Two astronomers. Separated by only 22 degrees, 58 minutes of latitude, 33 degrees, 29 minutes of longitude, yet seemingly worlds apart. Their common goal: figure out the very nature of the Universe and its womenfolk.

Monday, November 20, 2006

Novel decorating method: the C-bomb

I was visited this weekend by my Dad, a rare and enjoyable change from usual ssh-related skullduggery of my weekends. We discovered the joy of midday drinking, visiting both the Market Tavern (hmmmn...how unusual) and the Shakespeare (first time in ages), and thanks to Lydia, I also got to show him the supercomputers. Sounds geeky but it's easy to take for granted how physically awesome the machines are when your usual contact with them is via a command prompt.



As you can see, Dad also enjoyed a slightly less advanced computational experience by playing Street Fighter II on the Super Nintendo. How he must have endured countless hours of "hadouken" coming from the telly during my childhood. Sadly it seems that Vega has got the better of him here.



We also got to see the utterly freakish "warm-up act" for the z-list celebrity guests who came to turn on the Christmas lights. I was actually quite scared by this wacky show. Scarier still though, was what happened later; after I enjoyed an espresso at Pizza Express, Dad fancied one, so once back home I began making him one with one of those espresso makers that you put on the hob. I then made the mistake of nipping upstairs and, naturally, forgot all about the coffee.

Ten minutes later, there was a detonation in the kitchen. Dad and I rushed down to see what had happened. Before I even reached the kitchen, I found this in the lounge:



Whilst concerned that somehow coffee had travelled from the cooker to the lounge, I wasn't prepared for the devastation in the kitchen:






It instantly reminded me of that horrific scene in Trainspotting where Spud ends up flinging poo over his girlfriend's lounge, although in this case the smell was actually very nice. Poor Dad felt a bit guilty, having asked for a coffee:



but it was bloody hilarious at the time. So - if ever you want coffee coloured walls, that's the way to go. Great coffee house aroma into the bargain.

6 Comments:

Blogger Kat said...

And we're still picking coffee granules from our hair, the fruit bowl, the fridge door...

11:53 PM

 
Blogger jps said...

sweet dude

9:48 AM

 
Anonymous Jim2 said...

That is wicked. Your Dad reminds me a little of the Shanksta.

What happened to the coffee pot?? Did it explode??

10:17 AM

 
Anonymous cmb said...

That really reminds me of the episode of Mr. Bean where he tries to redecorate his house with a can of paint and some dynamite.

10:44 AM

 
Blogger Rob said...

Mullaney - be careful what you say, unless you too want brown walls ;-). The coffee pot, I can confirm, was uninjured. The top just blew off.

12:30 PM

 
Blogger Sam said...

Thanks for reducing my shortlist of "espresso machine purchasing options" by one... That system is the coffee production equivalent of Chernobyl's No. 4 reactor with the safety off.

3:49 PM

 

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