Here We Go...

So, finally all the little chess pieces are starting to move into position and in just a few days time (well, on Friday), we will hopefully exchange on the house. Yay. I would be a little more enthusiastic about it but it's still remotely possible that everything will go tits up in the meantime. That would put us in a bit of a fix, however, since we have now given notice on the place we're renting. Regardless of what happens, we're only here for another month, tops.

We've had the family here this weekend. Dad, Stu and Alison went white-water rafting yesterday, so the clan gathered here on Friday night ready for the early morning start. I found myself perhaps slightly depressed at the fact that I'd decided white-water rafting wasn't something I wanted to do, or felt able to cope with doing, when in the past (back in my early teens, particularly) I did stuff like that all the time.

So, the Saturday started at 6.45am. Nice. Well, we had to be in Northampton for 8.30am. I texted Anne as I got up, complaining that it was far too early a start for a Saturday. Later on I found out that this had woken her up, and she'd only gone to bed at 3am. As far as I am concerned, this is all her fault. She should either a) go to bed at a more sensible time, or, since this is never going to happen, b) switch her phone off as she goes to bed. I'm so sympathetic, aren't I? :D

The journey to Northampton was a fairly easy one, although the directions did go a bit weird at one point, implying something when they meant something else, and since we'd all got up really early none of us twigged, meaning that both me and Stu drove straight past the junction on the A45 we were meant to take.

The bumpf that the courageous trio had been sent said that people should arrive for 8.30am, as things started promptly at 9.00am. We got there at 8.20am, which then meant we had to sit around for 40minutes wondering why the fuck we'd gotten up that early. Arrrgh. Arrrgh. Arrrgh.

There was then half an hour after 9 when all the people who were actually doing the rafting stuff got all their safety directions, etc, and therefore the spectators were left to their own devices for a while. I'd taken my notebook so I doodled another ship for my scifi book (which at some point I will start referring to by name, when I actually have got a collective name for the trilogy), while Mum and Chris (Stu's fianc�e) nattered, and Chris waited eagerly for the cafe to open so that she could have a little more breakfast.

There's not much I can say about the rafting itself. For us spectators it involved a lot of rushing about, trying to find the best place to stand to actually watch what was going on, or get pictures. I took around 45 pics, I think. Still have yet to get them processed, but might be able to sort that out tomorrow. Depends if any one-hour processing places are open on a Bank Holiday or not.

There was a big pool halfway down the course where a lot of shenanigans took place. Basically, this amounted to the instructors directing a certain amount of arsing about in order to simulate some of the more dramatic aspects of white-water rafting that can occur. Like sitting someone right in the front of the boat and then shoving the front of the boat into the torrent of water gushing down into that pool. Both Dad and Stu did that, but Alison declined. Really can't blame her for that. Deliberate capsizes, and just jumping into the plunge-pool also occurred. Not entirely pleasant for those watching their loved ones, but apparently all part of the fun for those taking part.

Stu and Chris headed straight home from Northampton afterwards - we all had a rather scrumptious pub lunch before we went our separate ways, however - and the rest of us pootled through Northampton before heading for home. On the way through Northampton I got some A5 paper, and then today I used it to print off a proper 2-sided A5 copy of Hell Breaks Loose, to give to my Mum so she could read it at some point in the near future. It was cool to see all those words stacked up in a compact little book-type pile.

I have a wee issue to vent about now. The British Media as a whole is exhibiting Fuckwittage of the highest order. I'm not sure entirely when it happened but some time in the past few years the media got the idea that it was the justice system in this country.

All the stuff with the Soham girls is horrific, a terrible tragedy, and a crime beyond belief, but once again our media has seized upon it and thrown away all sense of perspective. Though not widely reported, there have been stories of the accused's family being persecuted by the general public for the crime that he is alleged to have committed. The media has succeeded in whipping up such a frenzy of emotion that people who have no connection with what has happened, but happen to be related to the guy who is supposed to have done it, people with no involvement other than innocent association, are on the receiving end of hatred and abuse. It's not often that fuckwittage actually gets to the point of causing harm, but there are signs that could happen.

And then there's the whole issue around the suspects (are they still called suspects when they've been arrested, or are they then the accused?). The media is leaning towards deciding their guilt already. This is not the way things work. These people need to have a fair trial. It's not a question of whether or not they deserve it - for starters what they do and don't deserve cannot be questioned until their guilt is properly established in the courts. The whole purpose of a fair trial is to ensure that guilt is properly established, beyond question. If they really are the perpetrators, then any evidence later that they did not receive a fair trial could mean the convictions could be quashed. If they are innocent, then not receiving a fair trial could mean that they are convicted of something they didn't do, while the real perpetrators are still at large. The media, in particular the press, likes to forget this, because forgetting it and whipping up a frenzy is good for business. It sells newspapers.

I hate the British press. Fuckwits.

Erm, I think I ranted rather more than I intended. Sorry about that.

Last night we rented Fellowship of the Ring on DVD and watched it with my parents. We'd all seen the film at the cinema (I think we all went together, in fact), but it was cool to watch it again - particularly seeing the bits I'd missed when I'd popped out of the theatre to go to the loo. Since I'm a scifi geek you might be wondering why I don't own the DVD in the first place. This would be because I'm a scifi geek. Us scifi geeks know that in November (the week before the Attack of the Clones DVD is released, in fact - November is gonna be an expensive DVD month) a 4 Disc special edition with extra footage is released. Therefore, have to wait until then. Ian McKellen's performance as Gandalf was fantastic, I noticed that even more last night, and I still think the Balrog scene was an excellent example of how special effects should be used - to add to the story, rather than replace it. Tolkien wrote it as one of the most dramatic parts of the book, and that really comes across. It's so much more than just another special effects set-piece.

Anyway, I think that's enough of an entry for now.