Ravings of a market research lunatic

Like a wild raging tempest noted in the great tomes of history, a market research work-storm has torn through me taking all in its wake, and has now passed into the shadowy storm-blasted horizon. This has left me with somewhat more time for sleep however, as a tempest often does, it has left its hosting environs bereft of a previously thriving 'status quo'.

In this case, the 'work-storm' found its way into my own human brain, which it has left scattered with debris and common sense. It made a rather large mess of my reasoning and sound logic library, which is now quite out of order and in need of either sleep or a good drink. Or both.

So perhaps it is this fact which has given rise to the following observations and thoughts over recent days. Well that is my excuse anyway.

1) I realised, whilst sipping an ale in a remote rural British Pub in a town called Bodiam, that I will never in my lifetime begin to understand what a person who dresses in full military re-enactment regalia would want in life. I simply can't hazard a guess as to the expectations, hopes and dreams of such a person. Do they just want to be accepted like the rest of us? Are they but hopeless dreamers swept up in a reverie of family-friendly nostalgia? Or are they instead genuinely seeking to live in a simpler, but less 'clean-living' time? A time of strict morals and even stricter muskets. A time where a man could kill a man in the old way, the true way; Mano e mano. A time of mead, brass buttons and ankle-length dresses. A time where a person could conceivably spend all their time in winter indoors fashioning intricate matching doorknobs and light switches for their modest country home.

My brain, sprung into action upon observance of a large group of said re-enacters (who consequently took over the pub) got me to thinking all of the above, however I was left wanting for any meaningful answers.

2) It is truly an experience observing a Scottish person speak. By this, I mean a wonderfully rich aural encounter sure to evoke response from a range of senses; not just sound, but also sight and (if you're unlucky) touch due to the spittle which can often elude the outer prison walls of the lips.

The action of speaking, for a Scotsperson, seems like really hard work. It doesn't look natural or 'neural-pathway' in the least. Their entire face seems to writhe and contort around the words, and it never appears as though the noise they produce is a product of the facial movement. Which got me to thinking that I would personally love to see a Scottish person do ventriloquism.

I have since searched for such a sight on the interweb - my usual source of eccentric and otherwise inaccessible amusements, but all I could find was this creepy little bastard. Now to buy it and give it to a scotsman to use. Hmmm...

So with weekends in Hastings/Brighton and London (touristy things) behind us, we've been making full use of the new and improved UK weather. The sun has been shining and things are greening up.

We even bought a car on Saturday. It was from eBay. Not from a Russian though, more's the pity.

So now to bed for my ruined brain. The mop-up has begun in earnest, but it will be days, if not weeks, before we can accurately count the full costs of the savage work-storm...