With the excitement of having purchased my camera and sound recorder this week, I was keen to take a trip up to Steve's to show him what I had got, and to get his opinion on them. We'd talked about my going up to his straight after work on Saturday. I had figured this would mean that I would need to take the equipment to work with me, not something I was keen on.
He'd also mentioned going round the house of one of the members of Beacon, as their parents were away and perhaps getting a take-away. Even though the person concerned is an okay guy I get along with, my usual aversions to going places I don't know, and fears of the thought of being in social situations where I don't know people kicks in. This means that my brain starts thinking of all the reasons why I shouldn't go, and my nervousness takes over - and some of my routine based habits start. (That comment may never make sense).
Anyway, as it happened, I left work late, at around two-thirty, and decided to go home and get some lunch (and the equipment) before heading off to Steve's. Normally on a weekday I get a lift to and from work, on a Saturday I am not so fortunate.
After nipping in to Tesco in Havant on the way to the bus station (I needed to buy replacement shorts for the ones that I'd ruined the day before, spilling bleach on them whilst cleaning the kitchen and en-suite), and then coming home, making and eating some lunch and sitting down it was nearly half past four. I actually thought this wasn't such bad time, all things considered. (It's about a twenty minute walk from where I work to the bus station, and that's without the spend-detour).
Eventually, I managed to make it to Steve's just before six pm. He, Chris and Stuart (the guys that lodge with him) were impressed and approved the choices.
We got some fish and chips to eat round his and then went on to the other guy's home. It was a nice gentle couple hours to be honest. Not really the party I was fearful of. There was this guy there, that I am sure I have met before, but I just felt like I got along with rather well. I have to say that I think I was a bit flirty. This was commented upon by Stuart. He was very cute. Ho hum. In the car on the way back to the train station, I voiced my opinion, in probably a way that I don't normally, was rather free-er with how I felt than usual.
Steve leant me a box set of old Dr Who episodes. These were the last Tom Baker stories, 'The Keeper Of Traken' and 'Logopolis', and the first Peter Davison adventure 'Castrovala'. It's amazing that some thirty years after these stories were made and first aired, they do stand the test of time, and although you can tell the differences in effects, and the way things are shot, written and edited between then and now, they are still very enjoyable dramas to watch in their own right. The last time I had seen some of those episodes would have been when I was about ten years old.
There are certainly things that I pick up on in the interplay between the actors, that I would have been too innocent to see when I originally saw them.
Matthew Waterhouse, who played Adric in these episodes, (a companion in Dr Who for about two years - straddling the Tom Baker and Peter Davison era) was my first gay crush. In the story Earthshock, his character died I still remember to this day sitting at the dinner table, finishing my meal, and crying my eyes out because Adric had been killed.
I was so upset, I wrote to the BBC and complained that they had killed him off. I got sent a standard letter as reply, and a signed photograph from Matthew Waterhouse - which to my shame I no longer have.
Plans for the weekend went further astray when my daughter sent me a text to let me know that she wasn't feeling well and wouldn't be able to come up. This was doubly a shame as my Nan was coming up to my Mum's for lunch, and we were going to join them. Also my Auntie, Uncle, cousin - and her two children were due to pop over later on. Sadly this also didn't quite work out as my cousin wasn't up to coming either.
My sister also made an appearance at my Mum's, but without her two sons, one of which who had gone round a friend's house, the other was still in his pyjamas apparently (bearing in mind at this point it was about three pm). He's not even a teenager for another four years, but he's getting the 'can't be bothered laziness' into practice.
It is nice to spend time with my family, although in controllable doses. My Nan stated to me about seven times that it was a shame that my daughter wasn't up to coming for lunch. It's a shame she can't remember that she's told me that so many times, but seems to remember very clearly the sorts of things she reads in the Daily Mail.
Her 'rage' at the state of the country, and how things are going to hell in a hand basket, or that she is fearful for the country and planet we leave for the children of today is one thing. Her repeated insistence that the problem with the country is 'all the immigrants' and how 'they come over here and get money thrown at them'. That's bad enough, but I have filtered some of the other statements. Is it a thing peculiar to old people that turns them into rabid racists ?
Reminding her that her time in hospital would probably not have gone so well if it wasn't for all those 'damn immigrants' working in the NHS, or that there's plenty of English people too bone idle to work, who get far more money than any migrants, didn't seem to change her view, but did at least get her to shut up about it.
I am steeling myself for the day she starts going on about gays. Old people. Bless 'em.