My first weekend in a while...

First real weekend that is, after a week of work (actually, week is a bit of an exaggeration, since I only started on Weds). So far, so good - I'm not feeling too daunted by my 35 hr weeks and 6 weeks of holiday per year. Ooh yeah. I'm getting a little closer to figuring out what I'm going to be doing too - it seems that I get to decide rather than be told, which is kinda nice, but leaves me a wee bit lost right now. Achievement of the day: successfully transferring a telephone call (especially since my colleague advised me not to touch the phones if I can help it - he never does!). Said colleague has slightly amusing character trait of using the word bog where others might use something a bit less, well, celtic.

Having a look at Mike's site just now, I alerted A to the fact that there might be rugby on this weekend. Indeed there is, 10am tomorrow morning, ABs vs Wallabies, we don't have a TV, and now he's champing at the bit to get online and find somewhere that's screening the game. Even if we did have a TV, we probably wouldn't have Sky Sport (25 pounds minimum per month, still can't figure out how to make a pound sign).

Back to Bellshill tomorrow (it's been a month!) to pick up a bike and drop off a bag, before my uncles go off to Ibiza for their annual fortnight's holiday. Actually, holidays are like that here - anyone and everyone heads to the continent - Malaga, Magalouf, Majorca, Cyprus - for their two weeks of sun, preceded of course by intensive tan-time in the local salon. Glasgow has more of these per head than any other city in the UK, and little old Bellshill has at least 7. Consequently, large chunks of the population in the west of Scotland walk around emanating a vaguely nuclear orange glow.

Speaking of nuclear, had a bit of a deep fried Mars Bar last week (although not of my own volition, I hasten to add). KT and her flatmate were convinced that this was the quintessential Scottish cuisine experience, despite my protestations (I never had one when I was young, nor had I even heard of them). At Stefano's, our local chippie, when they ordered said delicacy, they were quizzed as to their nationality. When KT replied that she was from NZ, Stefano said (in a Greek or maybe Italian accent, he has both flags in the shop) "Always New Zealanders ask for deep fried mars bars. Nobody else. Only New Zealanders." What's with that? If anyone can shed some light on this one, let me know.

Go the All Blacks! (Funny how I'm only interested in rugby when there's little possibility that I'll actually have to watch it).