A Summary of Recent Life Changes:

1) I have cut my fizzy pop consumption down to one can a day for over 100 days now. I have therefore avoided almost 4 kilos of sugar. 4 kgs! No wonder I've lost weight.
2) I haven't worn a watch for four months. I am no longer ruled by time and don't get stressed when I'm running late. My time-keeping is actually better than it's ever been.
3) India is now longer a baby. She is a toddler.
4) The house move is progressing slowly, but is on course for the last week of January.
5) Last Christmas I had three grandparents, this year I have none.


Targets for Next Year:

1) New house.
2) New job, with a salary sufficient to pay the new mortgage.
3) Pass CIMA exams, if end of January's results are a disappointment.
4) Write a book -- this may well be the complete memoirs of my granddad.
5) Produce a brother/sister/tag-team wrestler for India.


Other Notes:

1) Friends seem to be producing babies all over the place.
2) We are starting to catch up with people we haven't seen in a while (due to the traumas of the last few months): Met Lazza and Cazza's Finlay and Sara and Stasher's Rory a fortnight ago. Saw Matt and Sam Jenkins -- who are pregnant -- for the first time in four (?) years. Saw Rachel and Robin's Daisy last night for the first time since April.
3) India hasn't pulled over the Christmas tree.

Best wishes to everyone for the holidays. Happy Christmas.

Side Track

It took us ages to get into the city last night. It's nice to know that Americans have to suffer traffic queues like we do. By the time we got to Jen and Mike's it was 9:00. Boy Town was jammed and it took us 30 mins to park. We then discovered the restaurant had valet parking.

Yoshi's Cafe is Japanese-Western fusion. It's also a "proper" restaurant -- as are the prices. Jen and I had a grilled teriyaki salmon fillet on a bed of risotto cake and fresh asparagus. Rob and Mike went for the MEAT option.

Then we hit Side Track: wall-to-wall guys. Jen was the only lady in there for the first beer. The place was cool. Nothing freaky. Except for the total lack of ladies. Compare this to a gay village in the UK where there are plenty of straights out too. There weren't even any gay girls there! Only tough moment for me was the visit to the gents. Stood next to a MASSIVE black guy. I was worried for my cheeks. Then he started singing along to the Madonna video playing over the speakers in a Judy Garland / Wizard of Oz voice. Same thing with the big butch barman... a tiny squeaky voice.

By the time we checked the clock it was midnight. Back home for one. I was knackered anyhow, so when the alarm went off this morning I felt terrible.

Still don't feel right -- despite throwing up half my Berry Blast fruit smoothie mid-morning [oh yes]. My sinuses are congested too -- I guess from the smoke in the bar.

Last night tonight. It's going to be a quiet one.

Motorola Is Go!

Rob's reflashed my mobile and my UK sim card seems to be working again.
I'm back online for text messages.
Lost my photos and ring tones, but gained a host of games.
The games will come in useful at Heathrow on Saturday morning, waiting for the flight to Newcastle...

Situation Update / Boy Town

1 inch of snow. Icy not soft.
Thai food from the Bangkok Cafe was excellent.
Exchanged sweater for India.
Naboo was destroyed by the Deathstar. The Force is with us!

Work has been better today (could it be any worse?). Got some things done and helped others to do the same. Chicken casaer salad for lunch was yummy. As were the Dunkin Donuts. A couple of the american ladies want me to stay here forever: they like my "easy going nature" and reckon I'd fit right in. [ooer]

Tonight Rob and I are going downtown into the city with Jen -- an asia colleague of Rob's who visited our house in the summer. We're going to "Boy Town". Look out fellas! Hopefully we'll have chance to do some lightning sightseeing and ride to the top of the Hancock Building [another Freudian?].

The Stench of Meat

I stink of meat.
I have greasy skin.
Five days into my trip and I'm desperate for some fresh fruit and vegetables.
Too much sugar. Too much lard. Too much meat...

Steak tonight I think...

Snow

It's starting to snow.

I've come out without my jacket.

Having Fun?

Yesterday was completely unproductive: Everything that could go wrong with my laptop and the other IT systems did so. I got home stressed that my Transatlantic trip was turning into a nightmarish waste of time.

Today started the same, just cranked-up a notch. Things got even better at lunch time, when out-of-the-blue over our Chicago deep-pan pizza, Amy (the Finance Mgr here) announced that she is quitting at the end of next week due to "personal reasons".

I wish I'd taken a camera to capture the picture of her seven direct reports faces. Stunned. White. Ghostly. Jaws dropped.

Nobody said a thing.

Amy burst into tears and left the table. As the most remote person there, I followed -- I like Amy and hate seeing people upset -- she was OK, just needed a breather. When she got back to the table, it was really weird: Still nobody said a thing, they just got on with lunch as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Back at the office, I have an email from the UK, asking me to call my managers home. He asks if I'd like to stay on for another week in Chicago to help support the remaining Finance Team and soften the blow of Amy's sudden departure.

Hello Graeme, I have my grandfather's funeral on Monday!

So not only have I done f-all work so far, I'm now the go between agent for Amy and my Director back in the UK. Caught in the crossfire. Fantastic! Best thing is they'll probably offer me the job for the end of January. Too late folks -- we're buying a new house!

[Sigh]

Last night's food & entertainment was:
California Pizza Kitchen pizza (1x pepperoni, 1x pear and blue cheese)
2nd Qtr of Green Bay v St Louis
2 hours of Star Wars Battefront on the PS2.

Tonight's food and entertainment is:
Food unknown
Shopping
More Star Wars probably

Like Any Other Grey Monday Morning

After a great weekend, my work here has begun.
Or rather it hasn't -- it's taken all morning to get the IT systems running.
It's already clear that my week is not going to be easy. The sales database is screwed and nothing seems to be working as it should be. I didn't think I was jetlagged, but it's just approaching lunch time and I'm dizzy, flushed and headachy. And tired. I'm looking forward to my chicken casear pitta sandwich with onion rings side order...

The office is like all small manufacturing facilities around the globe. Grey. Dull. It even has the standard sweater-wearing scientists and techies. Open Univeristy 1970's stylee. They live.

It feels like any other Monday morning.

My Kind of Town

Hello from Chicago!

I arrived yesterday afternoon, after an uneventful eight hour flight, to be picked up by Rob in his Soccer Mom-bile. A light dusting of snow covered the ground -- an exciting sight as we came into land. Unfortunately we had rain overnight and all the snowmen have been washed away.

A glass of champagne and a couple of beers also washed my jetlag away. Last night we ordered pizza in and played some boardgames with Mark, Dave and Kate. An easy first night. The guys were a little surprised to see me still up at ten -- it was a 23 hour for me -- but whereas in the past I might have been a mess, India has trained me to survive on a lot less sleep than before.

In flight movies were:
The Bourne Supremacy -- pretty good.
Dodgeball -- really funny.

After a good night's sleep -- I only woke up once at six (just like home!) -- I cooked breakfast and we headed out to Gameworks for some video game acton and then a movie; National Treasure -- it's mediocre and anti-British (as usual these days with Hollywood).

Tonight is Tapas in Arlington Heights -- the original plan had been La Baton (go search on google) or the KitKat Club but they were booked up (my Gay Night out will have to wait until midweek) -- followed by drinks at the local sports bar.

It's not a holiday though...

Other notes:
Rob's apartment is very cool. Lots of floorspace and nicely decorated. Certainly might steal an idea or two for our new home.
I'm missing my wife and baby already.

Big kisses from the Windy City.

House News

We've accepted an offer on our house -- £202,500, a little below our "minimum acceptable" -- but only because we have offered (and had accepted) an offer on a large four bed detached house on the modern part of Thame's estate. Our purchase is a bargain and will set us up for a long time: the house represents 2 steps up on the property ladder for us. We are excited, and it ticks all of our boxes and more.

Mum is helping us with the Stamp Duty and moving costs -- the only reason we can afford this leap up.

The ball is now rolling and if everything goes smoothly, then with luck we may well complete the sale mid January: the chain is our cash buyer, us, our vendor who is going into rented -- i.e. a good short chain.

Fingers crossed.

Black Friday

I was going to update this last Thursday, but thanks to a nasty little virus passed on by India (she was poorly for 2 weeks), I was off work again with ANOTHER chest infection. Hardly the best preparation for my exam tomorrow.

But it was to get worse on Friday.

We had been looking forward to receiving news of Sara and Stashers new arrival: Sara was booked in for a cesaer.

Instead I got news that my grandad had dropped dead.

Seven weeks after his wife had died, my gramp seems to have died of a broken heart. You hear of these things all the time when elderly people suddenly lose their life-long loves and partners, but having seen gramp doing so well over the last week -- he seemed to be back to his normal self according to my mum -- the fact he's gone is a real shock. I can't believe it really. No chance to say goodbye. No chance to help me get over gran's loss by talking things through with him. Quite simply a terrible blow.

We await the Coroner's post-mortem report tomorrow: As gramp hadn't seen a Doctor since gran's death, and his collapse was so sudden (he had spoken to his neighbour five minutes before he was found dead), a post-mortem is required.

Frankly, this year has been dreadful, with all three of my surviving grandparents dying. The only consolidation I can take from gramp's death is that he is now where he wanted to be.

The silver-lining of the day was the good news from Sara and Stasher that tempered our tragedy suffered:

Rory Edward Neville was born fit and healthy. 5 lbs, 12 oz

Congratulations Mum and Dad!

Edward was my gramps name...

Confidence Evaporates

I had been confident that we'd be celebrating the sale of our house -- at it's full asking price -- within a matter of days. Unfortunately this hasn't happened. We had the one viewing on Saturday and the feedback was:

"He liked it... but thought that the living room was too small. He won't be putting in an offer."

WTF did he expect?! It's a Victorian Terrace house. ALL the reception rooms are small. If he's that worried, then knock the internal wall down... Nevermind.

And after speaking with our agent about the girl who put in the laughably low offers, it's clear she was taking a punt on things: Apparently she DOES have the money, as she's been looking at up to £225,000...

Going into this week we now have ZERO potential buyers lined up. Not good.

Of course we looked at 3 properties ourselves over the weekend.

Property 1 is good enough that we're going to offer on it tomorrow, despite the fact there are already 2 bids for it on the table and we haven't sold. Asking price is £249,950 and we'll have to offer that I think.

Property 2 was a 35 min round trip due to road works. The agent turned up 5 mins late... with the WRONG KEYS. F*ckwit. As the house is right next door to a pub with a kebab van in it, we won't be going back for another look.

Property 3 was OK, but outside our budget once you added on the fees and the work we'd want to do to it.

So property 1 it is then... It's not in Thame though, it's in Stone.

Inertia Creeps

She has just come back with an increased offer of £200,000.
I didn't need to say anything to our agent...
I'm half expecting her to now come back with £202,500 -- which will be her top offer and one that will still be instantly rejected.

I think we can safely write this first potential buyer off now.

Dream On

Tried to blog some of this yesterday, but Blogger was clearly crippled under the strain of millions of Americans voicing their dismay and fury at George W Bush getting in again...

We had a viewing on our house at lunch time yesterday and she was keen enough to book a second viewing. with her mum and dad, at half past five last night. According to the agent she's a first time buyer who has missed out on a house on our road before -- I'm guessing Ben and Sharyn's two doors down.

I've been waiting on an offer coming in all morning and have just received it: £195,000.

I actually laughed at the agent. What a joke. Dream on lady. I told the agent to tell her that if she was a serious buyer, and wanted to seal a deal before the house is advertising in the local papers, then she would be offering the asking price. After all, Ben and Sharyn's went for £193,000 and it has one less bedroom and isn't as nice.

I think she's watched too many of those property TV shows where peeps offer way below the asking price as their opening bid. Unfortunately for her, we're not desperate to move and the asking price is aggressive to realistic.

Now we'll wait to see her response: Vic doesn't think she's got the money for a much higher bid...

Wiggle It Just a Little Bit

We've put our house on the market (yesterday). American readers may be a little surprised that the asking price for a Victoria terrace property in a provincial SE market town, with just 3 bedrooms and 2 reception rooms, is £207,500 -- that's a round $370,000. Frankly £207,500 is a bargain: we've looked at a host of local properties recevtly and you won't find a nicer home in Thame until you get to the £275,000 mark.

Of course, it what you DON'T get for £207,500 that's the key: no garage or off-street parking, and no escape from the next door neighbours attached on both sides. Seriously, we're looking at houses up to the £250,000 stamp duty threshold and we'll get less floor-space, a kitchen and bathroom that will need refitting, nasty sticky carpets, BUT a garage and a cloakroom for our extra £40 grand.

Feel free to make us an offer, although Australian dollars will not be accepted.

Why are we moving? You'll know why from previous blog entries if you've kept a sharp eye on things and read between the lines. We just need to start afresh with a new project too. The possibility of relocating -- places like Kent and Chicago -- has cropped up in conversation, although Thame is still our current preferred location.

We actually put an offer in on a property just around the corner from us last week but it got rejected in favour of the cash buyer. Which is why we've bitten the bullet and put ours up for sale.

I'll blog what happens daily I think.

Today's House News:
No calls from the estate agent.
No viewings on our house.
No viewings made by us.
Viewings in the book:
None on our property.
We're looking at 1 on Friday and 1 on Saturday.

Haiku

I'll tell you about my gran's funeral when I remember to take the reading I performed [I can't find the right word here -- I was going to write "read", but that sounds lame] during the service out of my jacket pocket.

Work is getting me down. It's just not any fun. During a net-trawl I stumbled on some really nice Haiku, and I've been filling my waiting-for-an-accounts-download-time with writing Haiku rather than doodling.

Classic Haiku poetry is about nature and strictly fits the rule of three lines, first line five syllables, second line seven syllables, third line five syllables. An example of one of mine would be:

Leaves press against glass;
Yearning to break the prison
and taste a new day.
"Houseplant" - Nobby (c) 2004

...which is about the Ikea plant I've got sat on the windowsill next to my desk.

Senryu poetry is in the same format, but can be about any subject. Most of my attempts are lame but give you an idea of how I'm feeling -- the words seem to form themselves.

Smothered by grey dregs,
a beating heart crushed under
the feet of dull drones.


Rising up through black
sodden earth, angry beetles
bite at my spirit.

Call me Nobbysan.

Alice Bull

My gran died at 4.30 pm on Saturday afternoon. It wasn't a shock -- it was inevitable. I managed to see her on Friday afternoon for a while and say all the things I needed to -- not just for me, but for Vic, India, my brother and my best mate Rob who has always regarded gran as his own. She was tired and lost in a fog of morphine, but I hope she heard what I told her. My brother arrived five minutes topo late to speak to her himself on Saturday -- but as I told him yesterday, I'd said what needed to be said for both of us and it's not about the last five minutes, or the last few weeks, it is all about the last 33 years.

It was a rapid decline for my gran. Two weeks ago I thought she would make Christmas, but over the course of the fortnight expectations of her survival time dropped first to a few weeks, then a few days, and by Friday it was down to a few hours. In the end she lost the fight, but it was one she couldn't win.

I'm going to miss her. She was a brilliant gran -- the best a grandson could hope for -- and a lovely person.

A Link For the Sake of It

For some reason google has dropped the links to our Oxford magic club sites, so I'm creating one here for the sake of it.

It will act as a useful reminder that this blog is not here to entertain.

NaNoWriMo

I know at least two friends who read this blog who reckon they have a novel ready to go inside of them. NaNoWriMo -- a US writing month challenge championed by at least one other reader of this site (hello Kate) -- kicks off on the 1st of November and is an excellent motivational tool to get on and write that novel. I myself am very keen to sign up, but unfortunately my final CIMA exam is scheduled for the 23rd of November, making it an impossibility.

Uber Violence

India and Thomas are effectively exactly the same age: Although Thomas popped out over a week later than India, they were both due on the same day.

The two of them are as thick as thieves. Many of the ante/post-natal parents reckon they're like a married couple. But it's turning into a love-hate relationship.

On Friday they went swimming together and Thomas managed to bite India on the arm. An entirely deliberate act that left India with red teeth marks on her pale skin and a bruise. On Sunday India got her revenge, running Thomas down -- Duel style -- with her walker and then throwing up milky sick over his toy piano. In response, Thomas picked up a Noddy toy car -- a blunt and heavy weapon -- and waved it menacingly at her. India cut loose and grabbed a plastic hammer -- the sort that make a squeak when you bash anything with it -- and we were left with a Mexican stand-off, each baby grimacing, determined to face the other down.

I am now calling the two of them Itchy and Scratchy.

I had to warn the nursery this morning that the two of them had to be closely watched...

Caffine Free

Apart from a single cup of coffee, I've not had any caffine for 25 days now. My 3 days of sickness at the start of my holiday kciked the habit and covered the cold turkey. Where I was pretty much addicted to 2 cans of Coke a day before, I'm now devoid of the urge to crack open a can of the brown.

According to Ronan Keating, Life is a Rollercoaster

It's been a week (and a bit) of troughs and peaks:

I didn't win the flavour text vote.

India has had REAL BAD nappy rash and a cold.

Last Wednesday evening my car broke down on the way home from work. The thermostat gave up the ghost, closing the air coolant value, causing the pressure to build up to such an extent that the radiator burst. It took 2 hours for the RAC to reach me, plus an extra hour to figure out that the problem wasn't repairable at the roadside and tow me home. The bill for the new radiator was £410 -- money that we don't have -- and that made last Thursday an equally brilliant day.

Friday featured my mum and dad telling me that gran won't make Christmas. I saw her on Sunday morning and they're right. I'm not coping too well with this fact.

On Saturday we went along to the Rectory Homes launch of the new properties being built just down the road from us. They had one three bed house in our budget. It had no garage, less floor space and garden that our existing house, no dining room (ie. one less reception) and was badly overlooked. Completely depressing and zero value for money. It's getting me down how little even the top of our budget will buy.

Saturday night we went out for dinner to celebrate Lucy's 30th and even that was frustrating: Sara and Gareth decided to go to war over how bad the Eden Project is (when it's actually a fantastic achievement and day out), Sara spent the whole meal sat forward, cutting the rest of the table out from me (we were sat on the end), and a chap at the other end of the table who cannot tell the difference between a fillet steak and a sirloin, ate MY fillet steak. I got the slice of old boot. Horror of horrors.

But things haven't been all bad, and indeed have been pretty darn good over the last few days:

India was bought her first pair of proper shoes and is now steady enough on her feet that she is walking unaided up to nine steps at a time*.
Last Thursday Vic and I went dry-slope skiing for the first time ever. Really enjoyed it.
We got together for a curry with ante natal James and Rachel on Friday night and had a great afternoon on Sunday celebrating Alex's first birthday at Matt and Martina's.
My dad has conjured up a cheque for £400 -- no strings attached.
We are off to see a house tomorrow that seems to tick all our boxes.
Vic bought me the Star Wars Trilogy on DVD. India watched the first five minutes with me and loved it.
I've had my business trip to Chicago confirmed and booked for the end of November -- I'll be spending the week at my best mate Rob's apartment. I'm very pleased and excited.
Larry and Carole have a baby boy! Finlay was born on Saturday and weighs a healthy 8 lbs 14 oz. He has more hair than his dad. Congratulations to Lazza and Cazza. We're chuffed for them!


* Many of India's little friends are now walking. Collectively they resemble little zombies, shuffling slightly off-balance and awkwardly, mouths open and groaning, towards you.

A World of Spain

How was the holiday?

Hmmmm... We were due to fly out Tuesday lunch time, but things didn't go to plan. India was repeatedly sick (and we're talking big person's sick) on the Friday night beforehand. I got it at 1.38 am Tuesday morning. And I got it bad. Hours of puking up replaced sleep. My body was wrecked. At 10.00 am the rest of my family departed for the airport, leaving me on the bathrrom floor. I managed to fly out Wednesday evening, keeping a firm grip on my bowels. Air pressure can do horrible things to a man who has a body that wants to expunge its gizzards by whatever outlet possible.

Vic came down with it on the Thursday and didn't leave the apartment for two and a half days.

Great start to a ten day holiday...

Apart from that things were good: The weather -- that can be very changable this time of year -- held out for all but one day. We were hit by four nights of electrical storms however -- amazing events, as L'Escala lies on a bay surrounded by hills, meaning that once a thunderstorm gets caught in the bay, it never escapes. It was like watching some sort of immense ethereal naval battle. At times the night sky was light up like the middle of the day.

Visted the Dali museum at Figueres -- his fine art is surprisingly superb. I'm used to seeing his cliched rubbery clocks and elephants on stilts and was pleasantly surprised by the vast scope of his other work. The gold gorilla skeleton by his bed was quite freaky. We also visited the sprawling Roman and Greek ruins of Empuiries too: I still don't get why the ancients were so obsessed with willies. If they weren't drinking out of willy-shaped goblets, their stonemasons were chiselling willy images into city walls.

We managed to catch up with some old friends who I hadn't seen for 6 and *12* years respectively. It's scary how people don't change: I few pounds heavier, different hair, wives and children, but that's it.

Flava Text

OK, here's a blog-rule-breaking Magic-related post for you.

I can't tell you how excited I am!

Some Magic cards have what's called "flavour text" on them. The idea is to give depth to the card and add colour to the game. Some flavour text is ripped from classic literature. Some is created by the Magic R&D team -- it usually has an element of imaginary game character saying "blah, blah, D&D crap, blah, blah...". The classic quotes are always so much better...

Anway, for the second year running, Wizards of the Coasts have run an online competition for players of the game to submit their own ideas for flavour text to Magic R&D for inclusion in the next Core Set of the game due for release next year.

They put up three cards -- Fear, Naturalize and Shock -- for the great unwashed game-playing masses to submit on.

I've got to say that all three of my submissions seriously kicked ass.

To continue the story I shall now quote directly from the Magic article that was posted up today:

"For the final vote of the promotion, we have the ten finalists for each card in the flavor text competition. The readers of magicthegathering.com sent us nearly 10,000 entries, and narrowing them all down to this list of finalists was no simple task (and not just because of the numbers involved). So here, to close out our promotion, are the final three votes of Selecting Ninth Edition. Pick your favorites and make sure to check back next week for the results as well as a complete wrap-up of all the other votes as well."

Guess who made the shortlist for Fear? From 10,000 submissions!
[Smile]

If you'd like to vote on my submission -- so I can have my flavour text live forever -- you can vote for it here. You'll need to register with the site first. (Do it!)

And you need to vote for #6:
"Hold on to your sword, your nerve, and your bowels."

Frankly it pisses on all the other submissions, but every vote counts as they say...

Bon Anniversary

It's September and that means three things:

1) We're off on holiday to Spain for ten days.

2) Whilst we're away it's India's first birthday! Happy Birthday for the 13th! (I can't believe how quickly the last 12 months have gone)

3) This blog becomes two years old on the 11th. This is pretty amazing for me, as the previous diaries I've written have at most lasted all of 5 weeks. Thank you for reading.

See you when we get back from Espana!

I Hate Caravans

One negative thing about travelling up and back to Carlisle is the high number of trundling caravans you have to fight past on the M6. The Lake District is like a candle for these moths. They should be banned from using motorways. The only silver-lining of having them block up the road, is the ability to laugh at the manufacturer's names given to the boxes of scrap metal on wheels.

My favourite model from this trip was the "Marauder".

Bizarrely, it was being driven by a guy dressed in a black desert nomad costume and wielding a great curved sword.

The Dance of Death

We went up to Carlisle at the weekend to see Vic’s mum and dad. Nelson the dog has pretty much got over his psycho paw gnawing and was pleasantly surprised to see us arrive. As usual his little willy popped out to greet us at the door.

Day 1 saw Nelson over-excited about having a mini human in his midst. India was unsure of what to make of him. A muscular mass of black hair with big teeth and lots of salvia wasn’t something she wanted up close and personal in her face. Frantic pointing at the dog and cuddling up close to mummy was about as adventurous as it got.

Day 2 saw a gradual coming together of the two naughty monkeys: they were both excited, but not crazily so.

Day 3 was the complete reverse of day 1, with India squealing in delight at the dog and trying to grab his tail / pat his back / stick her hands in his mouth. Of course, as soon as Nelson was aware of tiny hands grabbing at him, he would spin round to challenge the 2ft tall energetic bundle of nuisance. Slow motion boxing-style replays of his spinning would probably have shown beads of dog salvia being thrown from the thrashing beast. India didn’t like this, and would retreat into our arms in an instant, laughing maniacally as she did so. Then her brow would furrow and our devilish child would wait for the unsuspecting dog to turn away before pounching once more. Repeat until either dog, dad or mum got bored.

The three days played out like some great Dance of Death, with the two participants gleefully taunting each other and being forcibly separated by the adults of the house when things looked as if they were getting out of hand.

No wounds administered by either dancer, but next time we go up – when India should be fully mobile – I think we can expect fireworks.

Especially if it’s the first weekend of November.

Excerpt: Life of a Tackley Lad

The writing up of Gramp's memoirs continues at a snail's pace. As I've not got time to write anything original today, here is an excerpt that I prepared earlier. Gives a good idea of the generally tone and spirit of Volume 1:

"At the top of the back garden were the pigsties. One belonged to us, the other to Tommy Smith who lived next door. My dad usually kept two pigs at a time. When they weighed about sixteen score, one was sold for cash and the other was slaughtered outside the sty, with the meat retained for our use. Pig killing day was always exciting for the young boys in the village. A little streak of sadism seemed to lurk in us. Many of us used to hold the rope that secured the pig to the killing stool. The slaughter was always a gory task. A small sharp blade was inserted into the pig throat and the animal would bleed to death. It soon became law that all animals had to be shot before being cut.

My Uncle Harold Harris used to do the killing. He used to enjoy it. After despatching the pig he would hang it in our back shed overnight and then return the next day to butcher it. Nothing at all was wasted. The intestines were removed, cleaned, salted and used for a nice pan of ‘chitterlings’. Beautiful home-cured lard, seasoned with a little fresh rosemary from the garden, was made out of the pig flear. We had a lead trough in the back shed in which all the salting was performed. This is how we made our bacon and cured the ham. My dad used to make his own curing brine, using salt, treacle and a few selected spices. His secret ingredient was a drop of old ale. It worked wonders.

After they were cured, the bacon sides and hams were brought into the house. Hams were hung on the wall at the side of fire, and the sides hung from the ceiling in a rack. There they were left to mature until they developed an intense flavour that has no equal today."

Blind Man's Duff

When reaching into my "manbag" for my asthma inhalers, what should I find but my glasses, safe and sound in their case...

What a wally. At least I won't have to drive home squinting...

My Eyes!

Vic and I are exchanging cars everyday at the moment, a result of only having a single car seat for India. Today I drove Vic's car into work blind. I left my glasses in my car, which Vic had already departed in. With no vision correctors on, the drive to work was hair-raising. The world was a blur and I struggled to judge speed and distance. I felt I was wearing a goldfish bowl on my head. It was scary.

And I've got the return trip to look forward to later...

Athens

The Sunday Times Style magazine reports that the Greeks have ordered 130,000 condoms for the 17,000 athletes living in the Olympic Village over the next couple of weeks. A former athlete describes what goes on during the games as a 'f***fest'.

Now, these are purely my calculations, but figure 1 teaspoon of semen per condom. That's 5 ml times 130,000 condoms = 650 litres, or 1300 pints, of semen.

Almost enough for Ian Thorpe to swim in.

Crash Bang Wallop What a Big One

Somebody left the skylight to our bedroom opened yesterday. They knew that there was a chance of showers, but didn't expect the Summer Storm of the Decade to hit. I returned home to discover that the two inch gap at the top of the window had allowed buckets of water to soak the carpet and the bed. The rain had descended through layers of duvet, sheets, more sheets, a sleeping bag, and porous rock to soak the mattress. The carpet was drenched, and despite sponging with old towels, it was still wet this morning.

It was me who left the window open.

The lovely Falcon pub -- 200 yards down the road -- had a fire engine pumping its cellars out all night.

Good storm.


Out of Hospital

Gran came out of the JR yesterday. She's back at home and pleased to be sleeping in her own bed.


A House Divided

Vic went back to work on Monday for her first three day week. India was at the nursery on Monday and today. Yesterday she was looked after by my mum and dad. As expected, Vic hates it.

Electrical Storm

As I write this we are currently in the middle of the best electrical storm I've experienced for ages. Being at the top of the High Wycombe valley, I have a panoramic view of the lightning striking down around us. The office is slowly being flooded. So much rain has fallen that the gutters and roof can't cope. Water is pouring in through the window seals, soaking the carpets and cascading over power lines. At any moment I might lose this posting. It's very exciting. One of our 'Crisis Team' has just told me -- in his best Hollywood action movie voice -- that they've had to "cut the power on the other side of the building!". I am expecting us to be evacuated any second.

To top things off, our dimwitted HR Fools decided to force our Facilities Manager to resign last week, and he's out of the office today on gardening/beer leave. Instant Karma again (Kate). He's going to be soooo eager to fix the office tomorrow...

And now I'm hearing that (as usual) the freak weather is causing the closure of most of Wycombe's roads through flooding. There is also an accident on the M40 back to Oxford. Time to leave I think...

A Murder Mystery

Saturday night sees us celebrate Rob's birthday with a Murder Mystery Dinner. The scenario is 1930's India, with the characters being a motley crew of British Army Colonel's, Muslim playboys and Indian Independence activists. It is a boxed game, rather than one I've written myself. I've played four or five of these games now and they can go one of two ways: 1) Complete disasters as people drink too much and get confused about what's going on/fail to reveal their information correctly. 2) People get in character, stay sober and concentrate on the game, reveal what they need to and ask the right questions, resulting in a smooth evening.
Apart from the time Rob and I had to dress up in drag, most of our MMG's have ended up as disasters... I'm hoping that as three of the six won't be drinking more than a glass of wine, we'll be OK this time out.

I'm off to locate some props this afternoon: Stuffed tiger, croquet mallet (the murder weapon), Colonel's hat and false moustache, medals, books on the Boer War (Robin is playing a South African businessman/rugby player), blunderbuss, etc.

I have no doubt that it will be me who turns out to have done the dirty deed: caving the skull in of one of my officers... with a croquet mallet.

 

For Whom the Bell Tolls: Exam Results

I've just received my exam results. The email, sent by the CIMA Doomgoblins and made of lead, arrived with the accompanying sound of the London Lloyds Bell announcing the tragic news that another ship had been lost to the cruel sea.

You may well remember that I came out of both exams feeling very upset and frustrated. I'd put in a lot of hardwork and feared my poor performances on the day had thoroughly rotted the fruits of my labours. I was expecting to be acutely embarrassed by the results -- I know what is expected of me in these exams now and have been predicting nothing more than a 30-35% score in both.

So imagine my surprise and shock at scoring 47% and 50%, meaning a near-miss in the Financial Strategy and a very important scraped pass in the Case Study.

I'm stunned and can only think that the exams must have been overly difficult and CIMA had to bump up the marks*. There is no way that I scored anywhere near those marks on the day.

Vic and I are going to get pissed on champagne tonight.
I didn't embarass myself!
I've only got one more of the friggin' things to pass!
Put out the bunting!
Roll on the November retake!

 
* CIMA claim that they don't do this, but we all know that they do really...

A Little Tip for You: Don't Point the Finger

My dad sliced the tip of his finger off yesterday with a pair of garden shears. He was pruning the waterlillies. Mum said she found the tip on the blades, looking like half a baked bean. The finger bled for England, so they visited the JR's A&E. Unfortunately the chopped off end was too small for them to sew back on, so dad will presumably have a stubby finger now for the rest of his years.

The Biotic Man

We're using Thame's library again after a long break; driven by the need to feed India an ever-changing selection of books. She loves books.

I'm currently reading Rubicon ('The Triumph and Tragedy of the Roman Republic') by Tom Holland -- a rip-snorter of a history book, with colourful shocks on every page -- and Jack Heffron's Ideas for Writers.

Since the demise of starlines, I've avoided "how to write" articles, but Heffron's opening two chapters has already fuelled my desire to put pen to paper. He lists the top ten enemies of writing, and top of that list is the Procastinator -- a costume that I often wear. Taking Heffron's advice to 'just write', I've discarded my procastinator mask and have flung myself back into Writing Project 1: Typing up my grandad's memoirs.

The Life of a Tackley Lad is now being typed up and edited at the rate of 1000 words a day -- hardly speedy, but at least it's being done and I'm getting satisfaction from doing it. Hopefully it will cheer me gramp up a bit -- gran is still in the JR hospital.

The shift back to this outstanding project corresponds with a few other subtle changes: I am taking vitamins and eating dried nuts, seeds and fruit to combat an apparent vitamin B complex deficit. I am sipping Danone probiotic goo to give my body some friendly bacteria and a boost after all those antibiotic courses. I am doing the odd sit-up, and drinking gin and tonic rather than beer, to get my unsightly blubber belly in check.

Better body, better application of the mind.

The Naming Party

Thank you to everyone who joined us for India's naming party yesterday. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. It was great for me! The afternoon went quicker than even our wedding day, and I was conscious of the fact that most people got all of 5 minutes (if they were lucky) talk time. Sorry! It was a blur, but I did my best. Thank you again for coming and your kind gifts for India. And the booze of course. It was a suitable celebration of India's arrival into the world.

A summary for those who didn't make it:

We'd booked the Barns Centre for 12:30. We got there early -- we had lots to set-up.. The Centre Manager forgot our booking. Vic was stressing at 12:35 that he wasn't going to turn up and all the food that she and her mum had been preparing for 3 days was going to cook in the back of the car. At 12:45 I managed to locate John Thomas (real name) the Barns Centre Mgr and he opened the hall for us 5 minutes later. Tears from Vic were averted. My bollocks were saved from getting cut off with the bread knife. With all hands on deck we managed to get set-up and rolling just as the first guests arrived.

The day was sweaty. Very humid. Great for those who wished to sit out on the grass and catch some rays, but bad for those of us who were stressed at not having a venue / 5 minutes to set-up the place. Many guests had the pleasure of having my salty sticky cheek pressed against their face on arrival. Not great for the armpits either when you've -- as usual -- not written your speech and are trying to jot down a few notes on the back of a stamp.

The food was great.

Uncle Stasher -- more formally known as Andrew -- played a perfect piece [The Swan] on his cello to open the ceremony. The babies were enthralled.

The four godparents/cheque-bringers -- Rob, Emma, Stasher and Steph -- behaved themselves and nodded when required.

India was oblivious to the fact that it was her party and she was the centre of attention. 
  
 

The Hanging Tree

My journey home takes me past an unusual tree. It is enormous and very dead. It stands proudly by itself at the edge of a pasture. It looks as if it is the victim of a lightning strike: Not a single leaf hangs from its twisted bare limbs -- just an old tyre and rope swing. It's the sort of tree you would imagine mobs would use for lynchings and I therefore call it the Hanging Tree. It has a striking and haunting beauty. Every time I drive past I think to myself that I should stop and take a photo of it for posterity.

Last week when I drove past, a man WAS taking a photo of it. It reassured me to know that I wasn't the only person who saw beauty in the dead giant. I'm not mad.

If you want to see the tree for yourself, it's on the B482, just on the right as you across the M40 travelling from Stokenchurch to Cadmore End.

The World Series of Poker

Jonnie wants to get the ante-natal boys together for a low-stakes game of poker. He claims that he's never played before, which sounds like a hustle to me.

A few weekends ago was the World Series of Poker. The result from this event which blows me away is the guy who came second -- winning a mere $3.5 million -- only started playing poker after going Pro at that silly card game that I play -- Magic. Well done Dave Williams. On top of that, in 8th place, winning a cool $575,000 is Sweden's 2001 Magic National Champion.

If only Vic had let me play more Magic when I was a youngster...

Perhaps our £2 Buy-In Boys Night In session will be the first leg on a $3.5 million poker pay day for me...

...Yeah right.

Silks, Songs and Sag Aloo

Vic's Mum and Dad were down with us at the weekend. It was Bob's birthday. They were also down for a friend's memorial service -- the guy had a fatal heart attack just a week after retiring to France.

For Bob's birthday treat we all ventured off to the newly renovated House of Spice in Thame. They've gutted the place and refurbished it in the style of Pizza Express less the style. The smoking area is beneath the non-smoking area, so all the smoke drifts up to the non-tabbers. At one end of the restaurant they've installed a giant plasma screen on which they were loudly playing Bollywood movies. [I love the colour of the silks and the fact you can spot who the heroes and villains are from the colour and condition of their clothes and size of their moustaches.]

As we'd walked up to eat, and the weather was threatening rain in that typically English manner, we had carried a pair of umbrellas with us. The helpful waiter, who couldn't speak English -- he didn't even understand that common Indian Restaurant Phrase Book standard of "half a pint of Kingfisher lager please" -- took our umbrellas from us and hid them in the cloakroom next to the big screen.

When our time came to leave, we asked the Waiter Who Only Understands The Word Pint to retrieve our umbrellas for us.

And as he scuttled up the restaurant towards the clockroom and that big plasma screen showing a classic Bollywood musical, I couldn't resist saying:

"For him it's a dream come true... he's off to Brollywood."

The Referee's a W@nker

It always happens to England doesn't it. Yet again we see a perfectly good goal disallowed by a home-decision referee. Mister Meier even over-ruled his assistant [linesman] who signalled the goal as valid. A dreadful piece of refereeing, and one that robbed England of their rightful place in the semi's. I'm gutted. Forget the penalties -- they are always a lottery and we shouldn't have been in that position.

If you'd like to send Urs Meier a message -- congratulating him on his great work in a Portugese shirt -- you'll find a handy feedback section. Bewarned that the page might not load first time: His server is probably seeing a lot more traffic than normal...

I'm getting tired of seeing England nearly make it.

I Expect

The football is keeping my mind off my Gran's terminal condition. For this reason alone I'd like to England progress another round. Stories that 40,000 of the 65,000 capacity crowd will be English -- despite the fact is being played in the host's backyard stadium -- encourage wishful thinking that perhaps this time, more than any other time, England can go all the way.

I have £1 on England to win 3-1 in normal time.

Chow Italia

Vic seems to think that I'm xenophobic when it comes to football. She uses words like "hate" -- as in "Why do you hate the Germans / French / Italians [delete as appropriate] so much?"

Last night it was the turn of the Italian dream to crumble, and when I expressed my pleasure at seeing them go out of the tournament, Vic asked the above question. I'm not xenophobic of course, but football's a funny old game, and I do have some deep-seated, jingoistic, views on the above three nationalities when it comes to football (e.g. all three of the above teams have misplaced arrogance). But the bottom line is that there's nothing better than seeing the once mighty struck low. Who cannot appreciate the bitterness of seeing the celebrations of the Italians at their last-gasp winning goal being immediately cut short by the news that it was irrelevant and they were going home on the next plane out. They deserved it, just as Spain deserved it two nights before. A team of poncy reputations playing without respect for their opponents or the game --either playing for the draw or playing without drive or ambition. I'm pleased for Sweden and Denmark -- they deserved to progress, unlike the dire Italians. All the Italians can do is wave about wild accusations of collusion. It's got nothing to do with xenophobia -- it's all about merit.

However, I can't wait to see the TV coverage of the tomato-throwing Italian public welcoming their heroes home. Hopefully they'll have a crate ready for spitmeister Totti.

So Hot

After the supreme disappointment of the France match, there was no getting away from the possibility that those fateful last two minutes would come back to haunt the England team. Thankfully, after two very professional performances, England have qualified for the knock-out stages.

All thanks to Wayne Rooney.

The boy done good. Or, as the heart-on-sleeve Ian "Wright, Wright" Wright said: "He's on fire... he's so hot, he needs an asbestos kit."

And that's what makes the BBC's TV coverage of the games so much better than ITV's:

Studio pundits like Gary Linekar and Ian Wright who genuinely care -- and are passionate about -- the England team. Unlike their counterparts on ITV -- Jamaica's Robbie Earle and Ireland's Andy Townsend -- Ian and Gary have played for England and know what it's all about.

Commentators who a) don't get over excited, b) understand the difference between a big match and a good match, and c) know the names of the English players (unlike Sir Bobby Robson).

No cutting away from the build-up for TV advertisements in the 30 second period between the end of the national anthems and the kick-off.

The quarterfinal against Portugal should be a cracker: The stadium should rock. After that, the semi's could throw up a clash with the lack-lustre Germany. Then France in the final. I can almost see David Beckham raising the trophy up in his hands, with a St. George's flag behind him with "Thame Boys" written on it.

Dawn Chorus

I feel like a zombie. Brain freeze. India was awake at 02:20 this morning and decided she didn’t want to go back to sleep until 05:00. Having your 9 month old rapping the devil’s tattoo on your headboard, when you’ve got to go to work in two hours time, isn’t half as fun as she apparently thinks it is. To make matters worse India broke into a vivid dream I was having, one that was undoubtedly being used by my subconscious to deal with things bothering me:

I went to see my Gran in hospital yesterday – she was fine apart from a tube up her nose designed to stop her from choking to death on her own vomit. The dream featured me at her house doing jobs like tiding up the vast numbers of boxes of biscuits hidden in a carpeted dugout under the bed – a bit like a mechanics pit under a car. They were the sort of biscuits old people get given by distant relatives at Christmas and each brand of biscuit was neatly arranged in rows. I know that I was about to reach an important bit of the dream – and a release of pent-up subconscious chaos - when India kicked-off.

The Mighty Fall

I've been off sick from work for a few days. India gave me a cold a few weeks back and predictably I was unable to shift it off my chest. The vicious asthma cycle kicked in and last week saw me collecting a course of steriods from the Doc, followed by a course of antibiotics, for a nasty little chest infection: I ended up in bed Thursday afternoon with flu like symptoms. The cycle of cold, infection, antibiotics is becoming depressing: it's starting to get to me.

Sunday -- 5 mins before the start of the big match* -- I managed to fall down the stairs. Warning: Do not wear smoooth-bottomed flip-flops when descending Victorian terrace property staircases. It could have been a bad one: I came down at least seven steps, landing on my arse with a crunch. My bottom is bruised, my left upper arm and shoulder jarred, and my right shoulder sore. My left knee ligaments are also tight today.

Fortunately I managed to grab the bannister, saving myself from serious injury. Nine of the twelve screws attaching it to the wall popped out. I was lucky it didn't follow me down the stairs: it weighs a ton.


Exam Invigilator

My dad's doing GCSE exam invigilating for Lord Williams' at the moment. It's a boring job. The highlights for him so far have both been in the Maths exam:

1) Kid A turns up, writes "I can't f***ing do this" on his paper and then leaves the hall -- never to return -- when his mobile phone rings. The ringtone was probably Alice Cooper.

2) Kid B falls asleep at his desk. He is woken up four times by different invigilators and teachers. Each time he works for ten minutes and thens nods off again. Lesson to be learned = do not stay up late revising the night before an exam.


Terminal Velocity

Gran is still in hospital. Yesterday we learnt that the 4cm growth detected in her bowel region apears to be a fast-growing secondary tumour. I'm unsurprised, but still shell-shocked. My brother phoned me up last night to talk about it, but just as I don't know what to write here, I didn't know what to say to him. I doubt that they will operate. Gran has another scan this week, from which they will [I guess] be able to tell us how long she's got left.


Changing Gears

I used to use that technique a lot more when I was posting this blog every day: Post a good thing, post a bad thing. It puts the reader off guard and makes the good thing seem better and the bad thing worse than if they existing alongside other good or bad things respectively. In poker it's called changing gears. Over the weekend -- whilst recovering from my chest infection and stuntman tumble -- I read Matt Haddon's The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time. It's excellent and reads like a blog. Each chapter is all of one to six pages long and Haddon changes gear every chapter, zipping the story along at a pace and keeping the reader hooked.



* the post-Big Match joke:
Q: Why do French women love Englishmen ?
A: They can be on top for 90 mins.... then still come second.

Lookout for Wormholes and Dawn

The two most recent Webflix movies watched are Contenders:Series 7 and Donnie Darko.
I knew Donnie Darko had a reputation for weirdness, and it didn't disappoint: There's no getting away from the fact that giant time-travelling rabbits are freaky. Great movie, brilliant 80's music and a story that was dream-like. I even got the ending. Contenders: Series 7 is a fantastic low-budget Film Four presentation, that only had a limited cinema release and Blockbuster shelf-life. Filmed in a mockumentary format, it's Big Brother with guns played out on a streets of small town America. It's ace. Go watch it!


Hear the Hooves of the Ghost Carriage and Horses

We've just had a great weekend away with Sara and Stasher. We stayed in the isolated Palmer's Lodge -- part of the Victoria Hotel -- in the grounds of the Earl of Leicester's Holkham Estate on the coast of Norfolk. We travelled up via Cambridge on Thursday, so it felt like a proper long weekend break.

Here's a brief report on what happened:

Sara and Stasher paid for our lodgings -- it was Vic's 30th birthday present.
We paid for the dinner on Saturday night.
The Palmer's Lodge is part of a great stone gate -- originally the boundary of the 25,000 acre Holkham Estate.
At midnight you can apparently sometimes hear the sound of hooves, as the ghostly apparition of a carriage and four horses dashes through the gate on the way to some tragedy.
Vic couldn't sleep -- she was worried about the haunting.
The hotel receptionist told us that the story of the ghost carriage is hogwash... but one of the hotel rooms really is haunted.
The Palmer's Lodge second bedroom, bathroom, kitchen and dining room is underground in converted cellars: With the low arched roofs and Vic's hairy Hobbit feet, I felt like Gandalf in Baggins End.
We drove through herds of deer, flocks of pheasants and colonies of rabbits each time we drove the two mile trip back and forth to the hotel.
The local Ice House lager is very good.
The beach at Holkham is the one Gwenny Palthrow walks down at the end of Shakespeare in Love.
When the tide is out, you have to walk miles from the sand dunes to reach the water.
The walk consists of stagnate mud-flats and quicksand: Not the best terrain for a baby buggy and flip-flops.
Stasher wore his shirt on his head. He looked like Lawrence of Arabia. Normally the first to fry with his fair skin, Stasher was the only one of us -- apart from India -- not to get burnt in the sun.
India loves sand.
India loves to eat sand.
There are no donkey rides at Holkham beach.
Having a picnic on the beach is one of life's true pleasures.
I mastered the art of boomerang throwing on the Holkham Estate cricket pitch.
I almost decapitated two tourists with said boomerang.
I almost decapitated a cricketer by throwing a cricket ball to him, whilst he had his back to me.
He didn't thank me for returning the ball.
We visited the estate church and left wanting to know what happened to Ann Cooper: There was an empty space for her on her husband's 1801 tombstone, but all her children and grandchildren had apparently died earlier than she (buried in the family plot). Vic guessed that Ann might have remarried, but it's one of those unanswered mysteries you always find when visiting graveyards.
Jamie Oliver has a house in Burnham Market. It's probably pukka.
Well-next-the-Sea has a rock shop which only sells one quality... THE BEST!
Sandringham Palace -- which we visited on Sunday -- is beautiful.
The Queen eats off plates adorned with cutesy animals, sat upon placemats that feature photos of her racehorses: Tableware that wouldn't grace even the most downmarket of 1970's public houses.
The Peterborough to London route is a race-track for F-reg Nova's.

Mister Blister

Our very own Young Indiana Jones -- Simon -- is planning to partake of a charity walk. Find all the details -- plus sponsorship link -- here at his worldofmore.

100km sounds like a test of strength, but if Simon was a real macho macho man, he'd be getting some of his hair-waxed for charity instead.

Back, crack and sack.

Exams

Been and gone. They were both unmitigated disasters. Poor time management and too many gaps in my answers. Very frustrated and unhappy, as I'd prepared well for both. Frankly, the last 10 weeks have been wasted, I've missed out on some one-off social events, and life's potential golden age gets put on hold for another six months. Plus, I've got to do them all again in November. Joy.


Big Brother

Kitten should be put in a sack and drowned.
Shel seems the only straight non-ego in the house, so her odds of 5-1 seem reasonable.
Dan is the sort of man [if you believe Dan] to break Scott "Straight But Gay Icon" in.


Crop Circles

Rob was back from Chicago weekend before last. What do you do when your gay best mate comes to visit? Do you get out the wax and let Rob deforest the hair on your upper arms? Do you wave goodbye to those "Crop Circles" -- as your wife and friends affectionately call them? Are you surprised when the newly smooth and boyish arms start sprouting new -- and thicker -- replacement hair almost immediately?

It's amazing what you do after a few drinks and your daughter is asleep, blocking the route to the games cupboard...

And girls, waxing does hurt -- what's all the fuss?!

Crawl & Maul

India started crawling on Friday afternoon. Exactly eight months old. Three hesitant steps and then she was off like a greyhound from the slips. There's no stopping her now -- her domain has been enlarged beyond her wildest dreams -- everything is within her grasp. We're still to make the house bomb-proof: Little hands have already discovered pot plant soil is fun to play with. Little mouths have already discovered that pot plant soil does not taste good.

The weird thing is how unexcited I'm feeling about her latest step over the progression hurdle. As soon as she did it, I was left feeling "OK, next it's walking", rather than "Wow! My baby's crawling!".

Once we've got the walking cracked, it'll be kicking a football. Then bending it like Beckham. Then putting your ladies England shirt on just as you're leaving the tunnel, Paul Ince style.


Hospitalised

My gran -- who had the radiotherapy last year -- went into the JR on Monday morning. She's been off her food now for six months, and things came to a head on Sunday night. Reports from the hospital say it's 95% certain she has an abscess of the bowel, causing her loss of appetite and sickness. She's now under observation.

I just hope it doesn't turn out to be the 5% alternative.

Pump It Up

The petrol station at Postcombe yesterday hiked its pump prices up to 83.9p a litre of unleaded. For my American reader, that's $5.63 a US gallon (and you thought YOU had it bad!). Pundits are predicting it will hit 90p by the middle of next week.

I'm so happy to be driving a Rover 620, rather than my old Clio. It doesn't drink fuel like a fish at all.

Prices are being pushed up not just by the Iraq situation, but by the huge demand of US motorists who apparently all get into their 4.0 litre Monster Trucks and go drivin' on Route 66 from now until the end of August. 12% of the worlds petroleum output gets vapourised in US motor engines during the summer months.

As a result, we'll probably see fuel blockades again here in the UK.

We'll definitely see rises in energy and food prices, which together with the petrol itself will push up inflation rates. That 2% pay rise you just got therefore represents an effective pay-cut.

Let us reap the rewards of US foreign and domestic transport policies.

Blow This Photo Up

Sometimes when you're scanning the net [for a suitable photo for your blog profile], you discover photos of you that you knew nothing about.
Hideous photos.

[Apologies to Nancy and Duncan who now have their private photo album opened to the universe]



Free Movies

I missed a load of decent films before and after India's arrival. That's one thing as parents of a baby you miss out on: going to the cinema as a couple. Even before the birth, our visits were curtailled by Vic's girth and bladder: sitting down for 3 hours with no easy access to a toilet wasn't her idea of a good night out. I've been trying to catch up on those missed movies, with many of them now appearing on DVD. Although my exam retake revision doesn't help my cause, I've managed to watch Kill Bill Vol 1, Master and Commander, and City of God over the last couple of weeks.

All good movies, but it is City of God that ranks as the MUST SEE flick. If you've not seen it, treat yourself and rent it. The sunshine that burns brightly from the screen and the funky music are enough on their own. Add a pacy story, original cinematography and some excellent acting, and you're in popcorn heaven. Yes, it's in Brazilian and has subtitles, but don't let them put you off: the foreign lanaguage actually adds to the film, and it's been clipped-translated, so the subtitles are easy-to-read and don't get in the way. You might read in some reviews that the film is violent: don't believe the hype, there is some gunplay, but it's no bloodbath.

Unlike Kill Bill.

Thanks go to Sara and Stasher for signing me up with Webflix for my birthday -- 3 months of free DVD's!

And Master and Commander is superb: An action movie with many subtle layers. How refreshing to see us Brits not portrayed as the bad guys by Hollywood*. Even Crowe's "English" accent isn't too off-putting.

* Now its the rightful turn of the French! Hoorah!

Babb Bee

India's been forming proper vocal sounds for the last week. As well as the usual mono-tone screeching, we now have a new level of communication, with "bab bab", "da da" and "mum ma" echoing forth from her little mouth.

I'm sure it won't be long before she utters her first f word.

She is now on the cusp of crawling and the teething pains are back. No teeth yet and no current need to baby/bomb-proof the house. Her development review on Monday went well and she's apparently very tall for her age. Her new tricks include untying shoe laces, clapping to show her appreciation of things and shaking her head when you say "no". She also cries when I leave for work in the morning... which is nice.

The venue for India's naming party is booked. The date is set for the 18th of July. I've started on the first draft of the invite. If Vic gives it the nod, it'll be going out next week.

New Blogger

Time to jump on the bandwagon and update this blog with a new template and comments box.

The comments box is well-over due, but I just couldn't be bothered to mess around finding a suitable host and adding in the code. I've also been aware that it will probably only invite abuse... Well done to google for the improved options, and bring that abuse on!


Paintball

I came back with 12 bruises, two skinned shins, one grazed hand and one unimpressed wife. However, compared to the car, I got off lightly. I managed to back it into a tree in the woodland car park.

Oops. That rounded the afternoon off nicely for Vic...

Did she enjoy it? For the first 4 games she cowered behind the cover at the rear of each field, scared of getting hit and scared to get in the thick of the action. By the end she was happier -- the more "mission" orientated games (such as defending a house from the evil blue team) were far more to her liking. I don't think she'll do it again however... and it certainly didn't match up to an afternoon at a health spa.


JF's Funeral

A guess a good thousand or two turned-out for JF's funeral. The bells tolled. The minister played to the crowd. The readings and tributes were fitting. The school kids lined the street when his coffin departed the church. There were many long faces. It made you realise how many people this great man had helped over the years.

Happy Birthday Beautiful Wife

Vic turned 30 at the weekend. Hard to believe, especially as she will always be 17 to me. Had a great time with good friends. Took a narrowboat/barge up the Oxford Canal on Saturday. We were blessed by the weather and I thoroughly enjoyed the day: very peaceful, relaxing and destressing. Highly recommended. Went out for dinner at the Crazy Bear in the evening: Good food but a little pricey for what it was. Saw Steeleye Span on Sunday night: Good gig but their standards seem to be slipping. Maddy's voice is also starting to noticeably degrade. First night of their UK tour, so for those going in the next few months, hope it gets better!

Vicster did very well with some brilliant treats lined up over the next few weeks. The highlight for her is of course the paintball session I've booked for her at the end of this month. Not the weekend away at a posh hotel, or the lunch at Le Manior, but the paintabll...


Loco Dog

Nelson the Dog has gone loco. He damaged his paw months ago and has been eating the bandages and biting / licking the wound ever since. Ann took him to the vets and he asked her if there had been any disturbance in the family over the last few months. The original wound was tracked back to our first visit up to Carlisle with India, and he's been self-harming ever since. When we went up two weeks ago he skulked round the house like a dead man walking and by the Sunday had bitten the pads on his other paw.

Poor chap.

According to the vet this is apparently quite common in labradors -- they can get jealous of babies and often feel abandoned if their mummy's attention is funnelled away from them.


John Fulkes Dies

JF -- king of Lord Williams' Sixth Form for years -- died on Saturday. I don't have the details -- possible heart-attack? Took the call from my shocked dad -- who is a couple of years older than John was and an ex-school chum. Last time I saw JF was at my grandad's funeral in January: JF did the main tribute to gramp before my reading. His death will be a massive loss to the school and the local cricket club.


India Update

My bonny baby is back into a settle sleep mode. She's still great too. We're starting to plan her naming party/non-christen christening. For those who have diaries, the date is going to be the 18th of July. Vic and I need to thrash out the details, but I'm hoping for live DJs and a hot-grillin' BBQ.

We'll probably end up with Nora Jones on CD and cucumber sandwiches...


Jules

No sign of him.

Updates

GP Brum

I started strongly, winning the first 2 rounds, but then blew up with some terrible plays, dropping out of the event at 2-2. Team mate Chestor put in a spectacular performance however: he finished 18th out of 600+ players, picking up $950 for his trouble...


Jules

Julian was dismissed last week. He had five days in which to appeal, but nothing has been seen or heard of him. He's still AWOL. His box of possessions lies unloved in reception and he has been deleted from the Fire Register and telephone index.

We have been scouring the local paper to see if he's jumped under a train or taken a bath with his stereo.

I'm starting to think he's gone travelling to find himself or something.


April Fool

I've doctored up a CV for Jules -- together with a real agency covering letter and envelope -- and have ensured my boss will get it tomorrow morning. That's right -- Julian is applying for his old job again -- the one he's just been dismissed from.

Grand Prix Birmingham

I normally try to avoid all Magic references in this blog -- 1) I can't stand the blogs of magic players who seem to live their whole life around the game; and 2) the hobby is full of geeks like me -- but this weekend is a little different.

Grand Prix Birmingham comes to the NEC and may well be the largest event of it's type ever since in the UK. I'm expecting over 800 players to be competiting in the event, possibly more considering Madrid's GP had over 1200 competitors.

By anyone's standards, that is a seriously big tournament.

The event is held over two days: Just like in golf there is a Day 2 cut to the top 64 players. With no byes and little practise, I am unlikely to make that cut or a money finish ($2400 and an expenses-paid trip to the Pro Tour event in San Diego is the first prize), but you can follow my progress, round-by-round, live via the official DCI Tournament Center portal. [Remember that you'll have to find "Yates" on the leaderboard rather than "Dobscrub"]

I'm really looking forward to my big day out. Not just for the competition, but because I'll be bumping into a host of friends who I haven't seen in a long time. And that's really what it's all about: a fun day out with old friends.

And the prize money.

AWOL

Julian -- who is depressed but won't admit it -- hasn't turned up for work for the last few weeks. Not everyday -- some days he comes in -- but on the whole he's been AWOL for quite a while.

Work have been pretty sensitive to it, but have now run out of patience: He's basically blown chance after final chance.

At 11.30 he was meant to turn up for a meeting with the FD and HR Mgr. It was clearly going to be his final act here. An envelope -- or bullet -- was waiting with his name on it. Knowing what to expect, predictably he hasn't turned up.

He'd be late for his own funeral.

Except I can't say that, because there's a realistic chance that in his current state that WILL be his next appointment.

Despite the fact he hasn't been seen since last week, work have so far failed to contact his next of kin. We, the rest of the department, fear he's topped himself. Hopefully we're wrong.

Your Glasses Are So Funny Daddy

India was having her breakfast milk when I said goodbye to her this morning. After giving her a kiss on the forehead I put my [driving] glasses on.

India laughed at them.

Even my 6 month old daughter thinks I'm a speccy four eyes.

They're not even comedy glasses -- I could forgive her if they featured goggle eyes on springs, a big red nose and a bushy false moustache.

Cheeky little tike.

Sleep Comes Like A Drug

Is a U2 lyric I believe.

And how I need a good sleep.

Vic and India haven't been too well for the last few days -- India's been a nightmare through the night -- and with the addition of an illegal rave just 200 yards from our house on Sunday morning (2.30 am through to 9.00 am), I'm bushed.

The "India not sleeping for longer than 30 mins before screaming" thing is probably because she's teething. It may also be because she's hungry or unwell. And the "waking up at 5.00 am" thing is probably because it's getting light outside and we don't have a black-out blind on her window.

Vic's buying a black-out blind this afternoon. I'm buying a new baby.


The illegal rave -- I'm sure the full story will be on thamenews.net any day -- was held in an empty warehouse in the Industrial Estate across the way. It wasn't like the good old days of Acid House [cue sound of whistles] I can assure you. We had the same baseline for 6 and a half hours. The baseline could be heard over 2 miles away. Nobody called the police. Biut then again, what can Thame's TWO police officers realistically do with 200 drunk and drugged-up swampies?

Coz that's what they were. Swampies.

I took a walk out at 9.00 am to see the aftermath and get a paper. The party peeps weren't the happy-go-lucky, brightly coloured, E-powered love prophets of illegal raves gone by. They were crusty, pale-looking, combat-trouser wearing crusties who looked downright miserable.

Apart from one couple who gave me, India (in her pushchair) and the two coppers a cheery wave from their car on departure.

India gave them the V sign.


Side story about Swampy: THE Swampy -- the one who lived in a hole under the route of the planned Newbury bypass -- went out with Rachel for a time. Rachel and Robin had their baby last week -- Daisy arrived safe and sound. Congratulations R&R!

Haiti

In the first week of January the Sunday Times travel magazine tipped Haiti as one of the top destinations for 2004. "It's the new Cuba" they said.

Happy holidays in the Land of Voodoo folks.


Grand Opening Night

I'm pleased to announce that the dining room is almost complete. Carpet went down last week -- giving India a soft playzone on the ground floor -- and we're really just waiting for the fireplace to come back from The Forge (blacksmiths). The plaster cracks need filling and we're awaiting a delivery from Ikea -- the missing leg to our new bookcase -- but for all intents and purposes it is finished.

Emma and Scott are coming over for sausage and mash tomorrow night. I have the red ribbon ready to go.

Bring your scissors Em.

Roll Over

One day it's sitting up by herself, next day it's rolling over by herself. India will be blogging by the end of the week.

Baby Update

Everyday India has a new trick to show us. Yesterday was her first day of being able to sit up by herself [big breakthrough]. The day before was the "screaching like a monkey" game. Saturday's was "playing peek-a-boo with my sick-covered bip". She is so special.


Barbie Ditches Ken

Apparently Barbie has ditched Ken after 43 years of companionship. She's run off with some Aussie guy and his cronies. Personally, I wouldn't be surprised to see Action Man and GI Joe cited in the divorce papers.


Great News For Fellow Geeks

LucasFilm have confirmed that the original Star Wars trilogy will at last be released on DVD later this year. They'll be digitally remastered and the extras will include deleted scenes, such as the infamous banquet hall scene where Skywalker sits down to eat with the Emperor and Vadar: Luke doesn't know the correct Jedi etiquette for eating his dessert of chocolate-covered Bantha cake. Should he use his lightsabre or not? As the tension builds and the Emperor starts hissing at him, Luke is saved by the ghost of Obi Wan coming to his rescue.

"Use the forks, Luke, use the forks!"

[The old one's -- from the 1970's -- are still the best. The Two Ronnies are even making a comeback. 'Ray!]


Tenner Reefy

Seems an age ago that we were in Tennerife, but it's actually only a month.

The first winter sun holiday that I've ever had, and it was a blessing. It's really broken the winter up. It wasn't terribly hot or sunny -- temperatures varied from 20 to 29 degrees and there was plenty of cloud -- but it beat a week of miserable rain and sleet.

India coped with the 4 hour flights well: a tactical bottle on take-off and landing, along with a good hour or so of sleep, helped soothe the potentially problematic travel arrangements for her and us. Babies travel on their parent's laps in the air until they are two years old. Although we coped we a pliant, good-natured and sleepy baby for 4 hours, the thought of trying to fly over to the States when she's a little bigger -- and has a lower attention-span -- fills me with dread. Dealing with Vic and her fear of flying is bad enough, but adding a screaming and squirming toddler into the mix sounds like a straw too much for this camel.

Tennerife was nasty. We stayed on the North side of the island: cooler and quieter than the Brits abroad South. Even so, it was incredibly commercialised, with English bar, German bar, English bar, German bar lining the streets. We even had a English Fish and Chips shop opposite our apartments.

How sophisticated.

Frankly, we ate far more Spanish food when we self-catered than when we ate out: There was a decent selection of local fresh fish on offer at the supermarket, and armed with Rick Stein's Seafood Odyssey, we made good use of it. Squid with chorizo and chilli, hake with potatoes, pan-fried mystery fish with salsa verde.

And the island is not baby buggy or disabled friendly. Everywhere is stepped -- a consequence of the island being nothing more than a banana-covered volcanoe thrusting it's snow-capped peak out of the ocean -- and getting back to the apartment required mountaineering skills. What amazed me is the fact that despite the island being less than suitable for the elderly, almost the whole tourist throng -- apart from a noticable and sizable gay guy presence -- was grey-haired.

So did we have a nice time?

Oh yes -- it was a great week away, and the trip up to the top of the mountain -- with its incredible Mars-like caldera and volcanic rocks -- was well worth the visit.

But I don't think I'd go back. It was just too commercialised and too "touristy". Even though it was low season and the town was quiet, we were still getting touted by restaurant owner and car rental agents at every turn. Heaven knows what the island is like in high season -- a complete hell hole by my reckoning. Hot, overcrowded, with nowhere to go and no escape.


The Hobbit

I read the Hobbit while we were away. I hadn't read it since I was 11 years old in 1982 -- when it was a magical book. Approaching it 21 years later, I was concerned that I would now be disappointed by it. Thankfully it turned out to be a wonderful read for adults too.

After the utter crap that was Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire -- I refuse to read any more of JK Rowling's over-hyped, unoriginal, badly-written rubbish -- I can safely say that Bilbo Baggins pisses all over it.

Be Careful What You Wish For

28th Jan 04, 09:30 Nobby laments lack of snow. Wishes that there were a couple of inches -- enough to build a snowman and cluster bomb his work colleagues.
16:52 Snow blizzard starts in High Wycombe.
16:58 Nobby leaves work.
17:00 So does everyone else.
17:01 High Wycombe -- and all roads leading out of the town -- is gridlocked.
17:40 Nobby has driven 200 yards -- 200 yards more than most people driving from the Cressex Business Estate.
18:45 Nobby has driven 1 mile and is queuing to get on the road to Lane End.
19:00 Nobby hasn't moved more than two feet, so turns car around (random woman gives Nobby a V-sign) and drives back into High Wycombe, cuts off corner of town and drives out along West Wycombe road and then towards Princes Risborough.
19:01 The road is clear of serious traffic -- Nobby curses his luck -- he should have gone this way in the first place.
19:20 Nobby grinds to a halt outside Saunderton at the back of a 2 mile long traffic queue that's going nowhere. He considers ditching car and walking in the snow to Saunderton railway station to catch a train back to Thame. Instead, he drives up winding country road towards Bledlow and Chinnor.
19:40 After a couple of minor skids, Nobby stops car for a wee. Spoils field of virgin white snow. Cannot try to write his name in snow due to lack of light. Whilst relieving himself at the top of a rise, Nobby can see that all the major trunk roads in the area are clogged. Car headlamps twinkle forlornly in the distance.
20:00 Nobby arrives back in Thame. The town is an ice rink of compacted snow. None of the roads have been salted.
21:10 Vicster arrives home after a four hour trip back from Marlow. Her 30 minutes journey took four hours, my 25 mins journey a mere three.

Sorry everyone, it was my fault and I didn't even get to build a snowman...
Be careful what you wish for.

Bad Day For Students

I feel let down by Tony Blair over the "won" vote on university top-up fees. He's broken one of his manifesto promises, and I don't think the policy's knock-on effects have been properly assessed.

I wouldn't have gone to university if these fees had been in place when I went and I fear that they will put off many lower-income and middle-class kids from going in the future.

Bad judgement call Tony.

I won't be voting labour next time.

Journals, Journals Everywhere

I used to work in industries that had trade journals that were worth reading:

Music Week
Billboard
New Musical Express

Casino Monthly
Slots
Electronic Gaming

I now have the chance to read the following exciting publications [all taken from my Marketing Directors' magazine stand]:

Journal of Microscopy
Surface World and Product Finishing
World Cement
Microscopy Today
Microscopy and Analysis
Finishing
Materials Today
Scrap
Chemistry and Industry
Materials World
Chemistry in Britain
Onboard Technology
SCI News
Spectroscopy

This is why I read random blogs at lunch time...

But can you imagine being the chief editor on World Cement?
Well, thanks to the web, here's your chance: A brand new world.
Subscribe today!

Round Up Before The Details

I've not had the time to update recently:

We went to Tenerife for a week of winter sunshine.
Came back to the funeral...
...and a dust bowl dining room: we had it replastered while we were away.

I'll give you the details when I have the chance...

False Dawn

I was going to tell you how great my Christmas and New Year had been:
We went up to Carlisle for a week, came back and spent some quality time with Rob, enjoyed a decent New Years Eve party and socialised, socialised, socialised with friends and family. Gramp had a miracle turn-around too -- his strangulated hernia unblocked itself, he started eating again, his bone-cancer was a misdiagnosis, and was -- as far as we were concerned -- out of the woods of immediate danger.

He caught pneumonia overnight and died at 10:20 am this morning.

I thought I was prepared, but the speed of his passing -- and the single hour between learning of his pneumonia and death -- has left me shocked and very upset.

I've spent an hour sat in the car pondering things, and have returned to my desk to eat lunch and post this up.

He was a wonderful grandad and I'm going to miss him.