Heracles and the Hot Pudding
We've just had our Christmas Lunch here at work. A rather tepid affair in the staff restaurant. We have two sittings, so are herded through like lightning with no real opportunity to relax and socialise. Mediocre pate or french onion soup, followed by roast turkey (or veggie bake) and all the trimmings, Christmas pudding, mince pies and coffee. A single glass of wine. All downed in under 45 minutes.
My cracker "present" was a plastic moustache - the sort that pinches your nose between the nostrils. I really am wearing it as I write this.
My paper hat was green with square "battlements" around the crown.
My "joke" was "What do you call a penguin in the Sahara desert?... Lost!"
However, the highlight was Julian being dared to eat his whole Christmas pudding in one mouthful. Only an idiot would accept the challenge: the pudding was steaming with heat, covered in hot and sickly brandy sauce, and clearly just too big to fit in one's mouth.
Julian accepted the task, and with some help from my boss - who initiated the dare - managed to crush the pudding in his great maw. Within microseconds his eyes were red and bulging. They began to water. His cheeks were flushed and rosy. Bits of pudding and sauce residue were caked about his gob. He gagged slighty and had the haunted look of a man frantically trying not to be sick. His twisted visage put me right off my pudding.
It took him two minutes to finally gulped down the stodge, but all credit to Julian, he didn't vomit or spit it out.
He smiled like he'd completed one of the Twelve Labors of Heracles.
Although he's a fool, you can't help but admire his child-like simplicity at times.
We'll have him cutting off Gorgan heads and taming wild winged horses in no time.
Wednesday, December 18, 2002
Jingle Jangle
I was on an Access training course yesterday. Whist the tutor was demonstrating a little trick on my PC, one of my colleagues - Blog Extra Man - came and stood next to me. His pocket was level with my ear, so when he started jangling the loose change in his pocket, I was irritated. After two minutes of "jingle, jangle" I was getting pissed off, so was happy when the tutor announced a coffee break.
Sipping my cup of coffee in the reception area, I spied a little book perched on top of a book shelf. The Little Book of Chaos. I opened it at the following page / suggestion on how to get people to kill you:
Jingle Jangle
When talking to people, continously jangle the loose change in your pockets.
I did my best put-on-laugh and passed the book - straight faced - to Blog Extra Man. Unfortunately he didn't get it, and the rest of the afternoon was interspersed with the soft jingle of fifty pence pieces in grey slacks.
The Wedding
Loch Awe should be renamed Loch Awe Some. As should the beautiful Loch Lommond. Quite why people are flying halfway around the world to go and see Lord of the Rings scenery in New Zealand when there is equally stunning scenery in Scotland, I don't know... Our drive from Glasgow Airport up to Taynuilt was spectacular, and we are likely to return in the future. People say that the Lake District is the most stunning countryside in the UK - I'm not so sure.
Nina and Craig's wedding was fantastic. The ceremony was great, the setting was amazing, the food top-notch and the company excellent. I shall return to it in more detail for you over the coming days.
A cool teaser shall have to suffice for now:
The two violinists who played the Christmas carols (sung in the ceremony) were on tour with Moby.
I was on an Access training course yesterday. Whist the tutor was demonstrating a little trick on my PC, one of my colleagues - Blog Extra Man - came and stood next to me. His pocket was level with my ear, so when he started jangling the loose change in his pocket, I was irritated. After two minutes of "jingle, jangle" I was getting pissed off, so was happy when the tutor announced a coffee break.
Sipping my cup of coffee in the reception area, I spied a little book perched on top of a book shelf. The Little Book of Chaos. I opened it at the following page / suggestion on how to get people to kill you:
Jingle Jangle
When talking to people, continously jangle the loose change in your pockets.
I did my best put-on-laugh and passed the book - straight faced - to Blog Extra Man. Unfortunately he didn't get it, and the rest of the afternoon was interspersed with the soft jingle of fifty pence pieces in grey slacks.
The Wedding
Loch Awe should be renamed Loch Awe Some. As should the beautiful Loch Lommond. Quite why people are flying halfway around the world to go and see Lord of the Rings scenery in New Zealand when there is equally stunning scenery in Scotland, I don't know... Our drive from Glasgow Airport up to Taynuilt was spectacular, and we are likely to return in the future. People say that the Lake District is the most stunning countryside in the UK - I'm not so sure.
Nina and Craig's wedding was fantastic. The ceremony was great, the setting was amazing, the food top-notch and the company excellent. I shall return to it in more detail for you over the coming days.
A cool teaser shall have to suffice for now:
The two violinists who played the Christmas carols (sung in the ceremony) were on tour with Moby.
Thursday, December 12, 2002
Fly Me To The Moon
...was Sara and Stashers first dance at their wedding. We're flying to Glasgow with them tomorrow for Craig and Nina's wedding at the rather splendid Ardanaiseig Hotel on Loch Awe. Whilst I'm viewing the flight as just a quick bus ride north, Vicster's fear of flying started to kick in last night, and she asked me if 10 o'clock in the morning was too early for a gin and tonic. It will be interesting to see if her summer visit into the cockpit - secured with tears - on our way back from Portugal has any positive effect.
A Windy Miller Moment
Last night before bedtime I checked myself in the bathroom mirror for blackheads, pimples, grey hairs and in-growing beard hairs. I also had a pluck at my nasal hairs and bushy eyebrows. All preparation for the wedding.
Whilst extracting a particularly wiry specimen, I had a dizzying "Windy Miller Moment": I was overcome with a fear of what presents might await me on Christmas morning. The fear comes from genuine trauma suffered two years ago:
Mum had gone on and on about how she had found the "perfect gift" for me. As we left for Vic's mum & dad's, she presented me with the gift-wrapped package and the words "and this is your main present... it's very special... I think you'll love it!". She was really excited at the thought of her son opening it, and was disappointed that she wouldn't see my face as the gift was unwrapped. She kept going on and on about it.
I left the box until last on Christmas morning, in the anticipation that it was going to be a special and treasured gift.
It was a "collectable" ceramic Windy Miller figure on his tricycle.
I was gutted.
Not because it was a) crap and b) clutter and c) had no meaning for me. But because it showed how out of touch my mum had become from me.
I'm an ungrateful sod.
...was Sara and Stashers first dance at their wedding. We're flying to Glasgow with them tomorrow for Craig and Nina's wedding at the rather splendid Ardanaiseig Hotel on Loch Awe. Whilst I'm viewing the flight as just a quick bus ride north, Vicster's fear of flying started to kick in last night, and she asked me if 10 o'clock in the morning was too early for a gin and tonic. It will be interesting to see if her summer visit into the cockpit - secured with tears - on our way back from Portugal has any positive effect.
A Windy Miller Moment
Last night before bedtime I checked myself in the bathroom mirror for blackheads, pimples, grey hairs and in-growing beard hairs. I also had a pluck at my nasal hairs and bushy eyebrows. All preparation for the wedding.
Whilst extracting a particularly wiry specimen, I had a dizzying "Windy Miller Moment": I was overcome with a fear of what presents might await me on Christmas morning. The fear comes from genuine trauma suffered two years ago:
Mum had gone on and on about how she had found the "perfect gift" for me. As we left for Vic's mum & dad's, she presented me with the gift-wrapped package and the words "and this is your main present... it's very special... I think you'll love it!". She was really excited at the thought of her son opening it, and was disappointed that she wouldn't see my face as the gift was unwrapped. She kept going on and on about it.
I left the box until last on Christmas morning, in the anticipation that it was going to be a special and treasured gift.
It was a "collectable" ceramic Windy Miller figure on his tricycle.
I was gutted.
Not because it was a) crap and b) clutter and c) had no meaning for me. But because it showed how out of touch my mum had become from me.
I'm an ungrateful sod.
Tuesday, December 10, 2002
Suits You Sir!
Julian was wearing his favourite tie yesterday: the one with the pink and blue flowers that was trendy in 1986. As tradition now dictates, I pointed the fact that he was wearing his favourite tie out to him, in order to extract a comedy response.
He surpassed himself.
Julian spent the next ten minutes detailing his favourite attire from his business wardrobe. Turns out he once wore a purple suit to an interview at John Lewis.
He didn't get the job.
And he used to wear, until quite recently, a red suit with a matching red shirt, red tie and, to complete the outfit, red shoes.
But his confessional didn't end there. He used to wear, until quite recently, a bright green suit with a matching green shirt, green tie and, to complete the outfit, green shoes.
A living, breathing, Joker look-a-like.
Oh Christmas Tree
Trevor the tree went up on Sunday afternoon. He was bought from the wonderfully festive tree barn at Christmas Common, and is a no-drop Nordic Fir. We always buy from Cristmas Common, as due to it being the best tree farm in the country, you are guaranteed a good fresh premium tree that has been looked after and renewed. There's something magically about dressing the tree and this year was no expection. A glass of wine, Bing Crosby's White Christmas playing on the stereo, and the scent of pine as you decorate. All of a sudden I feel Christmasy!
Only thing is, it takes up a quarter of the room. There seems to be a universal X File factor with Christmas trees that mean they look small in the shop but spontaneously grow to epic proportions in the car on the way home. Our 'small' Trevor - now that he's settled himself into the living room - looks rather like a giant redwood with tinsel on...
Julian was wearing his favourite tie yesterday: the one with the pink and blue flowers that was trendy in 1986. As tradition now dictates, I pointed the fact that he was wearing his favourite tie out to him, in order to extract a comedy response.
He surpassed himself.
Julian spent the next ten minutes detailing his favourite attire from his business wardrobe. Turns out he once wore a purple suit to an interview at John Lewis.
He didn't get the job.
And he used to wear, until quite recently, a red suit with a matching red shirt, red tie and, to complete the outfit, red shoes.
But his confessional didn't end there. He used to wear, until quite recently, a bright green suit with a matching green shirt, green tie and, to complete the outfit, green shoes.
A living, breathing, Joker look-a-like.
Oh Christmas Tree
Trevor the tree went up on Sunday afternoon. He was bought from the wonderfully festive tree barn at Christmas Common, and is a no-drop Nordic Fir. We always buy from Cristmas Common, as due to it being the best tree farm in the country, you are guaranteed a good fresh premium tree that has been looked after and renewed. There's something magically about dressing the tree and this year was no expection. A glass of wine, Bing Crosby's White Christmas playing on the stereo, and the scent of pine as you decorate. All of a sudden I feel Christmasy!
Only thing is, it takes up a quarter of the room. There seems to be a universal X File factor with Christmas trees that mean they look small in the shop but spontaneously grow to epic proportions in the car on the way home. Our 'small' Trevor - now that he's settled himself into the living room - looks rather like a giant redwood with tinsel on...
Monday, December 09, 2002
Gran’s Out Of Theatre
She came out at about 2 p.m., is “comfortable”, so it’s now wait and see. I think we’ll go and see her tomorrow evening.
Oxford United 1 – 0 Swindon Town
Scumdon Town were crushed by the Mighty U’s live on BBC1. It was a great day for the club.
Nobby was seen adjusting his scarf, grinning like a Cheshire cat, clapping, and bobbing up and down like a small child, live on BBC1. As the players ran out of the tunnel, the TV cameras panned around the ground, picking out fans from the crowd. And there I was, sat slightly forward of everyone else, on the edge of my seat, clearly excited by the prospect of the match. I looked like a retard.
And you couldn’t miss me: My Gramp phoned me immediately I got home to tell me he’d seen me. Scott said the same. A number of guys here at work – who I don’t even know the names of – have pointed at me this morning and exclaimed “Hey! Saw you on the telly yesterday!”
It gets worse. If you missed it on the BBC, but live in the Meridian TV region, you get the chance to see me again tonight! Our friend at Meridian, sports reporter Enda, has apparently included me in his edited report on the match, scheduled to go out this evening.
Set your videos!
If you missed me on telly, there was always the chance that you heard me on the radio. I was interviewed at half time by Radio Oxford on the touch-line (most people shirked away from the microphone, but not bashful me) - I actually made a number of excellent points – and then managed to get on the phone-in straight after the game. In high spirits, my “point” was complete tosh – the crux of it was “we looked really sharp today, especially Peter Rhodes-Brown [Oxford United Community Officer], whose suit was very dapper and gave David Dickinson a run for his money…”
I probably sounded like a complete twit, but Scott said it was actually quite funny. You probably had to be there.
Anyway, I’m going to add “TV’s” to my name – as in “TV’s Nobby Dobscrub” – and I am now available for football programme punditry, local radio commentary and children’s parties.
The Jefferson Louis Era II
Even if you can’t stand football, have a look at Jefferson “King” Louis celebrating the news Oxford United are playing Arsenal in the next round…
She came out at about 2 p.m., is “comfortable”, so it’s now wait and see. I think we’ll go and see her tomorrow evening.
Oxford United 1 – 0 Swindon Town
Scumdon Town were crushed by the Mighty U’s live on BBC1. It was a great day for the club.
Nobby was seen adjusting his scarf, grinning like a Cheshire cat, clapping, and bobbing up and down like a small child, live on BBC1. As the players ran out of the tunnel, the TV cameras panned around the ground, picking out fans from the crowd. And there I was, sat slightly forward of everyone else, on the edge of my seat, clearly excited by the prospect of the match. I looked like a retard.
And you couldn’t miss me: My Gramp phoned me immediately I got home to tell me he’d seen me. Scott said the same. A number of guys here at work – who I don’t even know the names of – have pointed at me this morning and exclaimed “Hey! Saw you on the telly yesterday!”
It gets worse. If you missed it on the BBC, but live in the Meridian TV region, you get the chance to see me again tonight! Our friend at Meridian, sports reporter Enda, has apparently included me in his edited report on the match, scheduled to go out this evening.
Set your videos!
If you missed me on telly, there was always the chance that you heard me on the radio. I was interviewed at half time by Radio Oxford on the touch-line (most people shirked away from the microphone, but not bashful me) - I actually made a number of excellent points – and then managed to get on the phone-in straight after the game. In high spirits, my “point” was complete tosh – the crux of it was “we looked really sharp today, especially Peter Rhodes-Brown [Oxford United Community Officer], whose suit was very dapper and gave David Dickinson a run for his money…”
I probably sounded like a complete twit, but Scott said it was actually quite funny. You probably had to be there.
Anyway, I’m going to add “TV’s” to my name – as in “TV’s Nobby Dobscrub” – and I am now available for football programme punditry, local radio commentary and children’s parties.
The Jefferson Louis Era II
Even if you can’t stand football, have a look at Jefferson “King” Louis celebrating the news Oxford United are playing Arsenal in the next round…
Wednesday, December 04, 2002
One Pint Lighter
The fact that gran is going into hospital next week was the final push I needed to go and give blood. I was anxious right up to the last minute – the blood pressure gauge on my arm freaked me out (its embrace is not a sensation I enjoy) – and even when prone on the trolley, almost wimped out and declined the chance to donate.
Of course, it was over in just 5 minutes in the end, with no side effects or reaction. I feel much better for doing it. A little heroic even. If it doesn’t help my gran, it will hopefully help someone in a similar situation.
Plus I’ve got some great Christmas “Give blood” stickers for my nephew.
Crazy Google Search of the Week
Snatching boobs for milk
Freak.
The fact that gran is going into hospital next week was the final push I needed to go and give blood. I was anxious right up to the last minute – the blood pressure gauge on my arm freaked me out (its embrace is not a sensation I enjoy) – and even when prone on the trolley, almost wimped out and declined the chance to donate.
Of course, it was over in just 5 minutes in the end, with no side effects or reaction. I feel much better for doing it. A little heroic even. If it doesn’t help my gran, it will hopefully help someone in a similar situation.
Plus I’ve got some great Christmas “Give blood” stickers for my nephew.
Crazy Google Search of the Week
Snatching boobs for milk
Freak.
Tuesday, December 03, 2002
Off Balance
In my usual style, I shall start with something irrelevant and trivial - to lull you into a false sense of security – and then move into the real post of the day.
Retro Con
I purchased a PC CD compilation of retro-games on Sunday from HMV. The old classic video games are still great, and although you can download most of them off the net (via the MIME system), I thought it would be easier (and would avoid any copyright issues) if I spent a few quid on a proper disk. The front cover features Pac-Man (being chased by ghosts), Donkey Kong, Space Invaders, Galaxians, Asteroids, Defender, Missile Command and Centipede. The back of the box tells me that the CD contains the original versions of all these classic games and many more.
It’s a con.
The CD is just a bad collection of terrible shareware files from 1992. Most of the files don’t work. Those that do work run at quirky speeds and look shit. To cap it all off, the clunky versions of Space Invaders and Galaxians - that actually bear some resemblance to the originals – end after level three. I get a screen message telling me that I need to send $10 to some bedroom computer programmer in California, who will email me the full version.
The CD will be returned to HMV with a tongue-lashing.
I am practising aggressively jabbing my finger at the box and uttering the words “Trade Descriptions Act”…
Gran Has Cancer
Her biopsy results came back yesterday. She has cancer of the womb lining. She goes in for a scan tomorrow and then into hospital on Sunday, for an operation on Monday. I guess it’s a full hysterectomy. I am feeling hollow, scared and upset. I’ve already lost one gran through cancer, and the spectre of losing another is frightening. I’ve been dreading this sort of news for years, and despite thinking I was prepared for it last week, it’s a hammer-blow.
Gran of course is putting her usual brave face on things and seems relatively positive about it. She just wants to get the operation over with and “things sorted out”.
I am praying that the cancer has been caught early enough and there are no secondaries.
In my usual style, I shall start with something irrelevant and trivial - to lull you into a false sense of security – and then move into the real post of the day.
Retro Con
I purchased a PC CD compilation of retro-games on Sunday from HMV. The old classic video games are still great, and although you can download most of them off the net (via the MIME system), I thought it would be easier (and would avoid any copyright issues) if I spent a few quid on a proper disk. The front cover features Pac-Man (being chased by ghosts), Donkey Kong, Space Invaders, Galaxians, Asteroids, Defender, Missile Command and Centipede. The back of the box tells me that the CD contains the original versions of all these classic games and many more.
It’s a con.
The CD is just a bad collection of terrible shareware files from 1992. Most of the files don’t work. Those that do work run at quirky speeds and look shit. To cap it all off, the clunky versions of Space Invaders and Galaxians - that actually bear some resemblance to the originals – end after level three. I get a screen message telling me that I need to send $10 to some bedroom computer programmer in California, who will email me the full version.
The CD will be returned to HMV with a tongue-lashing.
I am practising aggressively jabbing my finger at the box and uttering the words “Trade Descriptions Act”…
Gran Has Cancer
Her biopsy results came back yesterday. She has cancer of the womb lining. She goes in for a scan tomorrow and then into hospital on Sunday, for an operation on Monday. I guess it’s a full hysterectomy. I am feeling hollow, scared and upset. I’ve already lost one gran through cancer, and the spectre of losing another is frightening. I’ve been dreading this sort of news for years, and despite thinking I was prepared for it last week, it’s a hammer-blow.
Gran of course is putting her usual brave face on things and seems relatively positive about it. She just wants to get the operation over with and “things sorted out”.
I am praying that the cancer has been caught early enough and there are no secondaries.
Monday, December 02, 2002
My Clementine Point Was
Not so much that they give me bad guts, but rather that I play a little game with myself when peeling them: I attempt to remove the peel in a single snaking piece. The curly wurly pithy helix then makes a handy projectile to toss at Julian.
Steeleye Spam
We went to the gig of the decade at Aylesbury's Civic Centre on Friday night: The Steeleye Span reunion tour.
Unfortunately one of the founder members of the legendary folk-rock outfit has a heart condition and is currently unable to tour, making the "reunion tour" tag seem foolish and undermining their groovy sound. Not a bad gig, but Maddy Prior was off her usual pace and it was lacking a certain something. After seeing them three or four times now, I can safely say that I'm prepared to pass on the tickets the next time they hit the road. They do the same act every time.
However, the excitement level of gig was improved no end by the sight of the fat man sat behind us. When he sat down it looked as if he was hiding a Space Hopper up his shirt. It wasn't natural. At the risk of losing your arm, you just wanted to prod it.
A Pigs Head Fixture
Football hooliganism is alive and kicking in Europe. Last Saturday saw the feisty contest between Barcelona and Real Madrid featuring Barca fans throwing plastic and glass bottles at their former favourite (and now Real Madrid player) Luis Figo. Someone - presumably they forgot to bring a bottle with them - lobbed a whole pigs head onto the pitch.
The Match of the Day boys, attempting to lure neutrals into viewing next Sunday's MATCH OF THE CENTURY between Oxford United and Swindon Town, sniggeringly suggested that there was "some local rivalry between the two teams" and the Oxford v Scumdon clash was a "bit of a pigs head fixture" too.
I don't think anyone will be laughing about it come Sunday afternoon.
According to the lady in the Oxford United club shop, a large number of tickets in the home stands have been sold to travelling Scumdon fans. There will be insufficient segregation. There will be fighting on the terraces. And it will all be shown live on BBC1.
The good name of Oxford United is going to be blackened across the country because somebody's messed up on the ticket sales. I despair.
Not so much that they give me bad guts, but rather that I play a little game with myself when peeling them: I attempt to remove the peel in a single snaking piece. The curly wurly pithy helix then makes a handy projectile to toss at Julian.
Steeleye Spam
We went to the gig of the decade at Aylesbury's Civic Centre on Friday night: The Steeleye Span reunion tour.
Unfortunately one of the founder members of the legendary folk-rock outfit has a heart condition and is currently unable to tour, making the "reunion tour" tag seem foolish and undermining their groovy sound. Not a bad gig, but Maddy Prior was off her usual pace and it was lacking a certain something. After seeing them three or four times now, I can safely say that I'm prepared to pass on the tickets the next time they hit the road. They do the same act every time.
However, the excitement level of gig was improved no end by the sight of the fat man sat behind us. When he sat down it looked as if he was hiding a Space Hopper up his shirt. It wasn't natural. At the risk of losing your arm, you just wanted to prod it.
A Pigs Head Fixture
Football hooliganism is alive and kicking in Europe. Last Saturday saw the feisty contest between Barcelona and Real Madrid featuring Barca fans throwing plastic and glass bottles at their former favourite (and now Real Madrid player) Luis Figo. Someone - presumably they forgot to bring a bottle with them - lobbed a whole pigs head onto the pitch.
The Match of the Day boys, attempting to lure neutrals into viewing next Sunday's MATCH OF THE CENTURY between Oxford United and Swindon Town, sniggeringly suggested that there was "some local rivalry between the two teams" and the Oxford v Scumdon clash was a "bit of a pigs head fixture" too.
I don't think anyone will be laughing about it come Sunday afternoon.
According to the lady in the Oxford United club shop, a large number of tickets in the home stands have been sold to travelling Scumdon fans. There will be insufficient segregation. There will be fighting on the terraces. And it will all be shown live on BBC1.
The good name of Oxford United is going to be blackened across the country because somebody's messed up on the ticket sales. I despair.
Thursday, November 28, 2002
A Shotgun Isn’t Subtle
Emma’s taste in music is melancholy to say the least. Her idea of an uplifting party tape is a mix of Radiohead, Joy Division, Nirvana’s most introspective moments, and the Manic Street Preachers. Music to slit wrists by is what Scott and I call it.
It was therefore a little surprising to discover that the Samaritans are promoting their new “email your problem to us” campaign with an exclusive Radiohead track that you can download from their site.
Bet Now!
Is the tune a cover version of music hall classic “The Sun Has Got His Hat On” or the Manic’s “Suicide Is Painless”?
Disclaimer: The Samaritans do great work in the community. As do Radiohead. And Emma.
My Clementine
My favourite seasonal fruit – clementines – are in the shops and selling like hot cakes. They’re at their best at this time of year and I’m addicted to them. I’ve eaten over a 1kg of them over the last 3 days – that’s 6 or 7 a day. The flip side of their juicy sweet flesh is a stomach that aches and growls like a bear in a trap.
Nelson Dislikes the Floor
The dog is staying down with us (with Bob and Mop in-law). He was confused by his surroundings yesterday and really doesn’t like our new laminate flooring. The poor mutt can’t get a grip on the surface, and so skitters and slips about. The sound of his own claws - tapping gently when he walks - freaks him out. He also struggles to lay down on it and get up off it. All in all, laminate flooring doesn’t seem very dog-friendly.
It’s great to watch though.
Emma’s taste in music is melancholy to say the least. Her idea of an uplifting party tape is a mix of Radiohead, Joy Division, Nirvana’s most introspective moments, and the Manic Street Preachers. Music to slit wrists by is what Scott and I call it.
It was therefore a little surprising to discover that the Samaritans are promoting their new “email your problem to us” campaign with an exclusive Radiohead track that you can download from their site.
Bet Now!
Is the tune a cover version of music hall classic “The Sun Has Got His Hat On” or the Manic’s “Suicide Is Painless”?
Disclaimer: The Samaritans do great work in the community. As do Radiohead. And Emma.
My Clementine
My favourite seasonal fruit – clementines – are in the shops and selling like hot cakes. They’re at their best at this time of year and I’m addicted to them. I’ve eaten over a 1kg of them over the last 3 days – that’s 6 or 7 a day. The flip side of their juicy sweet flesh is a stomach that aches and growls like a bear in a trap.
Nelson Dislikes the Floor
The dog is staying down with us (with Bob and Mop in-law). He was confused by his surroundings yesterday and really doesn’t like our new laminate flooring. The poor mutt can’t get a grip on the surface, and so skitters and slips about. The sound of his own claws - tapping gently when he walks - freaks him out. He also struggles to lay down on it and get up off it. All in all, laminate flooring doesn’t seem very dog-friendly.
It’s great to watch though.
Tuesday, November 26, 2002
Lord of the Flies
One thing I failed to mention yesterday for all you Lord of the Rings fans was this:
Vic forgot to pack me any clean underpants for Sunday, so when we got down to Canterbury, we popped into Asda to pick up some cheap George pants. Lo and behold, you can actually buy official LotR branded underpants with "Two Towers" and "Lord of the Rings" printed on them.
[Think about it]
I chose plain pants...
Blood Drive
...would make a smashing address for "Spooky Manor" in an episode of Scooby Doo.
All of us at work have been invited to give blood to the National Blood Service next week. It gives me the willies. Every time the invitation comes round (normally every three months), I balance the fact that I really should give blood against the fact I'm a chicken. Ultimately the chicken wins out, but right up until the mini-bus (that the NBS send to pick up the donors) leaves, I'm pacing back and forth, one minute saying "yes I will!", the next minute "no I can't!".
I'm pathetic. I really should give blood. It could save a life. Or allow an athelete to cheat.
I'm not sure why I wimp out either. It's not the needle going in, but rather the thought of being strapped up to some sort of diabolical milking machine that's going to suck the life-juice out of me until I'm a grey and broken husk. I've seen too many vampire movies.
And they might try and force-feed me tea afterwards. [Blurgh!]
Perhaps I should get people to sponsor me...
One thing I failed to mention yesterday for all you Lord of the Rings fans was this:
Vic forgot to pack me any clean underpants for Sunday, so when we got down to Canterbury, we popped into Asda to pick up some cheap George pants. Lo and behold, you can actually buy official LotR branded underpants with "Two Towers" and "Lord of the Rings" printed on them.
[Think about it]
I chose plain pants...
Blood Drive
...would make a smashing address for "Spooky Manor" in an episode of Scooby Doo.
All of us at work have been invited to give blood to the National Blood Service next week. It gives me the willies. Every time the invitation comes round (normally every three months), I balance the fact that I really should give blood against the fact I'm a chicken. Ultimately the chicken wins out, but right up until the mini-bus (that the NBS send to pick up the donors) leaves, I'm pacing back and forth, one minute saying "yes I will!", the next minute "no I can't!".
I'm pathetic. I really should give blood. It could save a life. Or allow an athelete to cheat.
I'm not sure why I wimp out either. It's not the needle going in, but rather the thought of being strapped up to some sort of diabolical milking machine that's going to suck the life-juice out of me until I'm a grey and broken husk. I've seen too many vampire movies.
And they might try and force-feed me tea afterwards. [Blurgh!]
Perhaps I should get people to sponsor me...
Monday, November 25, 2002
Speccy Four Eyes
I'm shortsighted. My right eye was so bad that I didn't even recognise that the first set of opticians "symbols" were actually letters... U R B L I N D
The Show Must Go On
Britain's longest-running West End production - Mousetrap - celebrates its 50th anniversary this week. Pity the poor fellas who bought the film rights in 1953 for £5000, with the clause that they couldn't start filming until six months after the West End stage came to an end...
They're dead now. Hard cheese?
Talking Of Cheese
We made it down to my brother''s on Saturday. We went for a walk through Canterbury's European Food Fair, which was just an excuse for people to steal bits of food from French farmers. Hot spiced olives, Biddeton's Monk's spiced cider, and an assortment of speciality cheeses were the top titbits of the day, and it was really fun watching Jacob's facial expressions as he tasted new flavours.
Emma's sister Sarah, and her husband-in-waiting Gareth, would have had kittens. They work in Waitrose and believe people who pinch a grape off a bunch should be incarcerated at Her Majestys pleasure. Captial punishment should be introduced for those who give their children bananas or cookies - to keep them happy round the aisles - before paying for them at the check-out. Sarah and Gareth do not seem to understand the value to a supermarket of allowing customers to try the goods before buying. If they were in charge, they'd have a line of spiked heads outside Waitrose as a warning to others.
We didn't buy anything at the Food Fair.
I Was A Fool
We all know that I need my beauty sleep. I was therefore a little worried about the promise of a Sunday morning 6:45 wake up from my full of beans nephew. I was a fool to worry, as he was as dozy as we were at that time of the day, and it was ace that he felt comfortable enough to share our blow-up bed. Thankfully Daddy talked him into watching his Monsters Inc video rather than Bananas in Pyjamas. A close thing though.
Julian's Back From Holidaying in MK
Tina: "I watched that Doctor Zhivago last night"
Julian: "You can't beat those classic old films. My mum loves it [Doctor Zhivago]. That and Shirley Valentine..."
Churchill Wins Vote Of Being Our Greatest Briton
My faith in the British public has been restored, even though over 14% of people voted for Diana.
I'm shortsighted. My right eye was so bad that I didn't even recognise that the first set of opticians "symbols" were actually letters... U R B L I N D
The Show Must Go On
Britain's longest-running West End production - Mousetrap - celebrates its 50th anniversary this week. Pity the poor fellas who bought the film rights in 1953 for £5000, with the clause that they couldn't start filming until six months after the West End stage came to an end...
They're dead now. Hard cheese?
Talking Of Cheese
We made it down to my brother''s on Saturday. We went for a walk through Canterbury's European Food Fair, which was just an excuse for people to steal bits of food from French farmers. Hot spiced olives, Biddeton's Monk's spiced cider, and an assortment of speciality cheeses were the top titbits of the day, and it was really fun watching Jacob's facial expressions as he tasted new flavours.
Emma's sister Sarah, and her husband-in-waiting Gareth, would have had kittens. They work in Waitrose and believe people who pinch a grape off a bunch should be incarcerated at Her Majestys pleasure. Captial punishment should be introduced for those who give their children bananas or cookies - to keep them happy round the aisles - before paying for them at the check-out. Sarah and Gareth do not seem to understand the value to a supermarket of allowing customers to try the goods before buying. If they were in charge, they'd have a line of spiked heads outside Waitrose as a warning to others.
We didn't buy anything at the Food Fair.
I Was A Fool
We all know that I need my beauty sleep. I was therefore a little worried about the promise of a Sunday morning 6:45 wake up from my full of beans nephew. I was a fool to worry, as he was as dozy as we were at that time of the day, and it was ace that he felt comfortable enough to share our blow-up bed. Thankfully Daddy talked him into watching his Monsters Inc video rather than Bananas in Pyjamas. A close thing though.
Julian's Back From Holidaying in MK
Tina: "I watched that Doctor Zhivago last night"
Julian: "You can't beat those classic old films. My mum loves it [Doctor Zhivago]. That and Shirley Valentine..."
Churchill Wins Vote Of Being Our Greatest Briton
My faith in the British public has been restored, even though over 14% of people voted for Diana.
Friday, November 22, 2002
My Duvet Weighs a Ton
Is how Chuck D would have described this morning’s attempts at crawling out of bed.
I had about two weeks of poor sleep prior to my exam, but how it’s been and gone, I’m sleeping like a log.
In the mornings I wake up with lichen covering my trunk, and wood lice in my crevices.
My Ship Anchors in E Bay
Just as I’ve been a relative newcomer to blogging, so I have only just discovered the joys of shopping on ebay.
It’s fantastic isn’t it: Every thing you could ever want at knockdown prices. A Bargain Hunters dream. And everyone seems so friendly and helpful too. It’s great!
So far I’ve bought an old board game and two books that I’ve wanted for years (lost treasures from my youth).
Everyone who knows me, knows I love games. Board games, card games, computer games, bedroom games (joke), roleplaying games (especially in the bedroom – nudge, nudge, wink, wink), games of chance, games of skill. You have a game, I’ll play it.
My love of games comes from when I was very little, but the move into fantasy and sci-fi came a little later. I was introduced to the world of fantasy gaming by the classic – and ground-breaking – Warlock of Firetop Mountain, the first book in the hugely successful Fighting Fantasy series of “if you want to do this, turn to page such and such” adventure game books.
I’ve been riding the geek rollercoaster ever since.
Anyway, the FF writer Steve Jackson decided to compose a set of classic FF game books, called Sorcery! with two twists: The story / game played out over the course of all four books in the set, making it an epic – like Lord of the Rings – and you could use magic, with a very clever code system.
So my mum bought me the first book, and when I’d finished it, the second.
Unfortunately I never saw the third or fourth episodes in the bookshop and my quest was never finished…
I’ve been keeping an eye out for them ever since at jumble sales and charity shops, but had no luck until ebay came along… But with a two minute search and a couple of small cheques, I’ve now got my missing chapters.
Wish me luck as I set forth to reclaim the Crown of Kings!
Is how Chuck D would have described this morning’s attempts at crawling out of bed.
I had about two weeks of poor sleep prior to my exam, but how it’s been and gone, I’m sleeping like a log.
In the mornings I wake up with lichen covering my trunk, and wood lice in my crevices.
My Ship Anchors in E Bay
Just as I’ve been a relative newcomer to blogging, so I have only just discovered the joys of shopping on ebay.
It’s fantastic isn’t it: Every thing you could ever want at knockdown prices. A Bargain Hunters dream. And everyone seems so friendly and helpful too. It’s great!
So far I’ve bought an old board game and two books that I’ve wanted for years (lost treasures from my youth).
Everyone who knows me, knows I love games. Board games, card games, computer games, bedroom games (joke), roleplaying games (especially in the bedroom – nudge, nudge, wink, wink), games of chance, games of skill. You have a game, I’ll play it.
My love of games comes from when I was very little, but the move into fantasy and sci-fi came a little later. I was introduced to the world of fantasy gaming by the classic – and ground-breaking – Warlock of Firetop Mountain, the first book in the hugely successful Fighting Fantasy series of “if you want to do this, turn to page such and such” adventure game books.
I’ve been riding the geek rollercoaster ever since.
Anyway, the FF writer Steve Jackson decided to compose a set of classic FF game books, called Sorcery! with two twists: The story / game played out over the course of all four books in the set, making it an epic – like Lord of the Rings – and you could use magic, with a very clever code system.
So my mum bought me the first book, and when I’d finished it, the second.
Unfortunately I never saw the third or fourth episodes in the bookshop and my quest was never finished…
I’ve been keeping an eye out for them ever since at jumble sales and charity shops, but had no luck until ebay came along… But with a two minute search and a couple of small cheques, I’ve now got my missing chapters.
Wish me luck as I set forth to reclaim the Crown of Kings!
Thursday, November 21, 2002
A Stitch In Time
And we had Marks & Spencers very tasty strawberry-flavoured Squeelingly Fizzy Piglet sweets for afters.
I've just realised that with the recent spate of recipes and film & book reviews, this blog is starting to resemble a women's magazine rather than a man's diary. My Wonderful World is becoming a Woman's World. I'll be sewing quilt covers next!
The last piece of sewing I did - apart from stitching up my gaping imaginary war wounds with a fish hook, by myself, macho Rambo style - was at school in Needlework, a good 18 years ago.
I made a fabric pencil case with a picture of a lion on it. The lion was made of felt: Yellow face, brown mane and nose, big white eyes with little round black pupils. Antelope carrion hanging from blood-stain gob.
It took me ten weeks to make it and was crap.
But it wasn't as bad as my brother's attempt at knitting a 2 foot tall penguin.
He managed to knit all of two inches of orange beak in his ten week Needlework stint, and my gran had to finish it off for him. It took her all of a morning to whip up the Woolly Emperor.
Gran goes into hospital next week for an exploratory Op.
As usual I didn't know where this blog entry would end up when I started writing it - you just go with the flow. But how its ended, with the prior talk of stitching up wounds, makes me feel uncomfortable. I'll leave as is for now, as if I start getting sentimental, it'll ruin the tough macho elements of the post...
And we had Marks & Spencers very tasty strawberry-flavoured Squeelingly Fizzy Piglet sweets for afters.
I've just realised that with the recent spate of recipes and film & book reviews, this blog is starting to resemble a women's magazine rather than a man's diary. My Wonderful World is becoming a Woman's World. I'll be sewing quilt covers next!
The last piece of sewing I did - apart from stitching up my gaping imaginary war wounds with a fish hook, by myself, macho Rambo style - was at school in Needlework, a good 18 years ago.
I made a fabric pencil case with a picture of a lion on it. The lion was made of felt: Yellow face, brown mane and nose, big white eyes with little round black pupils. Antelope carrion hanging from blood-stain gob.
It took me ten weeks to make it and was crap.
But it wasn't as bad as my brother's attempt at knitting a 2 foot tall penguin.
He managed to knit all of two inches of orange beak in his ten week Needlework stint, and my gran had to finish it off for him. It took her all of a morning to whip up the Woolly Emperor.
Gran goes into hospital next week for an exploratory Op.
As usual I didn't know where this blog entry would end up when I started writing it - you just go with the flow. But how its ended, with the prior talk of stitching up wounds, makes me feel uncomfortable. I'll leave as is for now, as if I start getting sentimental, it'll ruin the tough macho elements of the post...
You Get Less For Manslaughter
It was our 11th (first date) anniversary last night. We reminisced about the Oxford Polytechnic Bop and the drink Vicster ordered at the bar.
“Cinzano and lemonade please!”
It was her sophistication that appealed to me *.
I was under orders (pain of death or divorce) to cook something yummy for dinner. I resorted to a tried and tested recipe that I knew would be a winner: Rick Stein’s Spanish style Squid and Chorizo **.
For 2 people:
150g Squid – prepared, hoods cut into rings, tentacles cut into bite-sized bits.
100g Chorizo sausage – thinly sliced.
1 red pepper – roasted until blackened, skin removed, seeded and diced.
2 good handfuls of new potatoes (about 8 oz) – boiled until tender, then thinly sliced.
1 plum tomato – seeded and diced.
1 garlic clove – crushed.
1 red ‘finger’ chilli pepper – seeded and chopped small.
½ teaspoon of hot red chilli powder.
A cup of fresh flat leaf parsley – roughly chopped.
Freshly ground salt and black pepper.
1 ½ tablespoons of olive oil (about 2 big glugs).
Cook the new potatoes and roast the pepper.
Heat the oil in a heavy-bottomed frying pan or wok.
Stir-fry the squid over a high heat for 1-2 min – don’t over do it otherwise they’ll go like rubber bands.
Add the chorizo, chilli and garlic, fry for 1-2 min – this gets the chilli working and some colour out of the chorizo.
Add the potatoes, red pepper and chilli powder. Give it another minute or so to let the potatoes heat through.
Add the tomato and parsley, season with plenty of black pepper and salt to taste.
Serve with some French bread (to mop up the juices) and a green salad.
Scrum-diddly-umpious!
Top tip: Put the tentacles in your mouth, let the ends pop out between your lips, and then scare the kids by waggling the tentacles with your tongue so they look alive. Rah!
* She doesn’t even like Cinzano. It’s just like Stashboy ordering himself half a pint of Pernod whilst we were on holiday in Spain, and then remembering he didn’t like Pernod after the first sip.
** with black fuel oil.
It was our 11th (first date) anniversary last night. We reminisced about the Oxford Polytechnic Bop and the drink Vicster ordered at the bar.
“Cinzano and lemonade please!”
It was her sophistication that appealed to me *.
I was under orders (pain of death or divorce) to cook something yummy for dinner. I resorted to a tried and tested recipe that I knew would be a winner: Rick Stein’s Spanish style Squid and Chorizo **.
For 2 people:
150g Squid – prepared, hoods cut into rings, tentacles cut into bite-sized bits.
100g Chorizo sausage – thinly sliced.
1 red pepper – roasted until blackened, skin removed, seeded and diced.
2 good handfuls of new potatoes (about 8 oz) – boiled until tender, then thinly sliced.
1 plum tomato – seeded and diced.
1 garlic clove – crushed.
1 red ‘finger’ chilli pepper – seeded and chopped small.
½ teaspoon of hot red chilli powder.
A cup of fresh flat leaf parsley – roughly chopped.
Freshly ground salt and black pepper.
1 ½ tablespoons of olive oil (about 2 big glugs).
Cook the new potatoes and roast the pepper.
Heat the oil in a heavy-bottomed frying pan or wok.
Stir-fry the squid over a high heat for 1-2 min – don’t over do it otherwise they’ll go like rubber bands.
Add the chorizo, chilli and garlic, fry for 1-2 min – this gets the chilli working and some colour out of the chorizo.
Add the potatoes, red pepper and chilli powder. Give it another minute or so to let the potatoes heat through.
Add the tomato and parsley, season with plenty of black pepper and salt to taste.
Serve with some French bread (to mop up the juices) and a green salad.
Scrum-diddly-umpious!
Top tip: Put the tentacles in your mouth, let the ends pop out between your lips, and then scare the kids by waggling the tentacles with your tongue so they look alive. Rah!
* She doesn’t even like Cinzano. It’s just like Stashboy ordering himself half a pint of Pernod whilst we were on holiday in Spain, and then remembering he didn’t like Pernod after the first sip.
** with black fuel oil.
Wednesday, November 20, 2002
Cutting Costs In The Workplace Bond Style
Our purchasing manager asked the company grunts for any cost cutting ideas today. Instantly we had the predictable response of someone popping their head up over the pen and suggesting that the company "gives us all a sweater so they can cut the heating bills!".
Never one to let an opportunity such as this go by, I replied to the purchasing managers request will this email:
Suggestion: Switch off the lights when nobody is working. Should reduce the lighting costs by 100% in Purchasing.
On second thoughts you could buy everyone some nightvision googles:
http://www.ticketsofrussia.ru/store/lomo/nightvision/png2.html
Large one off cost, but would cut lighting costs to a minimum.
In a similar vein to the "sweaters" suggestion, just more James Bond.
Hopefully he won't read the suggestions before he presents them to his manager...
Our purchasing manager asked the company grunts for any cost cutting ideas today. Instantly we had the predictable response of someone popping their head up over the pen and suggesting that the company "gives us all a sweater so they can cut the heating bills!".
Never one to let an opportunity such as this go by, I replied to the purchasing managers request will this email:
Suggestion: Switch off the lights when nobody is working. Should reduce the lighting costs by 100% in Purchasing.
On second thoughts you could buy everyone some nightvision googles:
http://www.ticketsofrussia.ru/store/lomo/nightvision/png2.html
Large one off cost, but would cut lighting costs to a minimum.
In a similar vein to the "sweaters" suggestion, just more James Bond.
Hopefully he won't read the suggestions before he presents them to his manager...
Wot No Updates?!
Were you starting to think that TWWOND had gone the way of many a blog and died a death? Or perhaps I myself had dropped off a cliff *?
Well do not fret dear readers, for Nobby lives and so does his blog. You just forgot that I had my CIMA Business Taxation exam yesterday and that I've been busy revising. How did it go? "OK" pretty much sums it up. Professional exams like these are notoriously difficult to predict how you've done, and the best I can say it that I might have passed. I'm not unhappy, but not happy either, if that makes sense.
Results are due at the end of January, so I'll just forget about it until then: No point in sweating on it or getting excited / depressed - what's done is done.
[Crack - tinkle, rattle]
That's the sound of my chains breaking. No longer a prisoner of revision, I am released back into the community.
* What do you call a man with a seagull on his head?
Falling Head Over Heels Into The Chamber of Secrets
Friday evening was Harry Potter 2. Read some amateur review of it here. Dark and sinister and great fun. Much better than the first one - which was 2 hours of character introduction and 1/2 of plot - and it actually featured Harry "Greatest Wizard Ever and he's only 13" Potter doing some magic. I recommend watching it in a cinema full of kids too: Their excitement rubbed off and the gasps, shrieks, wails, cheers and clapping made it feel interactive. Seeing the target audience react so positively to it upped the enjoyment and value of the film. And yes, despite Vic telling me off, I did clap and cheer too. I'm so down with the kids.
The shrunken heads, giant man-eating spiders, and pecked out eyes were cool.
Blade 2
...was watched alone on DVD on Saturday night, as Vicster had left me to do my revision earlier in the day and travelled into London to see Sara and Stashboy. She was very brave considering the threat of dirty bombs and poison gas. They always seem to do the best things when I'm not with them, and Saturday was no exception as they did a walking tour of Jack the Rippers East End haunts. Free piece of spleen with every ticket.
Anyway, Blade 2 is crap. If you're writing a book or screenplay about vampires or characters who play with swords (and who have the word "blade" in their names), watch this film to see what not to do. It was like watching MTV for 2 hours. Bad CGI, terrible plot, rip-off of Aliens, 2D characters, just awful. It sucked big time ;)
I loved the first Blade - very cool film, great atmosphere, nicely paced, depicted vampires as they should be. I was expecting more of the same, but like so many sequels - whether film or music or novels - it was a real let-down.
However, the DVD extras disk featured not only an immense Roni Size / Cypress Hill "Child of the Wild West" music video, but also a little story from the director about Michael Jackson:
Apparently MJ approached them about a cameo role in the film as he'd seen Blade and really liked it. So the director writes this little scene in where one of the Reaper Hunters opens a door deep within the heart of the vampire nightclub and discovers this weird drug-dealer type guy who is taking littlebags of entrails out of a suitcase. There is a dentists chair, strings of razor-blades and various surgical implements on show in the background.
For some reason MJ turned it down.
Darren Popstar
Darren Hayes is apparently "the voice of Savage Garden". Not only do I not care about this, but as Vic says "That's not right! Darren isn't a name for a pop star!".
Eye Test Voucher
I've got one and I'm going to use it on Friday. Unfortunately I can't read the small print.
Were you starting to think that TWWOND had gone the way of many a blog and died a death? Or perhaps I myself had dropped off a cliff *?
Well do not fret dear readers, for Nobby lives and so does his blog. You just forgot that I had my CIMA Business Taxation exam yesterday and that I've been busy revising. How did it go? "OK" pretty much sums it up. Professional exams like these are notoriously difficult to predict how you've done, and the best I can say it that I might have passed. I'm not unhappy, but not happy either, if that makes sense.
Results are due at the end of January, so I'll just forget about it until then: No point in sweating on it or getting excited / depressed - what's done is done.
[Crack - tinkle, rattle]
That's the sound of my chains breaking. No longer a prisoner of revision, I am released back into the community.
* What do you call a man with a seagull on his head?
Falling Head Over Heels Into The Chamber of Secrets
Friday evening was Harry Potter 2. Read some amateur review of it here. Dark and sinister and great fun. Much better than the first one - which was 2 hours of character introduction and 1/2 of plot - and it actually featured Harry "Greatest Wizard Ever and he's only 13" Potter doing some magic. I recommend watching it in a cinema full of kids too: Their excitement rubbed off and the gasps, shrieks, wails, cheers and clapping made it feel interactive. Seeing the target audience react so positively to it upped the enjoyment and value of the film. And yes, despite Vic telling me off, I did clap and cheer too. I'm so down with the kids.
The shrunken heads, giant man-eating spiders, and pecked out eyes were cool.
Blade 2
...was watched alone on DVD on Saturday night, as Vicster had left me to do my revision earlier in the day and travelled into London to see Sara and Stashboy. She was very brave considering the threat of dirty bombs and poison gas. They always seem to do the best things when I'm not with them, and Saturday was no exception as they did a walking tour of Jack the Rippers East End haunts. Free piece of spleen with every ticket.
Anyway, Blade 2 is crap. If you're writing a book or screenplay about vampires or characters who play with swords (and who have the word "blade" in their names), watch this film to see what not to do. It was like watching MTV for 2 hours. Bad CGI, terrible plot, rip-off of Aliens, 2D characters, just awful. It sucked big time ;)
I loved the first Blade - very cool film, great atmosphere, nicely paced, depicted vampires as they should be. I was expecting more of the same, but like so many sequels - whether film or music or novels - it was a real let-down.
However, the DVD extras disk featured not only an immense Roni Size / Cypress Hill "Child of the Wild West" music video, but also a little story from the director about Michael Jackson:
Apparently MJ approached them about a cameo role in the film as he'd seen Blade and really liked it. So the director writes this little scene in where one of the Reaper Hunters opens a door deep within the heart of the vampire nightclub and discovers this weird drug-dealer type guy who is taking littlebags of entrails out of a suitcase. There is a dentists chair, strings of razor-blades and various surgical implements on show in the background.
For some reason MJ turned it down.
Darren Popstar
Darren Hayes is apparently "the voice of Savage Garden". Not only do I not care about this, but as Vic says "That's not right! Darren isn't a name for a pop star!".
Eye Test Voucher
I've got one and I'm going to use it on Friday. Unfortunately I can't read the small print.
Friday, November 15, 2002
Christmas Jumper
Friday is dress-down day at work. Today someone has come in wearing a "christmas" jumper. The sort of sweater your great aunt thinks would suit you. This person is surprisingly not Julian (the someone is just a Blog Extra). My double-take at the nasty knitted garment caused me to walk into the door.
Julian is wearing a sweatshirt with an Aylesbury duck on the front. As usual he has made the fashion faux pas of tightly tucking his sweatshirt into his trousers.
I am starting to agree with stick-in-the-mud management who believe casual Fridays are a bad thing.
Friday is dress-down day at work. Today someone has come in wearing a "christmas" jumper. The sort of sweater your great aunt thinks would suit you. This person is surprisingly not Julian (the someone is just a Blog Extra). My double-take at the nasty knitted garment caused me to walk into the door.
Julian is wearing a sweatshirt with an Aylesbury duck on the front. As usual he has made the fashion faux pas of tightly tucking his sweatshirt into his trousers.
I am starting to agree with stick-in-the-mud management who believe casual Fridays are a bad thing.
Thursday, November 14, 2002
After Six O'Clock You Risk Incineration
So the national fire strike kicked off last night. Doomgoblins will be happy. Three burning-building deaths last night (that's up on the average of 1.63 deaths per day when the firemen are working normally). No doubt the Daily Mail will blame the frefighters for all three.
Vic is paranoid about going up in flames at the best of times, so last night saw her making a few special preparations before bed time:
1) She checked that both of our smoke alarms were operational and in optimal locations.
2) She unplugged the TV, as they are apparently at risk of randomly exploding into balls of plasma even when switched off.
3) She checked the torch that is kept at the side of the bed.
4) She donned her asbestos pyjamas, welders mask, motorcycle crash helmet and divers lung.
She did forget to fish out an axe from the shed, so I shall remind her to do so tonight. I will also prompt her to uncoil the emergency escape ladder that is still in its box in the cupboard.
Better to be safe than sorry.
So the national fire strike kicked off last night. Doomgoblins will be happy. Three burning-building deaths last night (that's up on the average of 1.63 deaths per day when the firemen are working normally). No doubt the Daily Mail will blame the frefighters for all three.
Vic is paranoid about going up in flames at the best of times, so last night saw her making a few special preparations before bed time:
1) She checked that both of our smoke alarms were operational and in optimal locations.
2) She unplugged the TV, as they are apparently at risk of randomly exploding into balls of plasma even when switched off.
3) She checked the torch that is kept at the side of the bed.
4) She donned her asbestos pyjamas, welders mask, motorcycle crash helmet and divers lung.
She did forget to fish out an axe from the shed, so I shall remind her to do so tonight. I will also prompt her to uncoil the emergency escape ladder that is still in its box in the cupboard.
Better to be safe than sorry.
Wednesday, November 13, 2002
We're Off To See The Wizard
Vicster has booked us in to see Harry Potter on Friday. I can't say that I'm really looking forward to it, as I didn't think the first movie was much cop (didn't do the book any justice), and this will be much of the same. To make matters worse, we are apparently sitting in row B, which is about six feet away from the screen. I cannot sit that close to the screen for three minutes, let alone the three hours that Chamber of Secrets will run for. My eyes will fall out. A few months back when we went to watch Attack of the Clones and were ushered into row A (four feet from the screen), I kicked up such a fuss (i.e. I politely asked the Duty Manager if we could change seats), that we were moved into the "House Seats" - the best in the cinema.
I am practising my "Kicking up a Fuss" spell.
Muggles and Duty Managers beware!
Help
How can I get comment boxes on this blog?
Suggestions, html code or whatever to nobby_dobscrub @ hotmail.com please!
Vicster has booked us in to see Harry Potter on Friday. I can't say that I'm really looking forward to it, as I didn't think the first movie was much cop (didn't do the book any justice), and this will be much of the same. To make matters worse, we are apparently sitting in row B, which is about six feet away from the screen. I cannot sit that close to the screen for three minutes, let alone the three hours that Chamber of Secrets will run for. My eyes will fall out. A few months back when we went to watch Attack of the Clones and were ushered into row A (four feet from the screen), I kicked up such a fuss (i.e. I politely asked the Duty Manager if we could change seats), that we were moved into the "House Seats" - the best in the cinema.
I am practising my "Kicking up a Fuss" spell.
Muggles and Duty Managers beware!
Help
How can I get comment boxes on this blog?
Suggestions, html code or whatever to nobby_dobscrub @ hotmail.com please!
Tuesday, November 12, 2002
A Cruel Design Fault
Our toilets here at work suffer from a distressing design fault. When you flush after use, any toilet paper floating in the bowl balloons up as the flushing water forces air underneath it. The wet paper then traps little pockets of air, which in turn prevent the paper from flushing away: it dances and spins on the top of the water in all of its sh*tty glory and doesn't get sucked away through the pipe.
It is embarassing when you're in the cubicle flushing for the second or third time. They must think King Kong's in there.
More distressing though is when you jump into a cubicle and discover that the previous occupant didn't bother to wait around for a second (or sometimes even first) flush.
I face this every day. Please rescue me.
Our toilets here at work suffer from a distressing design fault. When you flush after use, any toilet paper floating in the bowl balloons up as the flushing water forces air underneath it. The wet paper then traps little pockets of air, which in turn prevent the paper from flushing away: it dances and spins on the top of the water in all of its sh*tty glory and doesn't get sucked away through the pipe.
It is embarassing when you're in the cubicle flushing for the second or third time. They must think King Kong's in there.
More distressing though is when you jump into a cubicle and discover that the previous occupant didn't bother to wait around for a second (or sometimes even first) flush.
I face this every day. Please rescue me.
The Name's Bond. Sticky Bond.
I'm writing this entry through red eyes. Although not quite "welled-up", there has been sufficient moisture generated that I've had to blink back the emotional mists. The reason?
You know how you have just a handful of friends who you really connect with. People who share the same sense of humour, enjoy the same things, and have a similar out-look on life as you do. Brightly coloured shiny fish in your personal pond. People who you love spending time with, love seeing - no matter how short the time, and indeed usually love full stop.
When your connections with these special people are broken, it can be very upsetting. For example, having my best mate (and best man) Rob living out in Chicago means I just don't see him anymore. We used to be like brothers, as thick as thieves, even closer than the Mitchell family. A few short trips, quick telephone conversations and email lines can never make up for the lack of quality time spent together. As time passes, it naturally becomes harder and harder to instantly "reconnect" when we do see each other. Seeing and feeling the strong bonds that tied weaken is sad and traumatic.
These feelings normally arise from friends within your first Circle of Friends. The Inner Sanctum of people you see regularly and are very close to. Sometimes they arise with those outside of this group.
Yesterday I got melancholy when I began thinking about how I hadn't seen Tony Boydell for a while. Tony and I are friends from Magic. We share the same sense of humour, enjoy the same things, share a similar-ish out-look on the world. We shouldn't be that close, and on paper aren't - Tony has never met my wife or visited my home, I haven't met Tony's wife and small army of children or visited his home - but for some reason I LOVE TONY, and would trade much to spent a hour in his company.
But Tony has given up Magic, and my interest isn't what it was. The realisation dawned that I'm unlikely to see much of Tony in the future. Our big connection - meeting up at Magic tournaments and playing our silly games - is broken. Our regular email correspondence - poked along by Magic sticks - has petered out to a few lines now and again.
I was beginning to mourn the demise of our short friendship. I was getting sentimental and foolish.
It was therefore very exciting and uplifting * to discover a new referral to my blog from www.tonyboydell.blogspot.com this morning. I can now catch up on what Tony is doing and thinking every day to my hearts content. A thread of the bond has been reconnected. I'm a happy bunny and now realise the true power of blogs.
The power to (re)connect people. Whether friends or strangers.
If you're a stranger to Tony, I'd recommend keeping an eye on his blog. He's a fab writer - his legacy to Magic is being the best internet writer the hobby has ever known (he always pushed the envelope). He's a sensitive soul and a cuddly family man. He's also extremely funny once he gets his humour engine up and running...
Happy Birthday Tony and start your engine please!
* no, not uplifting (or exciting) in THAT sense!
I'm writing this entry through red eyes. Although not quite "welled-up", there has been sufficient moisture generated that I've had to blink back the emotional mists. The reason?
You know how you have just a handful of friends who you really connect with. People who share the same sense of humour, enjoy the same things, and have a similar out-look on life as you do. Brightly coloured shiny fish in your personal pond. People who you love spending time with, love seeing - no matter how short the time, and indeed usually love full stop.
When your connections with these special people are broken, it can be very upsetting. For example, having my best mate (and best man) Rob living out in Chicago means I just don't see him anymore. We used to be like brothers, as thick as thieves, even closer than the Mitchell family. A few short trips, quick telephone conversations and email lines can never make up for the lack of quality time spent together. As time passes, it naturally becomes harder and harder to instantly "reconnect" when we do see each other. Seeing and feeling the strong bonds that tied weaken is sad and traumatic.
These feelings normally arise from friends within your first Circle of Friends. The Inner Sanctum of people you see regularly and are very close to. Sometimes they arise with those outside of this group.
Yesterday I got melancholy when I began thinking about how I hadn't seen Tony Boydell for a while. Tony and I are friends from Magic. We share the same sense of humour, enjoy the same things, share a similar-ish out-look on the world. We shouldn't be that close, and on paper aren't - Tony has never met my wife or visited my home, I haven't met Tony's wife and small army of children or visited his home - but for some reason I LOVE TONY, and would trade much to spent a hour in his company.
But Tony has given up Magic, and my interest isn't what it was. The realisation dawned that I'm unlikely to see much of Tony in the future. Our big connection - meeting up at Magic tournaments and playing our silly games - is broken. Our regular email correspondence - poked along by Magic sticks - has petered out to a few lines now and again.
I was beginning to mourn the demise of our short friendship. I was getting sentimental and foolish.
It was therefore very exciting and uplifting * to discover a new referral to my blog from www.tonyboydell.blogspot.com this morning. I can now catch up on what Tony is doing and thinking every day to my hearts content. A thread of the bond has been reconnected. I'm a happy bunny and now realise the true power of blogs.
The power to (re)connect people. Whether friends or strangers.
If you're a stranger to Tony, I'd recommend keeping an eye on his blog. He's a fab writer - his legacy to Magic is being the best internet writer the hobby has ever known (he always pushed the envelope). He's a sensitive soul and a cuddly family man. He's also extremely funny once he gets his humour engine up and running...
Happy Birthday Tony and start your engine please!
* no, not uplifting (or exciting) in THAT sense!
Monday, November 11, 2002
No Dead Dog On The Road
My prayers were answered: the little dog wasn't converted to road pizza [phew!]. My wife told me that what I'd written was "terrible". I thought she meant terrible as in "you should have rescued that poor little doggy!", but she actually meant "your grammar and spelling was awful!".
The joys of living with an editor...
The Goose Is Getting Fat
The shops - including the Sainsburys garage at the end of our road - are already decked out with the full load of Christmas decorations and piping out the usual array of Christmas tunes. It's a pet hate of mine: Christmas stuff should not be seen or heard until December, and even then, 3 weeks of it is 3 weeks too many. It is my opinion that the earlier Christmas tat goes up, the more it devalues the meaning of Christmas and dilutes the excitement of the Christmas holiday itself. Down with decorations is what I say.
That being said, I spent some of the weekend burning copies of my favourite Christmas CDs - including the complete Maddy Prior and The Carnival Band back catalogue (essential listening) - whilst Vic went into food-preparation overdrive: Christmas Day canapes, a big fruit pie, etc, etc. However, the cake wasn't baked because the supermarket ran out of glace cherries, claiming that the second weekend in November was apparently the weekend on which EVERYONE bakes their Christmas cakes and steams their puddings...
It's obviously not a disaster - the glace cherries can be bought next week - but in order to test Waitrose's explanation for their lack of stock, I took a quick straw-poll in the office.
Of 6 people asked, not one had made their Christmas cake at the weekend. So either Waitrose were lying in an attempt to disguise their stock mismanagement, or someone somewhere is stockpiling huge quantities of glace cherries.
Perhaps when David Blunkett warned us about a possible Dirty Bomb attack on London, he really meant a possible Glace Cherry ice cream Bomb instead.
Actually, that's stupid. Much more likely is:
[al-Qaeda Terrorist Man #1 in Tora Bora cave]: "How can we disrupt the Christmas celebrations of those stupid, evil, christian, western fools?!"
[al-Qaeda Terrorist Man #2 in Tora Bora cave]: "We could use Osama's billions to buy up all of their glace cherries... so they can't make any cakes, pies and puddings. That would wipe the festive Ronald McDonald smiles off their foolish western faces!"
Be vigilant. Sinister plots lurk everywhere.
My prayers were answered: the little dog wasn't converted to road pizza [phew!]. My wife told me that what I'd written was "terrible". I thought she meant terrible as in "you should have rescued that poor little doggy!", but she actually meant "your grammar and spelling was awful!".
The joys of living with an editor...
The Goose Is Getting Fat
The shops - including the Sainsburys garage at the end of our road - are already decked out with the full load of Christmas decorations and piping out the usual array of Christmas tunes. It's a pet hate of mine: Christmas stuff should not be seen or heard until December, and even then, 3 weeks of it is 3 weeks too many. It is my opinion that the earlier Christmas tat goes up, the more it devalues the meaning of Christmas and dilutes the excitement of the Christmas holiday itself. Down with decorations is what I say.
That being said, I spent some of the weekend burning copies of my favourite Christmas CDs - including the complete Maddy Prior and The Carnival Band back catalogue (essential listening) - whilst Vic went into food-preparation overdrive: Christmas Day canapes, a big fruit pie, etc, etc. However, the cake wasn't baked because the supermarket ran out of glace cherries, claiming that the second weekend in November was apparently the weekend on which EVERYONE bakes their Christmas cakes and steams their puddings...
It's obviously not a disaster - the glace cherries can be bought next week - but in order to test Waitrose's explanation for their lack of stock, I took a quick straw-poll in the office.
Of 6 people asked, not one had made their Christmas cake at the weekend. So either Waitrose were lying in an attempt to disguise their stock mismanagement, or someone somewhere is stockpiling huge quantities of glace cherries.
Perhaps when David Blunkett warned us about a possible Dirty Bomb attack on London, he really meant a possible Glace Cherry ice cream Bomb instead.
Actually, that's stupid. Much more likely is:
[al-Qaeda Terrorist Man #1 in Tora Bora cave]: "How can we disrupt the Christmas celebrations of those stupid, evil, christian, western fools?!"
[al-Qaeda Terrorist Man #2 in Tora Bora cave]: "We could use Osama's billions to buy up all of their glace cherries... so they can't make any cakes, pies and puddings. That would wipe the festive Ronald McDonald smiles off their foolish western faces!"
Be vigilant. Sinister plots lurk everywhere.
Friday, November 08, 2002
Good Dog, Bad Man
I did a bad thing this morning. Something I feel absolutely terrible about. I have a nasty feeling at the back of my mind that my inaction may have resulted in a fatality, and assoicated heartache, for a family.
On my way to work through the village of Postcombe, the traffic came to a sudden halt in the rain. A little doggy was scampering in the middle of the road. It was clearly young, excited and confused - it looked as if it had just escaped from its owners house or car and didn't know what it was going to do next.
I should have stopped, gathered the little pup up in my arms and delivered it to the local village shop / garage, where it would have been safe. The shop owner might well have known who the doggy belong to. This is what the dog's owner would have wanted me to do. It would have been the right thing to do.
Instead I did the wrong thing. Someone behind me in the queue of traffic pipped their horn - either to get the dog out of the road or to hurry us drivers up. Whatever the reason, it jolted me along, and I followed the car in front like a sheep.
For the next ten minutes, every turning I passed, I felt I should be swinging the car around to go back and find the dog. But I didn't. I just kept on driving.
I feel disappointed in myself. I've let the dog and its owner down. I've let myself down. I just hope the dog's ok and reunited with its family. I feel guilty enough already, but if I see a dead dog on the road going home this afternoon, I don't know want I'm going to...
I'm literally praying for that doggy and I'm vowing never to drive on past ever again.
I did a bad thing this morning. Something I feel absolutely terrible about. I have a nasty feeling at the back of my mind that my inaction may have resulted in a fatality, and assoicated heartache, for a family.
On my way to work through the village of Postcombe, the traffic came to a sudden halt in the rain. A little doggy was scampering in the middle of the road. It was clearly young, excited and confused - it looked as if it had just escaped from its owners house or car and didn't know what it was going to do next.
I should have stopped, gathered the little pup up in my arms and delivered it to the local village shop / garage, where it would have been safe. The shop owner might well have known who the doggy belong to. This is what the dog's owner would have wanted me to do. It would have been the right thing to do.
Instead I did the wrong thing. Someone behind me in the queue of traffic pipped their horn - either to get the dog out of the road or to hurry us drivers up. Whatever the reason, it jolted me along, and I followed the car in front like a sheep.
For the next ten minutes, every turning I passed, I felt I should be swinging the car around to go back and find the dog. But I didn't. I just kept on driving.
I feel disappointed in myself. I've let the dog and its owner down. I've let myself down. I just hope the dog's ok and reunited with its family. I feel guilty enough already, but if I see a dead dog on the road going home this afternoon, I don't know want I'm going to...
I'm literally praying for that doggy and I'm vowing never to drive on past ever again.
Thursday, November 07, 2002
The World's A Stage
We're back from the Inlaws. I could give you a full report on things, but Scott's already posted up his take on things (nicely done too), so I'll skip the details.
I will say that although I spent the majority of the time up there locked in a tiny room with my head in my books, it wasn't until I strolled into work this morning that I realised how energising a few days away from the office can be. I feel refreshed and full of spunk. I give it two days before this Well of Chi is drained by the leeches here at work.
As Scott points out, Emma has foolishly asked me if I'd like to write her a school play about WWII. Taking Sheila Starline's advice that one should never turn down such an opportunity, I've jumped at the chance, especially as the Second World War is one of my specialist subjects. I can't decide to go for the epic approach - a complete run through of all the major events of the conflict - or focus in on a single, smaller episode, with a human story / tragedy - i.e. a more humanistic approach.
The epic route has its appeal. Having a dozen kids running about on stage, with their arms flung horizontal to their bodies, screaming "neeeee-owwwww" and "badda badda badda!", could be a cheap and very effective way of recreating the Battle of Britain.
Problems that we may need to overcome:
1) Political Correctness: Dangerous ground getting kids to dress up as Nazis. Add in the Final Solution and how to deal with it sensitively and appropriately, and we have a cocktail of extremely difficult issues to contend with.
2) Parental Response: I will probably need to cast a Hitler and a Stalin. As a parent, how would you feel about Little Johnny playing HItler in the school play?
I will want to add some songs too. Classic war songs should do the trick. If you know any - other than "...the other is in the Albert Hall!" - let me know.
This project is on ice until December.
Setting A Trend
Simon's posted up the best referral search to his blog. He is number one for "gay beefeaters in uniforms" apparently. A good effort at trying to usurp the crazies who have found my Wonderful World through nutty searches, but it crumbles to dust in the face of this little gem:
"I had a dream last night that someone cooked a dog and put the whole dog on a plate with scramb[led eggs]"
A nice short concise search that one...
We also have:
Ikea Snake (possibly a reader testing me out)
Email Ikea
Table tennis twiddling learning
Optician Halloween (?)
Halloween image lady table window soldier (??)
Wonderful pregnancy
What do you predict may happen in the High Street over the next ten years
Giant chimney sweeps website
Clearly I am now a great source of information for those who are pregnant, those who need retail investment advice, people with massive chimneys, and Koreans.
We're back from the Inlaws. I could give you a full report on things, but Scott's already posted up his take on things (nicely done too), so I'll skip the details.
I will say that although I spent the majority of the time up there locked in a tiny room with my head in my books, it wasn't until I strolled into work this morning that I realised how energising a few days away from the office can be. I feel refreshed and full of spunk. I give it two days before this Well of Chi is drained by the leeches here at work.
As Scott points out, Emma has foolishly asked me if I'd like to write her a school play about WWII. Taking Sheila Starline's advice that one should never turn down such an opportunity, I've jumped at the chance, especially as the Second World War is one of my specialist subjects. I can't decide to go for the epic approach - a complete run through of all the major events of the conflict - or focus in on a single, smaller episode, with a human story / tragedy - i.e. a more humanistic approach.
The epic route has its appeal. Having a dozen kids running about on stage, with their arms flung horizontal to their bodies, screaming "neeeee-owwwww" and "badda badda badda!", could be a cheap and very effective way of recreating the Battle of Britain.
Problems that we may need to overcome:
1) Political Correctness: Dangerous ground getting kids to dress up as Nazis. Add in the Final Solution and how to deal with it sensitively and appropriately, and we have a cocktail of extremely difficult issues to contend with.
2) Parental Response: I will probably need to cast a Hitler and a Stalin. As a parent, how would you feel about Little Johnny playing HItler in the school play?
I will want to add some songs too. Classic war songs should do the trick. If you know any - other than "...the other is in the Albert Hall!" - let me know.
This project is on ice until December.
Setting A Trend
Simon's posted up the best referral search to his blog. He is number one for "gay beefeaters in uniforms" apparently. A good effort at trying to usurp the crazies who have found my Wonderful World through nutty searches, but it crumbles to dust in the face of this little gem:
"I had a dream last night that someone cooked a dog and put the whole dog on a plate with scramb[led eggs]"
A nice short concise search that one...
We also have:
Ikea Snake (possibly a reader testing me out)
Email Ikea
Table tennis twiddling learning
Optician Halloween (?)
Halloween image lady table window soldier (??)
Wonderful pregnancy
What do you predict may happen in the High Street over the next ten years
Giant chimney sweeps website
Clearly I am now a great source of information for those who are pregnant, those who need retail investment advice, people with massive chimneys, and Koreans.
Tuesday, November 05, 2002
The Training Camp
No updates for a few days because I've been residing at my training camp (aka The Inlaws) up in Carlisle, revising and preparing for my CIMA exams. Scott has this image that its like the forest-dwelling shack in Rocky 4, and I'm focussed like the big Rocky man himself.
Funnily enough, I'm writing this blog entry in a wooly hat after hours of sit ups and running miles through the trees. Sweat's pouring off of me, but I'm ready to crush those Commie exam invigilator bastards if its the last thing I do... Their defeat could well be the catalyst in breaking the whole Soviet-style CIMA global state apart.
Just stop Apollo from taking the exam before me.
The Prediction Was 66% Correct
The prediction was:
"We're bound to lose 1-0 to a last minute penalty, after a terrible game, and thoroughly lacklustre Oxford performance. It will rain and be bloody chilly too."
1-0 loss. Terrible game. Lacklustre Oxford performance. It pissed it down too. I should do horoscopes.
No updates for a few days because I've been residing at my training camp (aka The Inlaws) up in Carlisle, revising and preparing for my CIMA exams. Scott has this image that its like the forest-dwelling shack in Rocky 4, and I'm focussed like the big Rocky man himself.
Funnily enough, I'm writing this blog entry in a wooly hat after hours of sit ups and running miles through the trees. Sweat's pouring off of me, but I'm ready to crush those Commie exam invigilator bastards if its the last thing I do... Their defeat could well be the catalyst in breaking the whole Soviet-style CIMA global state apart.
Just stop Apollo from taking the exam before me.
The Prediction Was 66% Correct
The prediction was:
"We're bound to lose 1-0 to a last minute penalty, after a terrible game, and thoroughly lacklustre Oxford performance. It will rain and be bloody chilly too."
1-0 loss. Terrible game. Lacklustre Oxford performance. It pissed it down too. I should do horoscopes.
Friday, November 01, 2002
My Mind Resides In A Pumpkin Lantern
It took a while for Jacob (nephew) to get to bed last night. Like all kids at that age (3), he didn't want to go to sleep as he felt he was missing out on what the adults were doing downstairs. He came up with a whole host of excuses to try and get out of bed: he was afraid of the dark, there was a monster in the backgarden, he wasn't tired, etc. It was quite difficult to convince him that he was not actually missing out on any "play" - we were only talking and eating downstairs, that I'd have liked him to be downstairs just as much as he would, but unfortunately sleep came first. After a little ten minute one-on-one chat, he eventually admitted that he wasn't afraid of the dark, that there wasn't a monster in the garden, and he just wanted to rejoin the party (in the end I convinced him to accept a cuddle from his mummy instead). It's ironic that when he hits my age, he'll want to leave parties as soon as the clock strikes bedtime...
Jacob did manage to escape from his bedroom Colditz for five minutes, which was cool and well timed, as I was putting the final touches to my pumpkin lantern. I'd forgotten how much of a simple pleasure something as crude as carving a stupid face into a vegetable can be. I don't do much art or tangible creativity these days, so I really relished the chance to make the lantern. Bottomline, pumpkin lanterns are basic primitive artwork, and I think I've got a basic primitive need to create things running through my mind, body and soul.
I think this blog is a sad manifestation of that need.
The Yellow and Blue Army Strikes North!
After cancelling the planned trip last season, Scott and I (and the ladies) are making the big road trip up North today in order to see the mighty Oxford United play away at Carlisle. The trip represents a bit of a pilgrimage, and I'm looking forward to joining the rest of the away fan nutters who have made the ten hour round trip to watch football. Being an away fan at the best of times can induce a feeling of camaraderie, but Saturday should be quite a special Yellow and Blue Army atmosphere.
We're bound to lose 1-0 to a last minute penalty, after a terrible game, and thoroughly lacklustre Oxford performance. It will rain and be bloody chilly too.
It took a while for Jacob (nephew) to get to bed last night. Like all kids at that age (3), he didn't want to go to sleep as he felt he was missing out on what the adults were doing downstairs. He came up with a whole host of excuses to try and get out of bed: he was afraid of the dark, there was a monster in the backgarden, he wasn't tired, etc. It was quite difficult to convince him that he was not actually missing out on any "play" - we were only talking and eating downstairs, that I'd have liked him to be downstairs just as much as he would, but unfortunately sleep came first. After a little ten minute one-on-one chat, he eventually admitted that he wasn't afraid of the dark, that there wasn't a monster in the garden, and he just wanted to rejoin the party (in the end I convinced him to accept a cuddle from his mummy instead). It's ironic that when he hits my age, he'll want to leave parties as soon as the clock strikes bedtime...
Jacob did manage to escape from his bedroom Colditz for five minutes, which was cool and well timed, as I was putting the final touches to my pumpkin lantern. I'd forgotten how much of a simple pleasure something as crude as carving a stupid face into a vegetable can be. I don't do much art or tangible creativity these days, so I really relished the chance to make the lantern. Bottomline, pumpkin lanterns are basic primitive artwork, and I think I've got a basic primitive need to create things running through my mind, body and soul.
I think this blog is a sad manifestation of that need.
The Yellow and Blue Army Strikes North!
After cancelling the planned trip last season, Scott and I (and the ladies) are making the big road trip up North today in order to see the mighty Oxford United play away at Carlisle. The trip represents a bit of a pilgrimage, and I'm looking forward to joining the rest of the away fan nutters who have made the ten hour round trip to watch football. Being an away fan at the best of times can induce a feeling of camaraderie, but Saturday should be quite a special Yellow and Blue Army atmosphere.
We're bound to lose 1-0 to a last minute penalty, after a terrible game, and thoroughly lacklustre Oxford performance. It will rain and be bloody chilly too.
Thursday, October 31, 2002
I've not had much time over the last couple of days to write, so here is some cheapskate cutting, pasting and ripping off of other people's emails instead...
Potter Totter
Is what the internet bookie Blue Square calls its latest special betting opportunity. JK Rowling (author of the Harry Potter books) is apparently pregnant and due to pop in the Spring. You can gamble on what you think she will name her bonny new arrival. All the names you'd expect are there including:
Harry, at a generous 33-1
and
Voldemort, at 200-1
Larry's Good News - Update
Background Info: See my last post. Larry is 40 going on 22. He looks like an East End villian, but is a big softie. I emailed him to get the news straight from the horses mouth. His response (slightly edited) was as follows:
"Gonna get married in Scotland next September/October. There has been no great announcement and the news is just getting round. As for the proposal - top brownie points for me! I am now viewed in a completely new - and thus, favourable - light by all the women on the planet, or the ones that have spoken to Carole in the last week or so at least. The long version of events is ..... [and it is really long before I get to the point] .... Carole was away on a pampering week in a Scottish castle and I was at home on my Todd. For a couple of weeks I had a really annoying bunged up nose and I was sniffing, snorting and clearing my throat all the time and as a consequence I got only a couple of hours sleep for two nights running. So, I went to the doctor and he gave me some goo to settle me down and some penicillin to clear up the throat problem. Unfortunately by about 7pm I was climbing the walls. I've never had anything like this before but I was sweating, had a dry throat, my arms were flapping, I wanted to run out into the street, basically I was having a panic attack. I had enough wherewithal to phone for a doctor who spoke to me and told me what was happening and to blow into a bag, etc, etc. Anyway, a couple of days later Carole comes home and I'm still not sleeping properly (in fact I'm still not and am on double tamazipan, but I hope it's all clearing up), I wake up at 4:30am and decide to make the most of being up at that hour. I had planned how to propose for some time and it involved being up at that time of day so, I thought that there really was no time like the present - and the lack of sleep was clearly interfering with my reasoning processes. I woke Carole, told her not to argue and to just trust me this once, bundled her into the car, wrapped her in a blanket and drove into central London. She was well behaved considering the unreasonable nature of my actions and just thought that we were going for a walk down the Thames as I couldn't sleep. So, when we got to the middle of the Millennium (wobbly) Bridge and the dawn was rising behind Tower Bridge, I asked her. No audience, just me, her and the dawn over London. Romantic, huh?"
As I said, a big softie.
Congratulations Lazza.
Halloween Update
It's my mum and dad's wedding anniversary.
I bought a pumpkin to make a lantern - I haven't sculpted one since I was about six.
Vic has banned me from wearing my hobgoblin mask in case it scares the crap out of my 3 year old nephew (who we're seeing tonight). She reminded me that he freaked out in a farm shop when his dad tried on an innocent plastic sheep mask. My life-like goblin visage could permanently scar him.
James sent me an email earlier today relating a Halloween-themed story that seems very close to my own kid-scaring fantasties (related a few postings ago):
Read a funny interview with George Romero (director of night of the Living
Dead, etc) recently. He said he was preparing for his annual halloween party which he invites all his industry friends to. He says none of them dress up except for Tom Savini, who is a special effects wizard working primarily in the horror industry.
Have you seen from Dusk Till Dawn?
That film was developed as a showcase for Tom's company's work - he also
played Sex Machine in the film.
Apparently every year Tom goes all out to put himself in the scariest
costume he can create and spends all evening terrorising the children in
George Romero's neighbourhood!
How cool is that!"
If I was a special FX wizard, that's exactly what I would do too.
Potter Totter
Is what the internet bookie Blue Square calls its latest special betting opportunity. JK Rowling (author of the Harry Potter books) is apparently pregnant and due to pop in the Spring. You can gamble on what you think she will name her bonny new arrival. All the names you'd expect are there including:
Harry, at a generous 33-1
and
Voldemort, at 200-1
Larry's Good News - Update
Background Info: See my last post. Larry is 40 going on 22. He looks like an East End villian, but is a big softie. I emailed him to get the news straight from the horses mouth. His response (slightly edited) was as follows:
"Gonna get married in Scotland next September/October. There has been no great announcement and the news is just getting round. As for the proposal - top brownie points for me! I am now viewed in a completely new - and thus, favourable - light by all the women on the planet, or the ones that have spoken to Carole in the last week or so at least. The long version of events is ..... [and it is really long before I get to the point] .... Carole was away on a pampering week in a Scottish castle and I was at home on my Todd. For a couple of weeks I had a really annoying bunged up nose and I was sniffing, snorting and clearing my throat all the time and as a consequence I got only a couple of hours sleep for two nights running. So, I went to the doctor and he gave me some goo to settle me down and some penicillin to clear up the throat problem. Unfortunately by about 7pm I was climbing the walls. I've never had anything like this before but I was sweating, had a dry throat, my arms were flapping, I wanted to run out into the street, basically I was having a panic attack. I had enough wherewithal to phone for a doctor who spoke to me and told me what was happening and to blow into a bag, etc, etc. Anyway, a couple of days later Carole comes home and I'm still not sleeping properly (in fact I'm still not and am on double tamazipan, but I hope it's all clearing up), I wake up at 4:30am and decide to make the most of being up at that hour. I had planned how to propose for some time and it involved being up at that time of day so, I thought that there really was no time like the present - and the lack of sleep was clearly interfering with my reasoning processes. I woke Carole, told her not to argue and to just trust me this once, bundled her into the car, wrapped her in a blanket and drove into central London. She was well behaved considering the unreasonable nature of my actions and just thought that we were going for a walk down the Thames as I couldn't sleep. So, when we got to the middle of the Millennium (wobbly) Bridge and the dawn was rising behind Tower Bridge, I asked her. No audience, just me, her and the dawn over London. Romantic, huh?"
As I said, a big softie.
Congratulations Lazza.
Halloween Update
It's my mum and dad's wedding anniversary.
I bought a pumpkin to make a lantern - I haven't sculpted one since I was about six.
Vic has banned me from wearing my hobgoblin mask in case it scares the crap out of my 3 year old nephew (who we're seeing tonight). She reminded me that he freaked out in a farm shop when his dad tried on an innocent plastic sheep mask. My life-like goblin visage could permanently scar him.
James sent me an email earlier today relating a Halloween-themed story that seems very close to my own kid-scaring fantasties (related a few postings ago):
Read a funny interview with George Romero (director of night of the Living
Dead, etc) recently. He said he was preparing for his annual halloween party which he invites all his industry friends to. He says none of them dress up except for Tom Savini, who is a special effects wizard working primarily in the horror industry.
Have you seen from Dusk Till Dawn?
That film was developed as a showcase for Tom's company's work - he also
played Sex Machine in the film.
Apparently every year Tom goes all out to put himself in the scariest
costume he can create and spends all evening terrorising the children in
George Romero's neighbourhood!
How cool is that!"
If I was a special FX wizard, that's exactly what I would do too.
Tuesday, October 29, 2002
Great Coleman Balls Of Fire
Top quote from Radio 5 last night. News lady is reporting on the latest IVF mix-up story (Lady 1 has four eggs removed, the two bad ones are put back inside her and the two good ones are put inside Lady 2. Lady 2's two good eggs are put inside Lady 3. The doctors involved clearly shouldn't be playing God - they can't even play Doctors without f*cking things up...)
The presenter asks the reporter: "Should all people currently having IVF treatment be worried by this story?"
Reporter replies - totally deadpan: "Well we don't want to put the willies up people having IVF, but..."
Classic.
The Latest Poor Sucker...
...searched for "Guy Fawkes face masks".
A Bit Of A Teaser
Something which always conjures up a range of emotions and excitement, is when someone sends you an email with the final tag line of:
"Trust you've heard [so and so's] good news."
And you have no idea what they are talking about and cannot immediately email - or phone - them back to find out what this good news is. You're left in this limbo of not knowing, where your imagination goes to work dreaming up all of the possible good news options available. You're naturally happy that [so and so] has had some good news (if they are a friend and you care), but this joy is offset by the feeling that you've been left out of their loop: How come the guy who emailed you knows and you don't?! What makes it worse is that he expects you to know, hasn't given you a clue, and therefore you risk a loss of face having to email him back asking "What good news?". What if it's a wind-up?
Darren emailed me this morning with "Trust you've heard Larry's good news."
Having not yet been able to verify the facts, my imagination has come up with the following options:
1) Larry's going to be a daddy.
2) He's won the Lottery.
3) He's starring as a villian in the new James Bond film.
4) He and Carol are getting married.
5) They are moving to a huge house in France and he is planning to make wine.
6) His hair has spontaneously starting growing again.
7) His new teaching career is being accelerated and he has a headmastership of some top school lined up.
8) The rugby team he coaches - Burnham D team - has won some cup or something and he has been offered the job of head coach of his beloved Saracens.
As soon as I get the result, I'll let you know. It's quite exciting isn't it!
Top quote from Radio 5 last night. News lady is reporting on the latest IVF mix-up story (Lady 1 has four eggs removed, the two bad ones are put back inside her and the two good ones are put inside Lady 2. Lady 2's two good eggs are put inside Lady 3. The doctors involved clearly shouldn't be playing God - they can't even play Doctors without f*cking things up...)
The presenter asks the reporter: "Should all people currently having IVF treatment be worried by this story?"
Reporter replies - totally deadpan: "Well we don't want to put the willies up people having IVF, but..."
Classic.
The Latest Poor Sucker...
...searched for "Guy Fawkes face masks".
A Bit Of A Teaser
Something which always conjures up a range of emotions and excitement, is when someone sends you an email with the final tag line of:
"Trust you've heard [so and so's] good news."
And you have no idea what they are talking about and cannot immediately email - or phone - them back to find out what this good news is. You're left in this limbo of not knowing, where your imagination goes to work dreaming up all of the possible good news options available. You're naturally happy that [so and so] has had some good news (if they are a friend and you care), but this joy is offset by the feeling that you've been left out of their loop: How come the guy who emailed you knows and you don't?! What makes it worse is that he expects you to know, hasn't given you a clue, and therefore you risk a loss of face having to email him back asking "What good news?". What if it's a wind-up?
Darren emailed me this morning with "Trust you've heard Larry's good news."
Having not yet been able to verify the facts, my imagination has come up with the following options:
1) Larry's going to be a daddy.
2) He's won the Lottery.
3) He's starring as a villian in the new James Bond film.
4) He and Carol are getting married.
5) They are moving to a huge house in France and he is planning to make wine.
6) His hair has spontaneously starting growing again.
7) His new teaching career is being accelerated and he has a headmastership of some top school lined up.
8) The rugby team he coaches - Burnham D team - has won some cup or something and he has been offered the job of head coach of his beloved Saracens.
As soon as I get the result, I'll let you know. It's quite exciting isn't it!
Monday, October 28, 2002
Home Is Where The Hearth Is
HIP #4 is coming along quite nicely now. The new fireplace hearth is bedded down in cement, and the wooden flooring is shaping up around it. Once Tony the Werewolf boxes in the pipework, we'll be able to finish lying the floor and the skirting boards.
The hearth was eventually purchased from Site 77 - a reclaimation yard in Aston Clinton - on Friday. It is a reproduction - a single piece of black granite polished to a beautiful shiny surface. It catches and reflects the light, and if you gaze upon it, you can see your face looking back from its dark depths. If you stood it on its side, it would look like the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey.
After putting the floor down, we crashed out on the sofa and sat open-mouthed, gazing upon the granite hearth like primitive apemen. Vic even picked up a large thigh bone, bashed the granite with it, and roared with primal rage.
"Rah!"
You probably don't realise how frustrating it is getting these things straight and level...
Spelling Correction
There's only one L in cassoulet.
Signs
Watched the movie Signs on Friday night. Pretty good. Well-acted, nicely paced, understated, and apart from the rather obvious Sixth Sense style twist, just unpredictable enough to keep you guessing. It was also notable in that it managed to make me jump - something very few films do. The poor skewered doggy now finds himself on a short-list with:
The head in the small boat with the hole in its hull in Jaws.
Something stupid - perhaps a squeeling cat - in the original Halloween.
The zombie that jumps out of the bedroom cupboard in the first Resident Evil PS1 game.
Vic when telling me to pick up my dirty socks and pants and put them in the washing basket.
HIP #4 is coming along quite nicely now. The new fireplace hearth is bedded down in cement, and the wooden flooring is shaping up around it. Once Tony the Werewolf boxes in the pipework, we'll be able to finish lying the floor and the skirting boards.
The hearth was eventually purchased from Site 77 - a reclaimation yard in Aston Clinton - on Friday. It is a reproduction - a single piece of black granite polished to a beautiful shiny surface. It catches and reflects the light, and if you gaze upon it, you can see your face looking back from its dark depths. If you stood it on its side, it would look like the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey.
After putting the floor down, we crashed out on the sofa and sat open-mouthed, gazing upon the granite hearth like primitive apemen. Vic even picked up a large thigh bone, bashed the granite with it, and roared with primal rage.
"Rah!"
You probably don't realise how frustrating it is getting these things straight and level...
Spelling Correction
There's only one L in cassoulet.
Signs
Watched the movie Signs on Friday night. Pretty good. Well-acted, nicely paced, understated, and apart from the rather obvious Sixth Sense style twist, just unpredictable enough to keep you guessing. It was also notable in that it managed to make me jump - something very few films do. The poor skewered doggy now finds himself on a short-list with:
The head in the small boat with the hole in its hull in Jaws.
Something stupid - perhaps a squeeling cat - in the original Halloween.
The zombie that jumps out of the bedroom cupboard in the first Resident Evil PS1 game.
Vic when telling me to pick up my dirty socks and pants and put them in the washing basket.
Thursday, October 24, 2002
Cane Rat Cassoullet
It gets worse. I'm 5th on Yahoo if you search for "Cassoullet". Bizarre isn't it...
The person from South Africa who did the search was presumably looking for a recipe to use their Cane Rat meat in. These big rodent fella are farmed for their juicy bush meat all over Africa, and are particularly good in spicy curries (according to the South African guy I used to work with at Entranet - his family are farmers).
Great Britons ?
The BBC are running their search for the Greatest Briton at the moment. Go cast your vote. Like all UK public votes, the results are laughable: tabloid attitudes, lack of historical knowledge and short-term memories combine to produce truly bizarre and embarassing top ten and 100 lists.
Diana is in the top ten, currently in 5th place behind Brunel, Churchill, Darwin and Shakespeare. The Peoples Princess is ahead of Newton and Elizabeth I. That's right, Diana - who did nothing for Britain except a few charity gigs and get our sympathy for a foolish broken marriage - is ahead of Queen Elizabeth the First. It beggars belief. Diana shouldn't even be in the top 50.
But it's the top 100 that really blows:
17 Michael Crawford
29 David Bowie
30 Guy Fawkes (anarchist vote #1)
33 David Beckham (ahead of the late great Bobby Moore at 69th - captain of our 1966 World Cup winners and a supreme gentleman)
40 King Henry VIII (surprisingly low in the ratings)
43 John Peel
46 Boy George
56 Sir Cliff Richard
58 Freddie Mercury (he wasn't even British)
76 The Unknown Soldier (unexpected but I can see where people were coming from)
77 Robbie Williams
83 JK Rowling
87 John Lydon (anarchist vote #2)
Can someone please explain how Michael Crawford weighs in on the chart in 17th place?!
Halloween Lunch Cancelled
Our canteen run theme days at strategic points of the year. Valentines Day will see a special Valentine Menu. So does Burns Night, Chinese New Year, and Gandhi's Birthday. Normally we have a special Halloween Menu, but this year's has been cancelled because our devoutly Seven Day Adventist Facilities Manager thinks it will promote paganism here at work. The place feels like hell, and we already have plenty of witches, so I can't see how serving up Ghoul-Lash and Stake and Kidney Pie is going to make things any worse...
It gets worse. I'm 5th on Yahoo if you search for "Cassoullet". Bizarre isn't it...
The person from South Africa who did the search was presumably looking for a recipe to use their Cane Rat meat in. These big rodent fella are farmed for their juicy bush meat all over Africa, and are particularly good in spicy curries (according to the South African guy I used to work with at Entranet - his family are farmers).
Great Britons ?
The BBC are running their search for the Greatest Briton at the moment. Go cast your vote. Like all UK public votes, the results are laughable: tabloid attitudes, lack of historical knowledge and short-term memories combine to produce truly bizarre and embarassing top ten and 100 lists.
Diana is in the top ten, currently in 5th place behind Brunel, Churchill, Darwin and Shakespeare. The Peoples Princess is ahead of Newton and Elizabeth I. That's right, Diana - who did nothing for Britain except a few charity gigs and get our sympathy for a foolish broken marriage - is ahead of Queen Elizabeth the First. It beggars belief. Diana shouldn't even be in the top 50.
But it's the top 100 that really blows:
17 Michael Crawford
29 David Bowie
30 Guy Fawkes (anarchist vote #1)
33 David Beckham (ahead of the late great Bobby Moore at 69th - captain of our 1966 World Cup winners and a supreme gentleman)
40 King Henry VIII (surprisingly low in the ratings)
43 John Peel
46 Boy George
56 Sir Cliff Richard
58 Freddie Mercury (he wasn't even British)
76 The Unknown Soldier (unexpected but I can see where people were coming from)
77 Robbie Williams
83 JK Rowling
87 John Lydon (anarchist vote #2)
Can someone please explain how Michael Crawford weighs in on the chart in 17th place?!
Halloween Lunch Cancelled
Our canteen run theme days at strategic points of the year. Valentines Day will see a special Valentine Menu. So does Burns Night, Chinese New Year, and Gandhi's Birthday. Normally we have a special Halloween Menu, but this year's has been cancelled because our devoutly Seven Day Adventist Facilities Manager thinks it will promote paganism here at work. The place feels like hell, and we already have plenty of witches, so I can't see how serving up Ghoul-Lash and Stake and Kidney Pie is going to make things any worse...
Wednesday, October 23, 2002
A Clean Sweep
Firstly, hello to Kelly at Lilac Senses. She's the second alien blogger to link to me. My excitement at being linked to is probably a source of great amusement to veteran bloggers, but as this stuff is all new to me, I can't help but get a warm rosy feeling inside at the thought that at least two net trawlers have liked my ramblings enough to come back for more. I'm really looking forward to getting my first "blogs to avoid" link though. That will be cool.
One of Kelly's recent postings gives a dire warning about the dangers of open fires and the importance of having your chimney swept by a qualified professional. Taking her terrifying story of exploding oil burners and chimney fires to heart, we had our chimney swept yesterday by our local sweep. Actually it was pure coincidence, but I'm thanking my lucky stars we've had it done.
What was a slight disappointment was the fact he didn't look as if he was in Mary Poppins - no flat cap, no sooty face, no black hands and no dancing on rooftops. He didn't even have a team of small street urchins with him to run up the stack and distract old ladies while he pockets the family silver. He looked like a van driver and just had a big industrial-sized hoover which sucked all the soot down the chimney. Clean as a whistle guv'nor.
Renaming The Blog For Financial Gain
I told you I was obsessed with them, and now I'm thinking of renaming the blog "The Unofficial Ikea Snake Website" and changing the colours to a lurid lime green.
I will then email Ikea's Marketing Manager, point out the fact that if you search for Ikea+Snake on Google you find this blog, and attempt to blag not just a crate of free snakes to give away to Thame's street urchins - who cannot even get jobs as chimney sweep monkeys - but a whole new Ikea-funded kitchen makeover as well!
I will of course retain all rights to Unofficial Ikea Snake Website merchandise. Mugs, T-shirts, pens, giant inflatable Ikea Snakes to wave at football, sex toys and Ikea Snake halloween masks. I'm going to make a mint.
All Hallows Eve
Halloween is just a week away. The americanism that is Trick or Treat has breached Britain's defenses and the whole "let's go and scare the crap out of old folks by dressing up as demons and knocking on their doors begging for sweets and money" thing grows exponentially each year. Ten years ago, the best masks you could buy here were of the rubbish 99p flimsy plastic variety that would cut your face or gouge out your eyes if you put them on wrong. These days we can get hold of the life-like soft rubber masks dead-easy and I love 'em!
I have a goblin mask that freaks Vic out, and last year I wore it to greet little tricksters at the door. I did the full goblin act - hunched over, lurching about, stupid voice, etc. Three eleven year old boys who came a knocking didn't know what to do or say apart from a nervous "but we're the ones who are meant to be dressed up!".
They were disturbed, but not quite enough for my liking, so this year I'm going to do things properly. I'm going to make a pumpkin lantern and pop his evil grinning head in the front window. I will wear my mask again, but this time in unison with a butchers apron splashed with a bucket of pigs blood from top-sausage makers Newitts. If anyone has a chainsaw I could borrow to top off the outfit, I'd be much obliged. Otherwise I'll have to make do with using a garden fork or spade from the shed.
That should impress the neighbours.
Firstly, hello to Kelly at Lilac Senses. She's the second alien blogger to link to me. My excitement at being linked to is probably a source of great amusement to veteran bloggers, but as this stuff is all new to me, I can't help but get a warm rosy feeling inside at the thought that at least two net trawlers have liked my ramblings enough to come back for more. I'm really looking forward to getting my first "blogs to avoid" link though. That will be cool.
One of Kelly's recent postings gives a dire warning about the dangers of open fires and the importance of having your chimney swept by a qualified professional. Taking her terrifying story of exploding oil burners and chimney fires to heart, we had our chimney swept yesterday by our local sweep. Actually it was pure coincidence, but I'm thanking my lucky stars we've had it done.
What was a slight disappointment was the fact he didn't look as if he was in Mary Poppins - no flat cap, no sooty face, no black hands and no dancing on rooftops. He didn't even have a team of small street urchins with him to run up the stack and distract old ladies while he pockets the family silver. He looked like a van driver and just had a big industrial-sized hoover which sucked all the soot down the chimney. Clean as a whistle guv'nor.
Renaming The Blog For Financial Gain
I told you I was obsessed with them, and now I'm thinking of renaming the blog "The Unofficial Ikea Snake Website" and changing the colours to a lurid lime green.
I will then email Ikea's Marketing Manager, point out the fact that if you search for Ikea+Snake on Google you find this blog, and attempt to blag not just a crate of free snakes to give away to Thame's street urchins - who cannot even get jobs as chimney sweep monkeys - but a whole new Ikea-funded kitchen makeover as well!
I will of course retain all rights to Unofficial Ikea Snake Website merchandise. Mugs, T-shirts, pens, giant inflatable Ikea Snakes to wave at football, sex toys and Ikea Snake halloween masks. I'm going to make a mint.
All Hallows Eve
Halloween is just a week away. The americanism that is Trick or Treat has breached Britain's defenses and the whole "let's go and scare the crap out of old folks by dressing up as demons and knocking on their doors begging for sweets and money" thing grows exponentially each year. Ten years ago, the best masks you could buy here were of the rubbish 99p flimsy plastic variety that would cut your face or gouge out your eyes if you put them on wrong. These days we can get hold of the life-like soft rubber masks dead-easy and I love 'em!
I have a goblin mask that freaks Vic out, and last year I wore it to greet little tricksters at the door. I did the full goblin act - hunched over, lurching about, stupid voice, etc. Three eleven year old boys who came a knocking didn't know what to do or say apart from a nervous "but we're the ones who are meant to be dressed up!".
They were disturbed, but not quite enough for my liking, so this year I'm going to do things properly. I'm going to make a pumpkin lantern and pop his evil grinning head in the front window. I will wear my mask again, but this time in unison with a butchers apron splashed with a bucket of pigs blood from top-sausage makers Newitts. If anyone has a chainsaw I could borrow to top off the outfit, I'd be much obliged. Otherwise I'll have to make do with using a garden fork or spade from the shed.
That should impress the neighbours.
Tuesday, October 22, 2002
Google Is Great
Sitemeter lets me see what site referred you to my Wonderful World. Go check out the link at the bottom of the page.
Mostly it's "unknown", but some are via Google.
Some poor German games freak searched for Coppertwaddle and found me. Not a surprise as there's only a handful of sites that may have commented on this top game.
More worrying is if you had searched for Ant and Dec at the NTA awards. I'm listed second on the results.
Or for Ikea Snake. I'm listed first - that's my CEC article - and second. Cue writ from Swedish corporate giant...
I'd like to apologise to those who searched for these links. It's a crazy world and I'm not helping.
Sitemeter lets me see what site referred you to my Wonderful World. Go check out the link at the bottom of the page.
Mostly it's "unknown", but some are via Google.
Some poor German games freak searched for Coppertwaddle and found me. Not a surprise as there's only a handful of sites that may have commented on this top game.
More worrying is if you had searched for Ant and Dec at the NTA awards. I'm listed second on the results.
Or for Ikea Snake. I'm listed first - that's my CEC article - and second. Cue writ from Swedish corporate giant...
I'd like to apologise to those who searched for these links. It's a crazy world and I'm not helping.
Mister Magoo
I need to get my eyes tested. Last time they saw an optician was 12 years ago, before we had to pay for the privilege. A lot can go wrong in 12 years, and as some helpful lady said on the telly, visiting your optician is more important than visiting your dentist: they can replace your teeth with synthethics, but you only get one chance with your eyes.
I need glasses of course. I've known this for the last 2 years. The realisation came at the inlaws when trying to read Teletext - the text was all blurred and fuzzy. Since then I've noticed how much quicker Vic reads road signs than me, how I struggle to read the overhead projector on my CIMA courses, and how much longer it takes me to change focus from long to short vision. I've also noticed a difference when playing golf and table tennis. Reading the football scores on Teletext last night - through my wine glass - kicked off the "I'm going" blind panic again.
I'm not surprised that my eye-sight has deteriorated, as both of my parents, all of my grandparents, and now my brother, all wear glasses. I don't have a problem with me wearing glasses: Not only will I be able to see the world as it is again, but I reckon they'll add an extra 20 points to my IQ, and with the right pair I might look as sexy as Sara. What does depress me though is the inescapable truth that my failing eys are another indication that I'm getting old. My youthful atheletic body is gradually turning into a decrepid husk.
I'll look more like Smithers than Harry Potter.
The Bells Toll
An alarm went off at 3:30 am this morning on the industrial area across from our house. Alarms have been going off virtually every night for the last few weeks. The noise pollution and lack of sleep is driving me mad. I will be psycho within a week if they continue. What can you do about them at 3:30 in the morning?! A second call to the police today resulted in a friendly chap advising me to "phone the council" aka "the police have better things to worry about". They'll soon change their tune when I go loco in Thame's High Street, dancing like a monkey with my imaginary Ikea Snake...
I need to get my eyes tested. Last time they saw an optician was 12 years ago, before we had to pay for the privilege. A lot can go wrong in 12 years, and as some helpful lady said on the telly, visiting your optician is more important than visiting your dentist: they can replace your teeth with synthethics, but you only get one chance with your eyes.
I need glasses of course. I've known this for the last 2 years. The realisation came at the inlaws when trying to read Teletext - the text was all blurred and fuzzy. Since then I've noticed how much quicker Vic reads road signs than me, how I struggle to read the overhead projector on my CIMA courses, and how much longer it takes me to change focus from long to short vision. I've also noticed a difference when playing golf and table tennis. Reading the football scores on Teletext last night - through my wine glass - kicked off the "I'm going" blind panic again.
I'm not surprised that my eye-sight has deteriorated, as both of my parents, all of my grandparents, and now my brother, all wear glasses. I don't have a problem with me wearing glasses: Not only will I be able to see the world as it is again, but I reckon they'll add an extra 20 points to my IQ, and with the right pair I might look as sexy as Sara. What does depress me though is the inescapable truth that my failing eys are another indication that I'm getting old. My youthful atheletic body is gradually turning into a decrepid husk.
I'll look more like Smithers than Harry Potter.
The Bells Toll
An alarm went off at 3:30 am this morning on the industrial area across from our house. Alarms have been going off virtually every night for the last few weeks. The noise pollution and lack of sleep is driving me mad. I will be psycho within a week if they continue. What can you do about them at 3:30 in the morning?! A second call to the police today resulted in a friendly chap advising me to "phone the council" aka "the police have better things to worry about". They'll soon change their tune when I go loco in Thame's High Street, dancing like a monkey with my imaginary Ikea Snake...
Monday, October 21, 2002
The Snake Basket
The Ikea Snake was in the shopping basket for just under 10 minutes, before Vic discovered it and threw him out. Next time I'll stick it down my trousers. Didn't buy any large items of furniture - it all looked a bit cheap. Why did I expect anything different? It's Ikea! Bonus though was the A40 into London. It should be renamed Hubcap Row.
Friday's Sweepstake
Julian asked the question at 11:02 am Friday morning.
Scott and Emma Come For Dinner
I'd been looking forward to it all day: Scott and Em coming over for dinner on Saturday night. It was one of those "I want to spend some time with friends" days. I have to say that, as usual, I really enjoyed it (Scott reads this and will tell Em if I say anything otherwise. I could've had some fun at Emma's expense and said that I didn't enjoy it, but that would be a lie and result in a clip round the ear from Em AND Vic).
Dish of the Day - apart from Scott and me - was Jamie Oliver's Quick Sausage Cassoullet with mash potatoes, followed by sticky toffee pudding. Emma, in an attempt to avoid using our toilet (she presumably has an image of me pissing all over the seat), drank all of half a cup of ginger beer whilst Scott put the lager away in his typically boisterous fashion.
As this blog is a result of me copying Scott's, it was natural that some of the evening was spent discussing blogs. By the end of the evening we had concluded that Emma should have her own blog, as the stories she tells would grace the best of the best. "Confessions of a Primary School Teacher" - with its tales of gypsy kids cursing one another and ripping each others faces off - would top many a "blogs I read" bookmark list. Add in Emma's glamour photography stories and it would rip through the internet, leaving rubber Scaryducks bobbing in its wake...
Political Sentiment Of The Day
British firemen are going ahead with their strikes in an attempt to force through a 40% pay-increase demand. I have every sympathy for them - £21K for a qualified firefighter is hardly sufficient remuneration (images of Septemebr 11th jump to mind) - but their plan to strike on Bonfire Night does seem a little irresponsible...
Plus, please avoid getting trapped in a car wreck over the next few weeks: Specialist cutting equipment won't be made available to the spotty 17 year-old soldier, who will turn up too late to save you, in a 1960's Green Goddess firetruck. Presumably he'll have to use an old tin-opener to prise you out of the twisted metal and pop you in the bodybag.
People will die because of this strike. Whose fault will it be? The firemen or their paymasters? As soon as this happens, public support for the strike action will drop like a rock.
The Ikea Snake was in the shopping basket for just under 10 minutes, before Vic discovered it and threw him out. Next time I'll stick it down my trousers. Didn't buy any large items of furniture - it all looked a bit cheap. Why did I expect anything different? It's Ikea! Bonus though was the A40 into London. It should be renamed Hubcap Row.
Friday's Sweepstake
Julian asked the question at 11:02 am Friday morning.
Scott and Emma Come For Dinner
I'd been looking forward to it all day: Scott and Em coming over for dinner on Saturday night. It was one of those "I want to spend some time with friends" days. I have to say that, as usual, I really enjoyed it (Scott reads this and will tell Em if I say anything otherwise. I could've had some fun at Emma's expense and said that I didn't enjoy it, but that would be a lie and result in a clip round the ear from Em AND Vic).
Dish of the Day - apart from Scott and me - was Jamie Oliver's Quick Sausage Cassoullet with mash potatoes, followed by sticky toffee pudding. Emma, in an attempt to avoid using our toilet (she presumably has an image of me pissing all over the seat), drank all of half a cup of ginger beer whilst Scott put the lager away in his typically boisterous fashion.
As this blog is a result of me copying Scott's, it was natural that some of the evening was spent discussing blogs. By the end of the evening we had concluded that Emma should have her own blog, as the stories she tells would grace the best of the best. "Confessions of a Primary School Teacher" - with its tales of gypsy kids cursing one another and ripping each others faces off - would top many a "blogs I read" bookmark list. Add in Emma's glamour photography stories and it would rip through the internet, leaving rubber Scaryducks bobbing in its wake...
Political Sentiment Of The Day
British firemen are going ahead with their strikes in an attempt to force through a 40% pay-increase demand. I have every sympathy for them - £21K for a qualified firefighter is hardly sufficient remuneration (images of Septemebr 11th jump to mind) - but their plan to strike on Bonfire Night does seem a little irresponsible...
Plus, please avoid getting trapped in a car wreck over the next few weeks: Specialist cutting equipment won't be made available to the spotty 17 year-old soldier, who will turn up too late to save you, in a 1960's Green Goddess firetruck. Presumably he'll have to use an old tin-opener to prise you out of the twisted metal and pop you in the bodybag.
People will die because of this strike. Whose fault will it be? The firemen or their paymasters? As soon as this happens, public support for the strike action will drop like a rock.
Friday, October 18, 2002
The Games We Play
We a title like that, this post should be about how I screwed over some poor fool or something. However...
Forgot to give the link to Snatch yesterday. If you like word games, you'll love Snatch. Although they've ripped off an old english palour game, Portobello Games deserve congratulations for sticking their necks - and own cash - on the line to produce this version. I highly recommend the game. It can be played casually or competitively. Really nice look to the game, high quality pieces, and it looks good on your coffee table too. Simple rules, no frills, classic game. Educational too. We have our own copy and bought one for Sara for Christmas. The fact that Portobello sold out of stock at the start of the year says it all really. It also won The Times best game of the year award for 2001. Go buy it!
And in case you're wondering, no the makers aren't my friends.
If you want to buy a great card game that IS produced by one of my friends, try Coppertwaddle. One-on-one card game, medium complexity, high quality production, stupid name.
End of the commercial break.
We a title like that, this post should be about how I screwed over some poor fool or something. However...
Forgot to give the link to Snatch yesterday. If you like word games, you'll love Snatch. Although they've ripped off an old english palour game, Portobello Games deserve congratulations for sticking their necks - and own cash - on the line to produce this version. I highly recommend the game. It can be played casually or competitively. Really nice look to the game, high quality pieces, and it looks good on your coffee table too. Simple rules, no frills, classic game. Educational too. We have our own copy and bought one for Sara for Christmas. The fact that Portobello sold out of stock at the start of the year says it all really. It also won The Times best game of the year award for 2001. Go buy it!
And in case you're wondering, no the makers aren't my friends.
If you want to buy a great card game that IS produced by one of my friends, try Coppertwaddle. One-on-one card game, medium complexity, high quality production, stupid name.
End of the commercial break.
Thursday, October 17, 2002
Must Do More Together
After Tuesday nights exciting evening in front of the telly, Vic and I have decided to do a few more things together midweek.
Vic watches a little too much telly, and freely acknowledged this last night. Her idea is to cut down on the brain-rotting activity and start doing more things together. The original plan of me going to the gym with her has predictably collapsed, and my membership has been cancelled from November (I've been about once in the last 12 months). Jogging after work - as we did for a few weeks in the built up to her sponsored cancer charity run - is not something I enjoy in the dark, cold and wet. Realistically - as Vic is unlikely to want to come with me to Monday night table tennis and Wednesday night Magic - we're talking about games of Scrabble and Snatch in front of our new fireplace (if it ever gets ordered).
Which is cool.
We may even catch up on some old classic movies on DVD that we've never seen - although this is cheating, as watching a DVD isn't really that different from just watching the telly. We'll have our own little film club.
And perhaps a book club too, as I've not been reading as much recently and have a stack of books I need to catch up with: I'm halfway through Redcoat, and have Northern Lights, A New History of the Third Reich, HP Goblet of Fire, More What If? and Colditz all ready to go. I've also got to get registered at our local library asap.
We are also determined to do more walks on a Sunday, and up our National Trust usage to a more acceptable level.
Progress Report: HIP#4
One thing we are doing together, but in shifts, is HIP#4. Current situation is: Vic is off work for a couple of days painting the ceiling and newly plastered walls. The colour is a light and airy Ivory Cream. We've chosen the fireplace hearth: natural Cotswold stone, that a full mantlepiece can be built up from at a later date (when we have some cash - anyone want to advertise on this site? Cheap rates!). Unfortunately the store we're trying to order it through is useless, and it looks as if, when finally ordered, it won't arrive until the 4th of November. The floor, skirting boards and woodwork cannot be fitted until the hearth goes down. Another two weeks of living in the kitchen and dining room with all the furniture. Joy. Off to Ikea to find some low cost storage solutions tomorrow. The big goal for me is of course getting an Ikea Snake in the trolley and through the tills without Vicster spotting it.
As I'm likely to shout with glee, wave it around, pretend it's alive, attack Vic and scare random children with it in the shop, it's a fair bet to wager that the snake won't get successfully smuggled out...
Stuff Of The Day
Science article OTD: Learn what an Event Horizon is and why there is a big void in your life.
Bad joke OTD:
Me - "Fancy a date Julian?" [Offering a packet of the glistening dried fruits]
Julian - "No thanks!"
Me - "What about one of these then?" [Waving the packet of dates]
After Tuesday nights exciting evening in front of the telly, Vic and I have decided to do a few more things together midweek.
Vic watches a little too much telly, and freely acknowledged this last night. Her idea is to cut down on the brain-rotting activity and start doing more things together. The original plan of me going to the gym with her has predictably collapsed, and my membership has been cancelled from November (I've been about once in the last 12 months). Jogging after work - as we did for a few weeks in the built up to her sponsored cancer charity run - is not something I enjoy in the dark, cold and wet. Realistically - as Vic is unlikely to want to come with me to Monday night table tennis and Wednesday night Magic - we're talking about games of Scrabble and Snatch in front of our new fireplace (if it ever gets ordered).
Which is cool.
We may even catch up on some old classic movies on DVD that we've never seen - although this is cheating, as watching a DVD isn't really that different from just watching the telly. We'll have our own little film club.
And perhaps a book club too, as I've not been reading as much recently and have a stack of books I need to catch up with: I'm halfway through Redcoat, and have Northern Lights, A New History of the Third Reich, HP Goblet of Fire, More What If? and Colditz all ready to go. I've also got to get registered at our local library asap.
We are also determined to do more walks on a Sunday, and up our National Trust usage to a more acceptable level.
Progress Report: HIP#4
One thing we are doing together, but in shifts, is HIP#4. Current situation is: Vic is off work for a couple of days painting the ceiling and newly plastered walls. The colour is a light and airy Ivory Cream. We've chosen the fireplace hearth: natural Cotswold stone, that a full mantlepiece can be built up from at a later date (when we have some cash - anyone want to advertise on this site? Cheap rates!). Unfortunately the store we're trying to order it through is useless, and it looks as if, when finally ordered, it won't arrive until the 4th of November. The floor, skirting boards and woodwork cannot be fitted until the hearth goes down. Another two weeks of living in the kitchen and dining room with all the furniture. Joy. Off to Ikea to find some low cost storage solutions tomorrow. The big goal for me is of course getting an Ikea Snake in the trolley and through the tills without Vicster spotting it.
As I'm likely to shout with glee, wave it around, pretend it's alive, attack Vic and scare random children with it in the shop, it's a fair bet to wager that the snake won't get successfully smuggled out...
Stuff Of The Day
Science article OTD: Learn what an Event Horizon is and why there is a big void in your life.
Bad joke OTD:
Me - "Fancy a date Julian?" [Offering a packet of the glistening dried fruits]
Julian - "No thanks!"
Me - "What about one of these then?" [Waving the packet of dates]
Wednesday, October 16, 2002
And The Winner Is...
Last night's telly was utter crap.
Normally I'd switch off and do something less boring instead, but last night I just wanted to veg out. Unfortunately there was NOTHING on the box of any note, and we ended up watching The National Television Awards *. It was like watching a car crash. Horrible, but hypnotic. Twice I leapt off the sofa and began pacing the room like a freaked-out psycho monkey trapped in cage.
It was TV of gutter life. The lowest common-denominator. The show should have been called "TV What Sun Readers Enjoy Most".
We played a guessing game: Predict the four or five programmes, or peeps, who would be on the short-list for the "best soup opera newcomer with blonde hair and a nice pair" award. Then predict the winner.
It was actually really easy in the end. You just picked anything and everything with David Jason in it. Best actor, best drama, best comedy. If David Jason wasn't in it, then you picked Ant and Dec, and if they weren't in the running, you picked the lady - especially if she appealed to the male Sun readers. It'll be exactly the same next year too.
The most exciting moment for me - apart from the size of Trevor McDonald's huge dickie - was seeing Bargain Hunt pick up Best Daytime TV show. David D was magnificent. He even thanked all those Bargain Hunters out there. I was overcome with emotion, and if I could have spoken through the tears, I would have phoned Scott up (DD's other fan) to celebrate.
The only real surprise is that Tina and the gang haven't mentioned it once today.
* Abbreviated to NTA. Considering television is normally abbreviated to TV, surely it should have been NTVA?
Last night's telly was utter crap.
Normally I'd switch off and do something less boring instead, but last night I just wanted to veg out. Unfortunately there was NOTHING on the box of any note, and we ended up watching The National Television Awards *. It was like watching a car crash. Horrible, but hypnotic. Twice I leapt off the sofa and began pacing the room like a freaked-out psycho monkey trapped in cage.
It was TV of gutter life. The lowest common-denominator. The show should have been called "TV What Sun Readers Enjoy Most".
We played a guessing game: Predict the four or five programmes, or peeps, who would be on the short-list for the "best soup opera newcomer with blonde hair and a nice pair" award. Then predict the winner.
It was actually really easy in the end. You just picked anything and everything with David Jason in it. Best actor, best drama, best comedy. If David Jason wasn't in it, then you picked Ant and Dec, and if they weren't in the running, you picked the lady - especially if she appealed to the male Sun readers. It'll be exactly the same next year too.
The most exciting moment for me - apart from the size of Trevor McDonald's huge dickie - was seeing Bargain Hunt pick up Best Daytime TV show. David D was magnificent. He even thanked all those Bargain Hunters out there. I was overcome with emotion, and if I could have spoken through the tears, I would have phoned Scott up (DD's other fan) to celebrate.
The only real surprise is that Tina and the gang haven't mentioned it once today.
* Abbreviated to NTA. Considering television is normally abbreviated to TV, surely it should have been NTVA?
Tuesday, October 15, 2002
Wrong Spelling, Wight Idea
They were discussing Bali this morning and to quote Tina (slightly - only slightly - out of context):
"Bali is like the Isle of Wight"
Remember, Tina's most exotic holiday was in Devon.
Ironically, if you subtly change the spelling of Wight to White, Tina's accidently hit the nail on the head: If they were Islamic terrorists who perpetrated the attack, then this is probably exactly what they viewed Bali as.
The Isle of White.
They were discussing Bali this morning and to quote Tina (slightly - only slightly - out of context):
"Bali is like the Isle of Wight"
Remember, Tina's most exotic holiday was in Devon.
Ironically, if you subtly change the spelling of Wight to White, Tina's accidently hit the nail on the head: If they were Islamic terrorists who perpetrated the attack, then this is probably exactly what they viewed Bali as.
The Isle of White.
Monday, October 14, 2002
Welcome to the Wonderful World of Grey
It's not that I don't like autumn: Who doesn't love the changing of the leaves from green to gold? And it's not like I hate the winter either: Crisp frosty mornings, and Christmas-card dustings of snow, make me feel alive just as much as they do anyone else. I even enjoy a little occasional mist. And I certainly get spellbound by fallen leaves, picked up in an eddy, and spun and danced by the breeze.
It's just the darkness and the short days that get me down. I think - and I've been told this many times by friends and family - that I'm a bit SAD.
I'm fortunate to have a window seat at work. In the spring and summer it's a godsend. The sun comes through so brightly we had to tint the windows this summer to ensure our eyeballs didn't poach in our skulls. Unfortunately the tints have now come back to haunt us: They make an already dull and grey day even darker. There's nothing better than gazing out onto a dull and grey industrial estate, on a dull and grey Monday morning, to get you motivated and stoked-up for work.
The Wedding
Josstick and Enda tied the knot on Saturday. Great day - really enjoyed it. You'd expect everyone at an Irish wedding to be drunk, but the only person there who was apparently "dancing like a monkey" was me. No Danny Boy. No Riverdance. No fighting. They didn't even have Guinness on tap either!
I recovered at 2 p.m. Sunday afternoon.
I was in trouble for:
a) Embarrassing myself - being drunk, dancing like a monkey, and talking about Oxford United to Mickey Aiya Napa from Fox FM. I may or may not have called him a twat.
b) Snoring (after the wedding, not during).
c) Losing someone's jacket.
d) Phoning my brother and brother-in-law (from the Gentlemen's toilet) in a desperate bid to get a live update on the Slovakia v England match.
I also managed to drip hot sausage grease down my best tie, but my plan to switch it with someone else's - he was wearing the same tie - was foiled because he never took it off or went to the Gents on his own...
Highlight of the ceremony was hymn number two: Jerusalem, that stirring, patriotic English anthem... that the majority of the groom's Irish contingent refused to sing.
Julian Returns From Cyprus
Today's conversation between Jo and Nobby regarding Julian:
Jo - "He's a treasure isn't he."
Nob - "Oh yeah, he's a real treasure alright. He should be locked in a chest and buried six feet under on a desert island!"
Jo - "But what if a pirate discovered him and dug him up?!"
Nob - "With any luck the pirate would put the spade though his neck..."
Kefei and Chestor Experience The Welcome
I played magic in Oxford last Wednesday night.
A new set - "excitingly" entitled Onslaught (Yawn) - has just been released. Apparently even seasoned old hands like me are meant to get excited by a new set and get caught up in the buzz. I couldn't be more underwhelmed than if you poked me with a Rod of Underwhelming.
[Insert bad random magic joke]
Rod of Underwhelming
Artifact
Common
2 casting cost
Tap: Target player is underwhelmed by new cards - especially Rod of Underwhelming.
"It's a stick..."
Anyway, there were 17 guys there at the Donnington Arms pub, a reasonably impressive number of players for a midweek draft event. However, it transpired that 9 of them were only there to collect boxes of the new product from Rob and cleared off immediately on receiving the goods.
I can't understand this: They travel into Oxford, wait for an hour for the cards to turn up, are willing to pay over £100 for 2 boxes of cardboard junk, but don't actually want to PLAY the game they quite clearly love. It's bizarre.
The other thing about last night was the continued total lack of welcoming reception for new attendees at the group. Two Japanese guys (one with girlfriend in tow) turned up to play and were met by the usual Oxford Arena League greeting: Silence. They were ignored. Except by me. I yet again had to try and disprove the fact that the vast majority of UK magic players are boring runts with zero social skills.
As usual I failed ;)
I just hope I did enough to ensure they felt welcomed sufficiently to return in the future.
Won't be there this week though: England play Macedonia.
It's not that I don't like autumn: Who doesn't love the changing of the leaves from green to gold? And it's not like I hate the winter either: Crisp frosty mornings, and Christmas-card dustings of snow, make me feel alive just as much as they do anyone else. I even enjoy a little occasional mist. And I certainly get spellbound by fallen leaves, picked up in an eddy, and spun and danced by the breeze.
It's just the darkness and the short days that get me down. I think - and I've been told this many times by friends and family - that I'm a bit SAD.
I'm fortunate to have a window seat at work. In the spring and summer it's a godsend. The sun comes through so brightly we had to tint the windows this summer to ensure our eyeballs didn't poach in our skulls. Unfortunately the tints have now come back to haunt us: They make an already dull and grey day even darker. There's nothing better than gazing out onto a dull and grey industrial estate, on a dull and grey Monday morning, to get you motivated and stoked-up for work.
The Wedding
Josstick and Enda tied the knot on Saturday. Great day - really enjoyed it. You'd expect everyone at an Irish wedding to be drunk, but the only person there who was apparently "dancing like a monkey" was me. No Danny Boy. No Riverdance. No fighting. They didn't even have Guinness on tap either!
I recovered at 2 p.m. Sunday afternoon.
I was in trouble for:
a) Embarrassing myself - being drunk, dancing like a monkey, and talking about Oxford United to Mickey Aiya Napa from Fox FM. I may or may not have called him a twat.
b) Snoring (after the wedding, not during).
c) Losing someone's jacket.
d) Phoning my brother and brother-in-law (from the Gentlemen's toilet) in a desperate bid to get a live update on the Slovakia v England match.
I also managed to drip hot sausage grease down my best tie, but my plan to switch it with someone else's - he was wearing the same tie - was foiled because he never took it off or went to the Gents on his own...
Highlight of the ceremony was hymn number two: Jerusalem, that stirring, patriotic English anthem... that the majority of the groom's Irish contingent refused to sing.
Julian Returns From Cyprus
Today's conversation between Jo and Nobby regarding Julian:
Jo - "He's a treasure isn't he."
Nob - "Oh yeah, he's a real treasure alright. He should be locked in a chest and buried six feet under on a desert island!"
Jo - "But what if a pirate discovered him and dug him up?!"
Nob - "With any luck the pirate would put the spade though his neck..."
Kefei and Chestor Experience The Welcome
I played magic in Oxford last Wednesday night.
A new set - "excitingly" entitled Onslaught (Yawn) - has just been released. Apparently even seasoned old hands like me are meant to get excited by a new set and get caught up in the buzz. I couldn't be more underwhelmed than if you poked me with a Rod of Underwhelming.
[Insert bad random magic joke]
Rod of Underwhelming
Artifact
Common
2 casting cost
Tap: Target player is underwhelmed by new cards - especially Rod of Underwhelming.
"It's a stick..."
Anyway, there were 17 guys there at the Donnington Arms pub, a reasonably impressive number of players for a midweek draft event. However, it transpired that 9 of them were only there to collect boxes of the new product from Rob and cleared off immediately on receiving the goods.
I can't understand this: They travel into Oxford, wait for an hour for the cards to turn up, are willing to pay over £100 for 2 boxes of cardboard junk, but don't actually want to PLAY the game they quite clearly love. It's bizarre.
The other thing about last night was the continued total lack of welcoming reception for new attendees at the group. Two Japanese guys (one with girlfriend in tow) turned up to play and were met by the usual Oxford Arena League greeting: Silence. They were ignored. Except by me. I yet again had to try and disprove the fact that the vast majority of UK magic players are boring runts with zero social skills.
As usual I failed ;)
I just hope I did enough to ensure they felt welcomed sufficiently to return in the future.
Won't be there this week though: England play Macedonia.
Wednesday, October 09, 2002
So Solid Crew Stole My Wallet
Vic's just phoned me to ask me to ask if I've seen her purse: It's not in her bag and she's worried that she's lost it. "Did I see it on the kitchen table this morning?". Unfortunately I can't remember, and as we left the house at the same time, I certainly didn't have an opportunity to recon the kitchen and spot it after she'd driven off.
As there has been a spate of thefts at Vic's work, she's obviously concerned that it might have been pinched. The purse is probably sat in the fruit bowl at home, but that won't stop Vic - and me - imagining that it is in the hands of a member of So Solid Crew on a fraudulent shopping sweep of Oxford Street.
Losing your wallet is a cold-sweat inducing experience. Feelings of helplessness, foolishness and the nagging worry that a crim is taking a ride on your credit, mean that I for one cannot concentrate on anything else until my huge wad of crisp fifty pound notes and gleaming gold cards is rediscovered.
The Tories Shoe Shop
Coming back from table tennis last night - we lost and I failed to win a single set - I was tuned into Radio 5 Live. They were broadcasting from the Conservative Party Conference in Brighton, and running a little phone-in competition: "If the Tories ran a shoe shop, what would the store be named?"
I can't find the results on their website, and switched off before my suggestion was aired (if at all). Therefore I don't know if my entry was a winner.
Judge for yourself:
"Lost Soles"
It has suitably dark and demonic undertones. Perhaps "Lost Soles & Jackboots" would have introduced a sufficiently fascist element too, but I only thought of that after I'd managed to get through - first time - on the phone.
At least it was better than "Down At Heel"...
Vic's just phoned me to ask me to ask if I've seen her purse: It's not in her bag and she's worried that she's lost it. "Did I see it on the kitchen table this morning?". Unfortunately I can't remember, and as we left the house at the same time, I certainly didn't have an opportunity to recon the kitchen and spot it after she'd driven off.
As there has been a spate of thefts at Vic's work, she's obviously concerned that it might have been pinched. The purse is probably sat in the fruit bowl at home, but that won't stop Vic - and me - imagining that it is in the hands of a member of So Solid Crew on a fraudulent shopping sweep of Oxford Street.
Losing your wallet is a cold-sweat inducing experience. Feelings of helplessness, foolishness and the nagging worry that a crim is taking a ride on your credit, mean that I for one cannot concentrate on anything else until my huge wad of crisp fifty pound notes and gleaming gold cards is rediscovered.
The Tories Shoe Shop
Coming back from table tennis last night - we lost and I failed to win a single set - I was tuned into Radio 5 Live. They were broadcasting from the Conservative Party Conference in Brighton, and running a little phone-in competition: "If the Tories ran a shoe shop, what would the store be named?"
I can't find the results on their website, and switched off before my suggestion was aired (if at all). Therefore I don't know if my entry was a winner.
Judge for yourself:
"Lost Soles"
It has suitably dark and demonic undertones. Perhaps "Lost Soles & Jackboots" would have introduced a sufficiently fascist element too, but I only thought of that after I'd managed to get through - first time - on the phone.
At least it was better than "Down At Heel"...
Tuesday, October 08, 2002
Fifty Pence Might Buy A Mars Bar
This is the email I received from Lynn this morning regarding Jamie's collection:
"I cannot f*ckin believe it. £2.50 between V,M,T & L."
I guess V put in £1, but considering her circumstances, that's fine. M, T and Lisa therefore managed to donate a grand total of £1.50 towards the leaving collection of their boss.
Jamie has looked out for them for the last two years, protected them from themselves, developed them, and held their hands when they've been bitching to him. Most bosses would have slapped them down after about 10 minutes. We all know that they don't like him very much - for no good reason btw. But fifty pence each is an insult. Lynn and I are disgusted. They couldn't even be bothered to write anything nice in his card either. Mandy wrote "It's been interesting!". WTF does that mean?!
It's not even as if he's chosen to leave of his own accord: he's been forced out through redundancy. He's been cast adrift with no job, and at 53 he is understandably concerned at what the future now holds.
Fifty f*ckin pence.
This is another chalk mark on the "Reasons to Leave" blackboard for me. I'll be lucky to get 20p each out of them.
F*ck em as Lynn would say.
This is the email I received from Lynn this morning regarding Jamie's collection:
"I cannot f*ckin believe it. £2.50 between V,M,T & L."
I guess V put in £1, but considering her circumstances, that's fine. M, T and Lisa therefore managed to donate a grand total of £1.50 towards the leaving collection of their boss.
Jamie has looked out for them for the last two years, protected them from themselves, developed them, and held their hands when they've been bitching to him. Most bosses would have slapped them down after about 10 minutes. We all know that they don't like him very much - for no good reason btw. But fifty pence each is an insult. Lynn and I are disgusted. They couldn't even be bothered to write anything nice in his card either. Mandy wrote "It's been interesting!". WTF does that mean?!
It's not even as if he's chosen to leave of his own accord: he's been forced out through redundancy. He's been cast adrift with no job, and at 53 he is understandably concerned at what the future now holds.
Fifty f*ckin pence.
This is another chalk mark on the "Reasons to Leave" blackboard for me. I'll be lucky to get 20p each out of them.
F*ck em as Lynn would say.
Monday, October 07, 2002
He's Only Gone and Published It
Life can be full of surprises...
is the sort of thing insurance salesmen say. There is a fine line between insurance and bookmaking, and just as a bookie is never wrong, you can bet your bottom ten pence piece that life really can be full of surprises.
Unfortunately they're not always pleasant.
Justin Ruffles has finally told the rest of the world his Metropolitan Line story (dated October the 5th). Read it and generate the same feeling as if Audrey the cat deposited a little surprise for you in your slippers.
When I Grow Up, I Want To Be
A rag and bone man.
Vic and her mum depressed me last night by pointing out my current total lack of ambition and drive. They asked me what direction I'd like to travel when reaching my next career crossroads.
After much deliberation, I've decided to allow myself to be influenced by Bargain Hunt and the Brazilian kitchen helper here at work. I will make my fortune from buying tat at car boot sales - or picking it off a rat infested Sao Paulo rubbish tip - and reselling it on ebay for a tidy profit. This is the best thing I could come up with.
I should have collected those hubcaps.
Life can be full of surprises...
is the sort of thing insurance salesmen say. There is a fine line between insurance and bookmaking, and just as a bookie is never wrong, you can bet your bottom ten pence piece that life really can be full of surprises.
Unfortunately they're not always pleasant.
Justin Ruffles has finally told the rest of the world his Metropolitan Line story (dated October the 5th). Read it and generate the same feeling as if Audrey the cat deposited a little surprise for you in your slippers.
When I Grow Up, I Want To Be
A rag and bone man.
Vic and her mum depressed me last night by pointing out my current total lack of ambition and drive. They asked me what direction I'd like to travel when reaching my next career crossroads.
After much deliberation, I've decided to allow myself to be influenced by Bargain Hunt and the Brazilian kitchen helper here at work. I will make my fortune from buying tat at car boot sales - or picking it off a rat infested Sao Paulo rubbish tip - and reselling it on ebay for a tidy profit. This is the best thing I could come up with.
I should have collected those hubcaps.
Friday, October 04, 2002
The Dog Reads This
Like most normal people, I occasionally snore.
Last night I was not only snoring, but according to my wife, I was softly wimpering in my sleep - just like the dog does when he's having forty winks. This is weird, as I had a number of bizarre dreams last night, including quite a graphic one where I was chasing rabbits...
The dog's name is Nelson btw. As in Admiral Nelson. A mighty fine name for such a noble creature as my dog *. If SAUW can link to a photo of her cat, I can link to a photo of Admiral Nelson.
Sally and David have apparently got themselves a new kitten. Whilst my dog is named after our great British Naval hero Nelson - a name that stirs the blood and conjures up images of courage, sturdiness and honour - Sally and David have named their kitten Audrey. The name Audrey justs conjures up images of Coronation Street for me.
* When I say "my" dog, I mean my in-laws dog of course, but it's common knowledge in our family that he loves me the most. As a result, he is, for all intents and purposes - apart from vet fees and food costs - my dog. He is probably reading this blog - and preparing to email me (again) - right now too.
Like most normal people, I occasionally snore.
Last night I was not only snoring, but according to my wife, I was softly wimpering in my sleep - just like the dog does when he's having forty winks. This is weird, as I had a number of bizarre dreams last night, including quite a graphic one where I was chasing rabbits...
The dog's name is Nelson btw. As in Admiral Nelson. A mighty fine name for such a noble creature as my dog *. If SAUW can link to a photo of her cat, I can link to a photo of Admiral Nelson.
Sally and David have apparently got themselves a new kitten. Whilst my dog is named after our great British Naval hero Nelson - a name that stirs the blood and conjures up images of courage, sturdiness and honour - Sally and David have named their kitten Audrey. The name Audrey justs conjures up images of Coronation Street for me.
* When I say "my" dog, I mean my in-laws dog of course, but it's common knowledge in our family that he loves me the most. As a result, he is, for all intents and purposes - apart from vet fees and food costs - my dog. He is probably reading this blog - and preparing to email me (again) - right now too.
Thursday, October 03, 2002
The Awareness Course
An announcement has just come over our telephone tannoy system to inform us that the "Property Awareness Training Course" is about to begin.
Presumably, if it is a Basic Property Awareness Training Course, the tutor is going stand next to his wall-projected PowerPoint presentation saying "This is a door... this is a window... and this is an internal wall."
The Advanced Course deals with lifts, stairways and water-coolers.
Our storeman, Victor, reckons he's been on a Shelf Awareness Course.
An announcement has just come over our telephone tannoy system to inform us that the "Property Awareness Training Course" is about to begin.
Presumably, if it is a Basic Property Awareness Training Course, the tutor is going stand next to his wall-projected PowerPoint presentation saying "This is a door... this is a window... and this is an internal wall."
The Advanced Course deals with lifts, stairways and water-coolers.
Our storeman, Victor, reckons he's been on a Shelf Awareness Course.
Wednesday, October 02, 2002
Bob's Big Coconuts Gag
Vicster has always been a bit paranoid about her health.
A bang on the head, or a mild headache, is an indication that she probably has a brain tumour. A gammy toenail means she will probably have her leg surgically removed by the Doctor. A wasp sting will probably induce an allergic reaction severe enough to swell her head to twice its normal size and kill her.
I love my wife.
So a report in The Sunday Times about the increased risk of breast cancer for daughters of mothers who were given anti-miscarriage drugs in the early 1970's pushed the usual paranoia button. Thankfully Vic's mum and dad are staying with us this week, so Vic was able to ask her mum about it and have it confirmed that there was no additional risk to her.
During this conversation, Bob managed to comment - under his breath - on Ann's boobs during her pregancy with Vic.
"They were like a big pair of coconuts..." said Bob.
"Hard and hairy!"
It's Bob's best ever joke.
Another Giant-Killing
Oxford United continued their run of glory with their fifth away win on the trot. A fine giant-killing Worthington Cup second round victory at Premiership Charlton. With no score after 120 minutes of play, it went to the dreaded penalties, and up popped the mighty Jefferson Louis to put the winner into the net. 6-5 was the final tally. Considering Jefferson was playing for Thame just a few months ago, his goal must rank as the most exciting football moment for Thame since the "Thame Boys" St. George flag was seen draped over the advertising hoardings on the halfway line at the England versus Argentina World Cup match.
Jefferson was quoted on Radio Five Live this morning as saying it could be "the start of The Jefferson Louis Era".
That would make a great blog spot name.
Vicster has always been a bit paranoid about her health.
A bang on the head, or a mild headache, is an indication that she probably has a brain tumour. A gammy toenail means she will probably have her leg surgically removed by the Doctor. A wasp sting will probably induce an allergic reaction severe enough to swell her head to twice its normal size and kill her.
I love my wife.
So a report in The Sunday Times about the increased risk of breast cancer for daughters of mothers who were given anti-miscarriage drugs in the early 1970's pushed the usual paranoia button. Thankfully Vic's mum and dad are staying with us this week, so Vic was able to ask her mum about it and have it confirmed that there was no additional risk to her.
During this conversation, Bob managed to comment - under his breath - on Ann's boobs during her pregancy with Vic.
"They were like a big pair of coconuts..." said Bob.
"Hard and hairy!"
It's Bob's best ever joke.
Another Giant-Killing
Oxford United continued their run of glory with their fifth away win on the trot. A fine giant-killing Worthington Cup second round victory at Premiership Charlton. With no score after 120 minutes of play, it went to the dreaded penalties, and up popped the mighty Jefferson Louis to put the winner into the net. 6-5 was the final tally. Considering Jefferson was playing for Thame just a few months ago, his goal must rank as the most exciting football moment for Thame since the "Thame Boys" St. George flag was seen draped over the advertising hoardings on the halfway line at the England versus Argentina World Cup match.
Jefferson was quoted on Radio Five Live this morning as saying it could be "the start of The Jefferson Louis Era".
That would make a great blog spot name.
Tuesday, October 01, 2002
The Result
Final score of 9 – 1 in Sports favour. John and Dave Junior surprisingly picked up the doubles with some unorthodox play. I struggled as predicted, losing all three games in straight sets. I didn’t disgrace myself and it was a good exercise, but it was a little frustrating: Sports put out a weakened side against us, and five years ago I’d have easily won all three of my games. I’m just not the player that I was, and until I get nearer to my old standards, it’s going to be a very frustrating time for me.
Last night also reminded me of some of the reasons why I retired from the sport in the first place:
Mickey Mouse organisation – the league secretary had forgotten that there were matches on at our home venue and therefore nobody turned up to unlock the premises until 7:50 (matches should start at 7:30 – we were stood outside from 7:15).
Length of matches – we managed to play the match on two tables last night, reducing the evening’s play time by 50%. We still didn’t finish until 10:15. The thought of away matches with 11:30 finishes, with half an hour’s travelling time back home on a chilly January night, fills me with dread.
Blisters – I have a corker on my twiddling finger. My poor soft skin.
Cheerless players – any night out should be entertaining or rewarding, but the majority of table tennis players in the UK seem to have had personality bypasses. Two of my opponents last night even had pudding bowl haircuts and looked as if sunlight would disintegrate them. Visualise the nice Thermian aliens from Galaxy Quest. Playing against wooden stakes would have been more enjoyable.
Bad News
We’ve just had a company meeting. 14 people from our office are being made redundant. Surprisingly, I’m not one of them, but my colleague Jamie – who I would put behind me in the chopping block order – is. As Jamie is a) a nice guy and b) a rock of sanity for me in the face of J M T, he is going to be sorely missed.
I am in some shock.
http://www.alicia-logic.com/capspages/caps_viewall.asp?criteria=Title&term=Galaxy_Quest
Final score of 9 – 1 in Sports favour. John and Dave Junior surprisingly picked up the doubles with some unorthodox play. I struggled as predicted, losing all three games in straight sets. I didn’t disgrace myself and it was a good exercise, but it was a little frustrating: Sports put out a weakened side against us, and five years ago I’d have easily won all three of my games. I’m just not the player that I was, and until I get nearer to my old standards, it’s going to be a very frustrating time for me.
Last night also reminded me of some of the reasons why I retired from the sport in the first place:
Mickey Mouse organisation – the league secretary had forgotten that there were matches on at our home venue and therefore nobody turned up to unlock the premises until 7:50 (matches should start at 7:30 – we were stood outside from 7:15).
Length of matches – we managed to play the match on two tables last night, reducing the evening’s play time by 50%. We still didn’t finish until 10:15. The thought of away matches with 11:30 finishes, with half an hour’s travelling time back home on a chilly January night, fills me with dread.
Blisters – I have a corker on my twiddling finger. My poor soft skin.
Cheerless players – any night out should be entertaining or rewarding, but the majority of table tennis players in the UK seem to have had personality bypasses. Two of my opponents last night even had pudding bowl haircuts and looked as if sunlight would disintegrate them. Visualise the nice Thermian aliens from Galaxy Quest. Playing against wooden stakes would have been more enjoyable.
Bad News
We’ve just had a company meeting. 14 people from our office are being made redundant. Surprisingly, I’m not one of them, but my colleague Jamie – who I would put behind me in the chopping block order – is. As Jamie is a) a nice guy and b) a rock of sanity for me in the face of J M T, he is going to be sorely missed.
I am in some shock.
http://www.alicia-logic.com/capspages/caps_viewall.asp?criteria=Title&term=Galaxy_Quest
Monday, September 30, 2002
The Return of The Twiddler
Bashing the nasty brickwork to bits has left me with an injury akin to that resulting from too much Uncle Hanking *.
It's not the sort of handicap you need when you are about to relaunch your table tennis career after five years away from the sport.
On top of the tightness in my right arm, I'm also struggling to walk after playing paintball on Saturday with the guys from work (see below for Paintball Report).
Best to get my excuses in first as I am going to get thrashed tonight. Our league match is against the Manchester United of the Aylesbury and District TT Premier League, Sports 'A'. I'll be lucky to get to 15 points against any of my opponents and I confidently predict a ten-nil match score against us.
However, even if the clock was turned back five years ago and I was at the top of my game, I'd still be lucky to pick up one out of three singles, so I'm not too worried about tonight. As long as I don't embarass myself too much, I'll try to enjoy it and use it as a decent practice match for future league games.
I shall also take great pleasure in lying to the Sports A captain that my little brother - who was unbeatable in this league for years, and robbed said opponent of many a trophy and tournament title - is also going to make a comeback later this season. He's not of course, but the look of fear in their eyes should be priceless...
Returning to my opening theme, I'm likely to be very stiff tomorrow.
The Paintball Report
I get to play paintball probably once every two years. When the sun is out, as it was on Saturday, it is an activity that is hard to beat in terms of exercise, excitement, rush and plain good fun. I don't know anyone who has played the game and not enjoyed the experience. My play of the day was taking out five blue team enemies - including the blue team captain in a fearless bum rush attack - in a single defend the village scenario, before having my ass shot in a friendly-fire incident.
I have the blue team captain's head stuffed and hanging on the wall above my desk.
* Tony Boydell would say that you can never over Uncle Hank.
Bashing the nasty brickwork to bits has left me with an injury akin to that resulting from too much Uncle Hanking *.
It's not the sort of handicap you need when you are about to relaunch your table tennis career after five years away from the sport.
On top of the tightness in my right arm, I'm also struggling to walk after playing paintball on Saturday with the guys from work (see below for Paintball Report).
Best to get my excuses in first as I am going to get thrashed tonight. Our league match is against the Manchester United of the Aylesbury and District TT Premier League, Sports 'A'. I'll be lucky to get to 15 points against any of my opponents and I confidently predict a ten-nil match score against us.
However, even if the clock was turned back five years ago and I was at the top of my game, I'd still be lucky to pick up one out of three singles, so I'm not too worried about tonight. As long as I don't embarass myself too much, I'll try to enjoy it and use it as a decent practice match for future league games.
I shall also take great pleasure in lying to the Sports A captain that my little brother - who was unbeatable in this league for years, and robbed said opponent of many a trophy and tournament title - is also going to make a comeback later this season. He's not of course, but the look of fear in their eyes should be priceless...
Returning to my opening theme, I'm likely to be very stiff tomorrow.
The Paintball Report
I get to play paintball probably once every two years. When the sun is out, as it was on Saturday, it is an activity that is hard to beat in terms of exercise, excitement, rush and plain good fun. I don't know anyone who has played the game and not enjoyed the experience. My play of the day was taking out five blue team enemies - including the blue team captain in a fearless bum rush attack - in a single defend the village scenario, before having my ass shot in a friendly-fire incident.
I have the blue team captain's head stuffed and hanging on the wall above my desk.
* Tony Boydell would say that you can never over Uncle Hank.
The Fireplace
Our house is a typical Victoria terraced property. Built at modest cost in the 1890’s for local railway workers, compared to many modern builds, our house has a reassuring feeling of solidity: Nice solid brickwork and proper plaster. Much of this aura of solidity is of course just an illusion, as we are slowly discovering to our cost.
Friday should have seen Paul the Plasterer patching up the blown plaster in our living room (as per the schedule of works for HIP #4), and then skimming the whole joint on the Saturday. Unfortunately - as is always the case with building work - things are never as simple as they first appear. Paul called me up at work to inform me that there were more patches of blown “bad” plaster than “good”, and he was recommending that the whole lot should be stripped off. He wasn’t taking us for a ride. The bad news was firstly the cost – a doubling of his fee from £300 to £600 – and secondly the fact that he didn’t have sufficient materials or manpower to do the job until a week on Monday.
That’s another week of living in a mess and another week closer to my exam. It also means that our new stairway carpet (being laid on Thursday) will be in severe danger of getting trashed by plaster-encrusted workmen’s boots.
The only good news resulting from this delay is the fact that we now have time to deal with the fireplace. And by “deal with” I mean using a 1 kg lump hammer to pulverise it to dust. The previous occupants – supreme idiots that they were – decided to build a thoroughly nasty brick and tile hearth and decorative shelves around the existing fireplace. We don’t know what possessed them to construct such a tasteless monstrosity in such a small room. The room is 12 foot by 11 foot and the fireplace was taking up at least 10 to 15 percent of the available space.
Not anymore though: the brick hearth and shelves are now taking up the space of 12 rubble bags and are ready to join Stashers Pistachio Pants in the Great Skip in the Sky.
Vicster is extremely happy with the result. We have suddenly expanded our living space and the room, once finished, is going to look so much better than it did. As a big bonus, the removal of the shelves has uncovered a little patch of damp that can now be sorted and prevented from coming back to haunt us and our new plaster.
A very shiny silver lining.
A Random Shout-Out
One of the benefits of writing under a stupid pseud like Nobby Dobscrub is that nobody else in the entire world shares the name, so tracking what you’ve said, or what other people have said about you, is relatively easy.
Last week I typed “Dobscrub” into google expecting the usual magic newsgroup postings and articles to pop up in the results. I was slightly surprised to discover The Wonderful World Of at the top of the list (that means random visitors are linking to it – “Hello Random Visitor!”) and in the second slot, another blog entitled Star Lines.
What is cool about the Star Lines link is the fact that the blog’s author is a professional writer. Not only does this give me some much needed writing kudos [wink] but is my first piece of positive feedback from a stranger. Go check out her writing tricks for some solid advice with a smile.
Our house is a typical Victoria terraced property. Built at modest cost in the 1890’s for local railway workers, compared to many modern builds, our house has a reassuring feeling of solidity: Nice solid brickwork and proper plaster. Much of this aura of solidity is of course just an illusion, as we are slowly discovering to our cost.
Friday should have seen Paul the Plasterer patching up the blown plaster in our living room (as per the schedule of works for HIP #4), and then skimming the whole joint on the Saturday. Unfortunately - as is always the case with building work - things are never as simple as they first appear. Paul called me up at work to inform me that there were more patches of blown “bad” plaster than “good”, and he was recommending that the whole lot should be stripped off. He wasn’t taking us for a ride. The bad news was firstly the cost – a doubling of his fee from £300 to £600 – and secondly the fact that he didn’t have sufficient materials or manpower to do the job until a week on Monday.
That’s another week of living in a mess and another week closer to my exam. It also means that our new stairway carpet (being laid on Thursday) will be in severe danger of getting trashed by plaster-encrusted workmen’s boots.
The only good news resulting from this delay is the fact that we now have time to deal with the fireplace. And by “deal with” I mean using a 1 kg lump hammer to pulverise it to dust. The previous occupants – supreme idiots that they were – decided to build a thoroughly nasty brick and tile hearth and decorative shelves around the existing fireplace. We don’t know what possessed them to construct such a tasteless monstrosity in such a small room. The room is 12 foot by 11 foot and the fireplace was taking up at least 10 to 15 percent of the available space.
Not anymore though: the brick hearth and shelves are now taking up the space of 12 rubble bags and are ready to join Stashers Pistachio Pants in the Great Skip in the Sky.
Vicster is extremely happy with the result. We have suddenly expanded our living space and the room, once finished, is going to look so much better than it did. As a big bonus, the removal of the shelves has uncovered a little patch of damp that can now be sorted and prevented from coming back to haunt us and our new plaster.
A very shiny silver lining.
A Random Shout-Out
One of the benefits of writing under a stupid pseud like Nobby Dobscrub is that nobody else in the entire world shares the name, so tracking what you’ve said, or what other people have said about you, is relatively easy.
Last week I typed “Dobscrub” into google expecting the usual magic newsgroup postings and articles to pop up in the results. I was slightly surprised to discover The Wonderful World Of at the top of the list (that means random visitors are linking to it – “Hello Random Visitor!”) and in the second slot, another blog entitled Star Lines.
What is cool about the Star Lines link is the fact that the blog’s author is a professional writer. Not only does this give me some much needed writing kudos [wink] but is my first piece of positive feedback from a stranger. Go check out her writing tricks for some solid advice with a smile.
