Pray on the Ermine

The Ermine is an estate in Lincoln with a quite rough reputation. However this interesting little building is a church where those condemned to a life reminiscent of the Chatsworth estate in Shamless can at least come and pray.

Actually the Ermine isn't that bad at all, certainly not on a par with Moss Side or the Ferrier Estate in Kidbrooke. My friends Lee and Jackie live there and my brother had a spell there to.

This is the St John the Baptist church, a 1950's erection I am told (it certainly doesn't look like a 1400's place of worship). I found it interesting, I blipped it. Bosh, as a cockney would say.

Been flat out today with work, sold some training on 'loading plant onto the back of a lorry', and just capped that off with a 'lorry loader' license. Both are different. Neither is interesting.

The winner of my amusing story vote was C, another festival story. So I'm on the way to V97 in Leeds with my 'crew' (as todays youth would describe them. Back then we were 'mates') we decided we needed something to identify our tents ins the thousands of identical Eurohike set ups. We pulled over on the M180 and borrowed about fifty feet of that bright orange motorway fencing. The idea was we'd fashion poles and fence off our tents. Dave, a friend of little intelligence was a driving force. We got the tents set up and he posed for pictures (on the camera described here). Then he started getting smug about it. Nobody likes a smug arse. So an hour or two later we grabbed him, wrapped the fencing round and round him until he couldn't move and then taped up the ends. We then rolled him down a hill to a camp full of girls and just watched. Did I mention we'd poured beer on him?

The choas resulted in several angry and pretty girls heading up the hill with a slightly tubby and constantly dribbling Dave in tow playing the victim. They were mad for a bit, nothing a beer and drag on a funny fag didn't cure. I actually ended up with a lovely Zimbabwean who had made her own trousers. Anyway she decided to share my tent for the night, purely for company. As she leant over to get in I sadly expelled some air - along with my lunch and a few cans of regurgitated beer. She didn't stay after that.

I'm so glad I've grown up.

I may have mentioned it but I've recently joined up with a fundraising group called the 12th Man who make money to support The Imps (my team). It's been quite news worthy on the headlines on this website, as well as here. It's nice to be noticed as someone in an area that you love.

I keep getting text messages from Pizzatown in Bury about their special offers. I would point out I don't live in Bury, or within a hundred mile radius of it but I like the texts. Makes me feel special.

Friday tomorrow. See, I do know my days of the week.