A Social Networking Tweet

OK, now, I have been a member of Facebook and Twitter for some time, and I have built up a collection of just short of a hundred friends. Yeah, I know, my son has over 2oo friends and some people have even more. Here’s my question: Do these people know these “friends” or are they just random people that they have selected? I tend to ignore “friend requests” from people that I don’t know, but how many people will accept, thinking that they have just made a new friend, or maybe it was someone I used to know and forgot about? Or is it the league table of friends? I have more friends than you so I must be better.

Also I have noticed a propensity for people to have conversations through their Facebook status with people that are probably sitting right next to them. And it is generally really soppy messages. The kind that make you reach for the bucket and yak your intestines out. These people would not have these conversations in public so why do they feel that all their friends want to share it? You see, i tell my wife that I love her, I don’t feel the need to do it through a third party

So now I have alienated campers, Skegnness, facebook and social networking. Who’s next?

East of Eden

Now, some of you may have noticed that I am not a great fan of sleeping under canvas ( if you hadn’t noticed then give yourself a slap and go and read my earlier blog, naughty person!). So when Mrs Giant68 decided that we would have a break away I started to get a bit nervous. But we decided we would drive around the east of the country, a region that neither of us had been to.

Well, it was a very nice part of the world, in places. We went to Skegness and noticed, please don’t take offence if you live in or, indeed, like Skegness, that Skegness has cornered the market for tattoo ink and gold sovereign rings. To say that it may be the capital of the Chav universe could be an understatement. Strange, then, that just down the road from Skegness is the Gibraltar Point nature reserve. This has to be one of the most amazing places on the face of the planet. Miles of grassland and sand dunes leading down to a huge beach. If I had known it was going to be this good i would have ignored skeggy and gone straight here. Some may say that the wind turbines that are out in the sea spoil the view but I quite liked it.

We visited stately homes, travelled in cable cars and drove somewhere in the region of a thousand miles over the course of the week. Then we ended up in Wilmslow. I know, Wilmslow is on the other side of the country. But my cousin lives there, among the WAGS and the footballers and coked up celebs. Fortunately the above qualifications do not apply to her and her husband. We spent the weekend cornering the market for alcohol and food. What a way to finish the holiday.

I am far too young, I think.

In a few weeks time no.1 daughter will make myself and Mrs Giant68 grandparents. Now, while I am only 44 years old and Mrs Giant68 is a bit younger, I am not averse to becoming what is traditionally seen as an older character in a cardigan, slippers and sucking a Werthers Original.
I am positively looking forward to it. The thing is, though, what will I be called? What will Mrs Giant68 be called? Nanny makes her sound like a goat. Granny? Gran? She feels that these are terms reserved for an older person. She has decided to be nana. Sounds like banana, or bananas, another way of saying that she is crackers. Far be it for me to say anything like that though!
Me? I was told what I was going to be called. Grumps. Thanks!
Werthers Original anyone?

Healthy Options

Being a professional salad dodger of many years standing I find it suddenly hard to reconcile the fact that I suddenly fancy a plate loaded with green stuff. Where did this weird craving suddenly come from? It can’t be the sun suddenly beating down on the south of England, surely, as the sun has shone before and I have never felt like eating rabbit food. Usually when the sun starts shining I start buying burgers and sausages and charring them on the bbq. Maybe it is a sign that I am turning into my dad, who would, quite happily munch away on a stalk of celery. In fact I have some celery sitting in the bottom of the fridge, much to Mrs Giant68s dismay as she hates the stuff. If this is the case will I also turn into a grumpy old man? "Too late" says Mrs Giant68!
Maybe it is my body just telling me that I need to start looking after it. After all these years of excess, smoking, drinking, burning the candle at both ends… So, I’ll have to get the exercise bike out of the attic, give in to the delights of a herbivores diet and start to look pale and pasty.
I’m starting to come out in a cold sweat just thinking about it, I think I’ll go and have a cigarette!

Carry On Camping (or not...)

So. A weekend camping. I’ve never really seen the attraction in sleeping on the floor in a field under canvas. But some people like it. So when my friends invited us along Mrs Giant68, Mini Giant68 and myself went along, with an almost open mind. We borrowed a tent from No1 daughter, and a few other bits and bobs then headed up the A36 to Salisbury. Well, they did, I had to work on Saturday morning so while they headed out on Friday I stayed at home with a takeaway pizza and a bottle of cabernet sauvignon.
I followed on Saturday afternoon with some last minute equipment, a list had been texted to me that morning. Most of it was to do with the fact that it still quite cool at night and Mrs giant68 was feeling the cold.
Now, I have nothing against camping as such, apart from communal toilets, showers, cooking over a camping stove, insects, the fragility of the British weather… But ignoring all that nothing. We were part of a large group, some of them people I work with and a bunch of friends. All very nice people and I think that is what makes the whole experience something to enjoy. The site was a beautiful, just outside Salisbury, the weather was sunny and hot. A short walk into Salisbury along the river ended at the market then back to Waitrose for food for the evening bbq. OK so now I’m absolutely knackered, the dodgy hip is playing up and I want some alcohol. From this point on it's booze and food, cooking over disposable bbqs and a camping gas stove. Good job there were plenty of people to do this, with my aging joints I could, maybe, get down on the floor to do the cooking but I would never get back up again! Silly games and more booze then it’s time for me. At least, to sleep. That is a very loose term, to sleep, I tried not to roll down the hill off my mattress, but I felt that I needed crampons and rope to hold me there. At one point I think I rolled onto Mrs Giant68, (stop that! I’ve already told you I have a dodgy hip…) Not much sleep then.
We walked to Old Sarum castle in the sun the next day, had an ice cream and walked back. Then off home to mull over the camping experience, or maybe just catch up some sleep or just use a decent toilet ( not that there was anything wrong with the toilets at the site but it is not the same, having a clearout in someone else’s toilet.)
Would I do it again? Probably, if only for the company I shared that weekend. I would need to make sure that I had better equipment ( and possibly a new hip!) Whether Mini Giant68 will ever do it again is another matter, he’s a teenager, just, and values decent beds and the other comforts of home.
There is something about sharing time like that with some good friends that, while it may not recharge the batteries like a holiday sat by the beach, recharges something else that may be bit more valuable.
This morning, I am still knackered and need to catch up with some serious sleep, my hip still aches, I have sunburn but I am happy.
Think Carry On Camping, and if you were there you can try and work out who was Sid James, Jack Douglas, Barbara Windsor etc…
And don’t mention the spaghetti Bolognese.
Or Teds shorts.