Attack of the Cyder Men and other ‘adventures’….

Day three million and thirty two of unemployment was made somewhat less repetitive by Daddy Rat, who is not in the city, so he’d probably be oldratinthecountry, and who took me on a drive deep into the rural depths of Dorchester where tractors rule the roads and signs for museums lead to dead end tracks with no museum in sight….

We sped along the rocky roads of Dorset, where to no-one knew, but we’d already eaten so that threw most of our usual haunts out of the window. We passed many a strawberry picking field, and flower stall, as well as fallen trees (it was indeed raining cats and dogs, and blowing a hooly as the locals might say!). After agreeing that we should go somewhere warm and inside, and with Dad driving meaning we couldn’t hit the pub, we settled on a Cider Museum. Close enough.

However it never is that simple on a family day out. The ‘Cider Museum this way’ sign was a lie. We carried on down windy lanes, cottages and lettuces in front of us but not even a sniff of cider-y apple-y goodness, or the stuff that made it (which we assumed is what would be in a cider museum). Alas, there was no cider museum, and no plan for our day out.

We thought that actually it was a good thing we hadn’t located whatever the signs were leading us to. Perhaps, instead of a cider museum, rowdy locals, intent on creating a magnificent cider museum/ being able to buy a crate of Strongbow, were waiting in the depths of Dorchester for unsuspecting museum-goers and would steal the wheels from our car to pay for their new venture. Perhaps, they weren’t even psychotic Dorset-men, but cider mutants. Like something from Dr. Who. Perhaps, they were CYDER MEN. “The Tomb of the Cyder Men” Dad chortled, “they’ll catch us and squeeze us in giant cider presses and make us into people-cider”. We passed a used car garage. “Rest in peace” I said at the cars of those who weren’t as lucky as us.

We didn’t have much more luck further down the line when we decided to visit Nothe Fort, part of the coast’s defenses, built six zillion years ago, and used by it seemed every historical race I know about- scary Victorian statues were propped up by Roman soldiers with eyes that watched you as you investigated the WW1 army figures (complete with Swastikas penciled onto their chipped faces- the youth of today! They don’t even know the difference between British and German army figures!). Usually Dad would be displeased with my un-interest in history, but with the plastic mouse hunt (designed for children, and not for bored out of their brains adults) being the highlight of the trip and for £12 (“that’s two rounds of ciders!”), Dad was on side, and didn’t even make me sit in the car till the car park ticket ran out like he normally does- “We’ve got four hours left, got to get our money’s worth” is the standard protocol.

But it wasn’t all bad. We’d invented a fantastic story, that no-one would believe, and that one day you will see on BBC and you will hide behind the sofa. And we found a museum that Dad didn’t want to go around again. A day of firsts. And I got scared by the toilet paper clad ghost figure which I’d made fun of just moments before. Not so much a first. And definitely another reason the museum was rubbish. Pfft!

We hit the pizza shop and made our way home, where Dad became convinced I could be the next Stephen King with our Cyder Men creation…sorry BBC, you’ve lost out on that one then…unless the Cyder Men find us first.

Many things I like about many 'cultures'….

accidental odd socks

I don't really know that I belong to a culture as such. But there are certainly some 'cultures' I have adopted and as a result 'rules' I loosely live by….

The culture of the student:

1. Drinking before lunchtime is not alcoholism or giving in to peer pressure, but simply a way to save on groceries and get the party started.

2. When something is good, bad, ugly, or indeed beautiful or nothing at all, a friendly face and 'fancy a pint' can only make it better 🙂

3. Clothes do not need to be washed until every item of my wardrobe has been worn… to an outsider it seems to be some kind of social experiment- how many people will sit three seats away from you on the bus when you wear pyjama bottoms, with a sequin top and your best ear muffs…to a student, it's nearly laundry day, or another night at Reflex.

4. I will walk miles to find a cash point that does not charge for withdrawals, but I will walk to the end of the earth to find one that dispenses five pound notes. Luckily for us, most campuses boast such services at all of their cash points- this is basically what uni is all about.

5. If pints are 50p it does not matter that there are suspicious liquids/solids on the floor of the club, that I cannot pick my shoes up off of the dance floor, that men and women get naked for various buzz words in songs, that I can't see and that I lost my friends three hours ago and have no phone signal. The.pints.are.50p.

The culture of the South Coaster:

1. Good sea air will cure everything. Even a cold. In winter.

2. Fresh fish tastes better. I do not like fish, so I cannot comment, but I do feel proud when 'Poole produce' is written on those horrible bin liner type fish bags and fresh certainly smells less like my worst nightmare than not so fresh.

3. Sand gets everywhere. We hate it. But we love mentioning it. Yep, evvvvery.where….go on mind, wander.

4. A boat is the ultimate luxury. As is living in Sandbanks/Canford Cliffs. But more than these, you know you've made it when you possess a beach hut, for a week, once every three years, that you can't close the door on.

5. "I was really good, I didn't try to get into clubs before I was 18". That's because a) there are three clubs in your whole town and it costs a months wages for a taxi home and b) the beach was your oyster, and you preferred to risk life and limb necking White Lightening and assuming you could still swim at the local beach three nights a week.

The culture of the Brit:

1. Tea in the morning. Tea at the office. Tea when you get home. Tea after tea.

2. Socks stop sandals from rubbing- a touristy Brit cliche but one that I understand and sympathise with, perhaps because my Dad does it and I want people to think him cute and English rather than point at him and laugh or perhaps because I am just rather British too.

3. When we walk up hills we need big sticks. Some people have professional looking walking sticks, many of us just have sticks we found on our last jolly and left in the boot of the car.

4. Arguing about pronunciation. Scone and scone (but said the other way) are the same word, and they mean the same thing, and which way you say it is really not a class thing, an intelligence thing, or a popularity thing. It is simply a British thing to argue with other Brits about how to pronounce English words. And by the way it's scone, with the e!

5. The weather. Enough said.

My 'culture':

1. Supernoodles will provide nutrition in all hours of need, these include but are not limited to- hangovers, bad grades, when Jeremy Kyle is on, festivals at any time, being dumped, being asked out, when there is no food left, when there is only cheese left, and when there is a fridge full but only Noopy goodness will do 🙂

2. There is a draining board for a reason. Once dishes have been cleaned they are put here to dry. They do not need to be dried, they will do this in the designated drying area and then you will return them to their cupboard-shaped homes. Put the tea towel down.

3. Socks should be odd. It is far more interesting this way and it has made me many a friend.

4. Cat people are not to be trusted. Dogs are sacred, and dog people are loyal, and friendly and kind much like their counter-parts. And you can look after their dogs- winner! People who like both are still an anomaly to me and so probably shouldn't be trusted.

5. Smile. And everyone will smile back. Except 99.9% of the people on the tube every day in London.