Mostly Driving

I had my fourth driving lesson today, adn I got inot third gear for the first time.  I've been fighting the nagging suspicion that I'm not a fantastic driver, but it seems to be going now that I've started to get the hang of my steering.  Apparently steering is my weakest point, whcih I see as a little amusing because it seems to be the most critical and fundamental pillar of driving.  My driving instructor is a great guy called Dave Harper, he teaches well and says funny things like 'I mean that sinceriously'.  My favourite line of all time was the solid gold that I had the pleasure hearing just an hour or so ago:

'I don't mean this in a bad way, but do you have a problem?'

We were talking about concentration.  I said mine was clincially bad, and he proceeded (in a way that reminds me a little of Mr. Molloy) to change his wording, so that instead of saying 'Look over to the middle of the road', he would say things like 'Put your concentration to the middle of the road.  I would have been patronised, but I think it was actually pretty effective.  Sometimes he explains things to me and I realise that I've just been making minimal responses whilst thinking about something else entirely. 

I'm afraid that driving's about the most interesting thing that's happened to me in a while - it's been a pretty average week.  I've had the odd teacher on my back about work.  Turns out I'm supposed to be doing it at home as well.  Mr Brock spoke in rhyme today.

I'm beggining to realise how terrible this blog post is.  The structure is simplistic and the punctuation unengaging.  Look at this, it's just one simple, two-clause sentence after another. 

The fire is ablaze.  The cat is cute.  I can not stroke him.  He will meow.  He will bite.

Look!  Look at the cat!  The cat is cuddly!

"Meow" says the cat.  Oh, what fun! 

Christmas is nearly here!  Goodbye, everyone!

All the Fun

Generic title, generic times.  I've been having fun lately.  The first bit of the fun starts where we left off last time, at the much anticipated science museum trip.  It was awesome, even though they wouldn't let us into launch pad, and forbade me access to the double good grain mover.  Apparently only under fourteens can access that stuff, which is stupid because they deserve it the least.  I did, however, make an excursion to 'The Future'.  The future, apparently, has a plethora of overhead projectors.  In fact they're not even all over head.  Basically, it would seem that the sun burnt out and humanity was saved at the last minute by a ridiculous excess of projectors, which bathe the entire globe in a multicoloured, interactive ambience.  It's like a featureless, creepy utopia populated entirely by sleek grey tables where the only activity going is voting on issues.  Maybe they're waiting until there's a unanimous decision, but currently (or rather, eventually) inhabit a kind of indecisive purgatory where nobody can agree on whether we want helpful house robots or manbirth.  Man birth is wrong because it is weird enough for the weirdness to have ethical implications.  The house robot thing was a little biased.  Most people ended up saying 'No', after playing a game in which you are a baby avoiding deadly automatons designed to stop you from having fun.  It literally tells you the amount of 'Broken Ankles' you've received (future people have more than two) and then asks you to vote on whether you want to fill your future home with unmanned, child snatching drones.

It was pretty hard to keep everyone together, which was convenient for some people who seemed to get lost together, just the two of them, an uncanny amount.  There was a plenitude of 'banter' (as you young people call it), followed by an abundance of Nandos, which was not only delicious, but also yummy.

On Sunday, me Andy Lovell and David Glover all went to 4Woodford, (The '4' stands for 'for', so it's like a cool word play) in which we partook in some good actual worship and stuff, then spent most of the evening in muffled church-hysteria when we thought that the praying lady said 'Transformers, we pray.' and 'parrot organisations.'  We were particularly giggly during a prayer about people-trafficking, and the taboo of this only served to further fuel the fire of our predicament.  After we left, the silliness culminated in the form of David Glover chasing me with a bike that had its front tyre saturated in Andy Lovell's urine.  He got  me a little bit, but I think it was mostly gone by then.

I'm going to stop now, because for me personally, nothing can top that.