Stagging

This past weekend was Tim’s stag weekend, (badly) organised by yours truly. I had decided that, as Tim is such a well-cultured bloke, the usual hookers & whisky-fest wouldn’t suit, so planned a weekend of culture, concerts and highbrow musings on the state of the nation.

Tim wanted hookers. C’est la vie!

As a compromise, we merry three trekked out to Dorset on Friday afternoon and, after rearranging our train seating a little, proceeded to talk crap and drink beer for most of the 2-hour journey. Arriving in Wareham, we rested at Monsoon (formerly the Railway Tavern), an Indian restaurant/pub just by the station before taxi-ing to our chosen guesthouse, the fabulously-named Frost-co-dur* in Harman’s Cross.

Next up was the finest train journey ever: a 15 minute journey in the “bar” carriage, with a bar, real tables & chairs and regulars who clearly spent their evening riding the line back and forth. No concessions were made by this line to speed – the train travelled at a pace such that you could stand without fear of spilling your drink. Now that’s what I call culture.

We spent Friday evening in Swanage – a pleasant seaside town – heroically resisting the urge to get completely tanked. We had an early start the following morning…

Next day we were up bright and breezy (well, we were up) at 8am, breakfasted and showered by 10 and ready and waiting at Zorb South by 10.30. More info on the zorbing (as well as pictures & video) to follow, but suffice to say if both cured hangovers and affixed semipermanent grins to our faces.

After lunch in Swanage and journey to Tooting to deposit bags, we spent Saturday evening in London. First stop was the Empire in Leicester Square, for comedy with Big Night Out, which was pretty good. Although, in all honesty, it would have been better if the idiot girl at the front (hello Squeaky from Basingstoke) could’ve kept her mouth shut for more than 5 seconds at a time. Still, a word from the compere (and her dad) seemed to do the trick after the second interval.

Finally (and after brief stops in the Mean Fiddler and another, terrible club which shall remain nameless) we wound up in Metro on Oxford street, for beers, spirits, sweating & dancing to suspicious funk, before taxiing back to Tooting and slumping in piles.

Explaination: Frost-co-dur comes from the previous owners (so we were told) – who were called Frost, and came from county Durham.

Deary me. Nevertheless, it was a fine place to stay, and Flick (our hostess) kindly gave us a lift to the Zorb site on Saturday morning. I can’t find a website for them, but I do have contact details, so mail me if you want them

We’re all going to die!

It seems the new chairman of Shell in worried that we’re going to go the way of the dinosaurs. As stated in this BBC news article, in an interview with The Grauniad Ron Oxburgh talked about his “fears for the planet”. Doubtless he’ll be selectively quoted as saying “…I see very little hope for the world” – carefully missing out the “…if we don’t have [carbon] sequestration…” that immediately preceded those words.

What may be a fair point is raised however – that the biggest threat to all of us is not terrorism, but is infact unchecked climate change. So perhaps we should be considering re-allocating the squillions® of pounds/dollars/euros/teeth currently being thrown at ID cards, uber-databases and frightening the pants off everybody to something which might save lots of lives…

Squillion: a stupidly big number. See also gadzillion, or a copy of Hot Property