NHS.

Anyway, my parents heard that Sherry was beneficial for asthma sufferers. We’re not talking about keeping kids quiet by getting them drunk; rather, a small glass each evening to relax the patient.

My first glass of Sherry would have been at the age of eight. It tasted vile and it took a lot of encouragement to make me drink it. However, after a few weeks, it began to taste nice.

A few weeks ago, I bought a bottle from Tesco. It was labeled Jerez Xeres, so I knew that meant it didn’t contain fish (or other animal) bits. It sat in the wine rack since.

For some reason, I decided to try some this evening (why would it work? .

And it was (is) truly disgusting. I think I’ll stick with my inhaler.