ARRRRGGGHHHH!!!!

We were at Isandlwana and were attacked by 15,000 Zulu WArriors. Craig got Assagaied in the face but I managed to escape to Rorke's Drift. It looks like loads of Zulus are coming around the hill, I hope nothing bad will happen...

PLEASE SEND HELP!!!!!

Come in number six, your time is up...

Since getting back to South Yorkshire I've been working at Castleton in Derbyshire on Sheffield University's dig there.It's been quite a change from the York University dig. On the one hand there is only ten students as appose to ninety. also there are only four trenches on the site. Curiously (or not, if you know Colin and his methods), the trenches were not numbered sequentially but rather in the order the foliage was removed from them so instead of going east to west as 1,2,3 & 4, the trenches went 1,3,2 & 4. At least working with Colin keeps you on your toes. Anyhoo, Tim was there, he'd been running around for the previous days like a blue arsed fly trying to keep the trenches in running order whilst Colin railed against either the Labour Party or Sheffield University. I showed up and put everything right. Actually I didn't, I showed up and made bad jokes and flirted with the girls. My usual way of dealing with site work. I went down to the Deli in Hope Village and was served by a rather surly woman, who made the most fantastic food. My Lemon Pepper Chicken sandwich really freaked young Ryan out. 'What's wrong with just ham on a sandwich?' he asked. 'The lack of any flavour' said I.

Ryan's food Heaven, my food Hell...

I awoke this morning to the sounds of my parents moving about. 'Christ,' I thought 'They're up early.' I then realised I'd not set my alarm and I was late for work. I called Tim and he berated me about not getting up. As I was going through Sheffield Tim called me back and told me the trenches were already flooded and it was siling it down so I would be better off back in bed. I turned the car around. I met Mark in Rotherham just this afternoon. I had gone in to buy a couple of things and try to sort out the phone that Dave had given me ages ago. It needs unlocking so I can use my Sim card in it. It also needs a charger so I can put some battery power into it. I found out I also need to find out what operating system it uses so I can get it unlocked. So it looks like it's not getting unlocked and is worse than useless. I also tried to pay £38 into the bank in small change. But, although it is Saturday and the only day most people can get to the banks, the tills were all shut and the two girls, who's only job it seemed to be was making sure nobody broke or robbed the cash machines, told me it would be impossible to pay my money in. I was thinking while I was discussing it with them 'why can't you do it for me?' The only thing that didn't make it a wasted trip was a long discussion with Mark over a J2O about comics, vampires and Quentin Tarantino.

A real Vampire, not one of those Cyber-Goth-Sunglasses-wearing-Psuedo-Vampires that seem to be everywhere these days...

Neptune Towers

Craig made a swift exit on Sunday evening, I dropped him over to Leeds for the next floor he is destined to sleep on for a while. I on the other hand, filled my remaining time in York with a meeting with my group about their presentations, which basically turned into a trip to the pub after a few jokes at my expense. I had to look after John's bunch as well (Team Lady), he engineered it so that, rather than face them again, he took off to a hermitage in Germany for three months. That man has no back bone. They are only girls, John, they don't bite. The discussion with Team Lady seemed to centre around one of the girl's friends who was having a crisis in her relationship; namely which of two fellas she liked the most, and me telling them all about the remains we found at the Barbican centre over a year ago. After this padding out of general knowledge to make it look like I wasn't taking the piss and getting paid for a full days work after only having done an hour and a half, I was chatting to Cath. She was saying that Matt hadn't done nearly half as much recording as he had said he had and she would have to go back on site over the next couple of evenings and finish off. In a moment of absolute insanity I said 'Would you like me to do it? I'm finished here and have nothing else to do.' So that's how I found myself alone back on the site drawing three sections and three plans and one large profile of a V Shaped Roman enclosure ditch. Mind you, what would have taken Cath three days to complete I finished in two hours. A minor achievement on my part.

I went to see Star Trek yesterday with Aleisha and Emlyn, here's the review: Meh.

Star Trek: it's not Star Wars

On Sunday morning I awoke to find Cleo the cat screeching like a banshee at me. She seemed to be hungry so I opened a fresh food sachet for her and fed her. As I put the remaining half of the bag in the fridge, I noticed another already opened. In a discussion later with Craig it seems he had opened this and fed Cleo half of it an hour before I awoke. The little shit, she must have been rubbing her paws together thinking 'ha, check out these two tards, if I pretend to be hungry they'll keep feeding me.' I told Craig we should feed her til she bursts to teach her a lesson. When Craig left, Cleo realised that I was the only gateway she had to food. Her lack of opposable thumbs was making it difficult for her to use the tin opener. She set about building bridges with me. I have not been her greatest fan since the other day when she took a chunk out of my cheek for stroking her. She tried everything she could to get food out of me over the next two days. Sitting on my lap, climbing on the chair beside me, pawing at my arm. To which she got the reply 'fuck off and hunt a mouse or something. You're a cat, do what cats do.'

Cleo, trying to work out what cats do.

Iconoclasm Sweeps Cappadocia

John left on Thursday, thank God. at least the beatings have stopped and I have regained feeling down the right side of my body. I no longer have the nightmares and neither do I have to check behind every door when I enter a room. As a replacement for John, Craig moved in. He had to move out of Marcus' place as Marcus' missus was coming back from a year long stint teaching Polish/Swedish/English/whatever in China and they had a lot of catching up to do. It probably involves that rope contraption Marcus has set up in his front room, 'for her yoga', or so he tried to explain it away to me. Whatever they were planning on doing, Craig was no longer welcome to sleep on the futon in Marcus' front room and he was cast out on the streets again. But as soon as Craig moved in we had a sexy party, full of topless teens and spiked punch. Laissez Les Bon Temps Roulez.

Clay's gone!! Everybody say PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARTEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

On Friday Claire and I finished off the site, along with the help from a First Year student, Richard. The three of us tore the site a new asshole along with some help of a serving of grease from the Osbaldwick chipshop. The Osbaldwick chippy is the best in York by far, I used to live around the corner and it was a regular haunt of mine after getting in from packing computer games all day at Gamestation on a Friday night. It still keeps its reputation high but gone are the photographs of various celebrities that bought their fish and chips there. Among the illustrious stars that have had a portion of 'haddock, chips and scraps, open' are Sir Michael Caine, Dame Joanna Lumley, Dame Cilla Black, and not only Ant, but Dec too. Hot on the heels of such stellar customers, Osbaldwick fisheries was also visited by the living legend that is Bob Carolgees, though whether Spit the Dog was in attendance I never found out. Mind you, having a dog that spits everywhere would not be the most hygienic visitor to a chip shop and if the authorities found out the Osbaldwick fisheries would have been closed down in an instant. What these celebrities were doing buying chips in such a far flung place as Osbaldwick I never found out. It's not beyond reasonable doubt that these stars would visit York, or even buy chips at some point during their stay. But for them to venture out the land of 'here be Dragons...' that is Osbaldwick for a portion of heart attack in batter still baffles me.

Although it is unknown whether Amy Whinehouse visited the Osbaldwick Chippy, she would always be welcome. As long as she didn't bring her drugs.

Goodbye Area 2

The students finished on Tuesday, after a day of hard work, we finally got to point where the area was pretty much finished, except for a few things I had to finish today. My team bought me present of three bottles of beer and made a card with a Pop-Up-Cock with my face on the head of the penis. Awwww, bless 'em, it really touched me. They've all worked hard and I'd like to thank them all, Rob the Workhorse, Kate the Flirt, Merel the German, Lauren the Mexican, Lawrence the Gobshite, Liz the Sunburnt, Richard the sick boy, Alicia the Disney cartoon, Adam the part timer and Bryn the Archaeological expert and I will miss them. Mind you, I will see them again before I leave York, so it ain't too bad. One final thing to add, I never really shaved my pubes to make my cock look bigger, that was just a joke.

Short and sweet, so suck it up.

Fucking Clowns

Katie began juggling mud balls on site today. Juggling is something that irks me to a fever pitch. I hate it, it is the single most inane activity that humanity has to offer. I hate the people that juggle, with their stupid 'alternative' lifestyles and their stupid Jester hats. They all drive their 2CVs to the latest 'free vegan love-in festival' in their stupid tie-dyed clothes and dungarees. With their stupid overlong beards (men) and unshaven armpits (women). All being terribly individual but looking and acting the same. It's like juggling is a sign of counter-cultural activity and to be alternative you have to learn to throw three balls up in the air without dropping them. Because that's all juggling is. The ability to not drop something. It's like people that ride unicycles, they fall into the same category. I saw some cunt outside a pub one time having to be helped onto his unicycle by his mates. It made me think: What kind of vehicle is that you have to be helped onto in order to use it? What if you were stuck somewhere where there was no one around? You'd have to walk and carry your stupid fucking unicycle with you, wouldn't you? GET A FUCKING BIKE, stop trying to show off to everyone around you that you're 'CRAZY' because you can balance on a wheel. Do you know what I'd do to jugglers and unicyclists if I was in power? I'd treat them like Vlad Dracul treated the insolent Turkish emissaries and NAIL THEIR FUCKING HATS TO THEIR HEADS!!!!

Vlad, he'd have no truck with jugglers...

I didn't have any nails to hand on site today so in spite of this I got the hose and liberally sprayed Katie with it to stop her juggling and make her work. It certainly worked a treat. It also worked on Lawrence when he was trying to flirt with Merel. It was like a cat with a spray bottle. I tell you there are far too many raging hormones on that site.

In other news, go and see Drag Me To Hell, not only has it got the beautiful Alison Lohman in it, but it is a return to form for Sam Raimi. Never mind Spiderman, this was a great horror comedy in the style of Evil Dead I & II and Army of Darkness. In fact it was so much like them I was half expecting the Lamia to start chanting 'Dead By Dawn! Dead By Dawn!!' or Bruce Campbell to apear in a cameo. Mind you, since all his superhero money old Sam seems to have forgotten poor Brucey...

Ash, he'd have no truck with the Lamia...

D Day + 23741

Today is the 65th Anniversary of the D Day landings. As we were driving to work John and I were listening to BBC York. Some Old Dear had called in to tell the presenters about her D Day Memories, althought most of them seemed to take place in 1947, three years after the Normandy Landings. Anyway, John suggested that I ring up tell the presenters about my Grandfather's memories of D Day. It would go something like this:

'Yes Granddad used to tell me all about his times on the Normandy Beaches, he said he had a great time. He remembers it like it was yesterday, he told me that once those landing craft dropped their ramps, it was like a turkey shoot. Men were dropping like flies, but he kept going. The bodies were piling up and the place was like an abattoir. Finally they got on the beach and the killing continued. Yes, Granddad shot a lot of Americans from his MG42 machine gun post that day. He spent a lot of time in Argentina after the war...'

Granddad mans his post...

We have the daughter of the house owner and her partner here at the moment, they are back in York for a wedding at the weekend. They live in London, she is a Doctor and he is in 'finance'. They have that confident, affable demeanor that the rich carry around with them. He is cleaner cut than I ever manage to be, even two minutes after shaving. They are so rich that last night they put the dishwasher on after only loading two plates, two cups and two sets of cutlery into it. John and I usually load the machine over a week and are very careful when we set the thing working, due to cost of washing up tablets and liquid, not to mention the waste of water. Anything smaller than a full load we wash by hand. It also inspired a converstion in John and I about what level of richness you have to be to be able to afford an Aga. There is an Aga in this house and we figured an Aga serves as a yardstick to measure richness. If you have one, you are rich, if you 'have always wanted an Aga' you are poor. That's the law, right there.

Champagne? Check. Oysters? Check. Aga? Negative = NOT RICH