The office Christmas party

Tomorrow night sees our office Christmas party -- entitled Moonlit in Marrakech -- taking place for the second year running at Legoland.

This might sound exciting, until you realise that by Legoland they mean in a big marquee in the car park, rather than in amongst the park rides. The Marrakech theme extends to "exotic" [belly?] dancers, cous cous, coffee, peppermint tea, the chance to win a free carpet and the crowd-pulling Camel Rodeo machine.

Dodgems, casino, disco, leering Morrocan guys behind the free bar, assorted bongs, and crappy coaches, complete the night.

Unfortunately, due to cashflow issues, I'm not going.

Obviously I'm gutted to be missing out on the Camel Rodeo.

...so much so, that I've got the hump.

This season's new board game

According to Facebook's 100 Question Geek Test, I am geekier than 94% of the general population.

That's a fair assessment.

As apart of my Grand Geek persona* I am often tagged as the "board game guy", as I'm the one out of our friend circles to produce -- and demand to play -- new board games at any and all social occasions.

Last year's Christmas board game was GiftTRAP, as recommended by my game designer friend Tony, and it ticked all the right boxes: Beautiful components, easy, fast and fun game play. I think everyone who has played it has enjoyed it, and I think two or three additional copies have been purchased off the back of our sessions.

This year's new party game, purchased after considerable market research, is Wits & Wagers, which seems to be the next big thing in party games and, if you believe the hype, "the best trivia game ever".

I'm looking forward to inflicting it upon friends and family over the coming weeks, and excitedly busted open the box last night to check it out. Looks good, looks quick (20 mins a game), looks simple, looks like it's going to be a lot of fun.




* As opposed to my Grand Puppetmaster persona

Eight at the Thatch: Restaurant Review

Vic and I were lucky enough to bag a free two course lunch at the newly opened Eight at the Thatch restaurant in Thame, and we cashed it in yesterday for a leisurely Saturday lunch time treat. Jeremy and Jane clearly have a headstart with the business, effectively having had a lengthy, demanding and high profile interview/training schedule with Raymond Blanc broadcast on BBC2 -- I have to say that the rigours of those intense weeks have paid off, as our experience was extremely enjoyable and satisfying.

We were immediately greeted on arrival by one of the senior staff, who was sat with Raymond at a table in the bar. It was all very professional and we were given the option of either a drink in the bar area or going straight to our table. We opted for the second option, got a polite nod from a very casual Raymond, and headed to a table for two in the old part of the restaurant. I was thrilled to see that Jane was going to be managing our table, and in my excitement, I walked into one of the low ceiling beams.

Jane was warm, relaxed, friendly and attentive throughout our meal and you quickly realised why Raymond had selected her and Jeremy over the fancied twins. She was great and very professional.

Previously visitors to the building, during it's time as Thatchers or The Old Trout, wouldn't believe the transformation of the interior: a dark and rather drab building has been converted to a light and airy dining space, which retains much of the listed charms -- such as those dangerously low beams, old tiled flooring and a few nooks and crannies -- but also now has a modern extension, an open bar area and considerable outside eating areas. A sympathic and functional conversion, helped by some good music at a right volume level.

Vic ordered a glass of Merlot, whilst I went for Pino Grigio. With hindsight we should have just ordered a bottle of the house Merlot, as we ended up ordering one after our starters anyhow: it was well priced at £13.

You can find the Autumn menu on the blog link above. Vic ordered the mussels to start, I fancied the roquefort souffle. With my shellfish allergy I couldn't try the mussels, but Vic was impressed. A good sized portion. My souffle was top drawer: light, fluffy and the roquefort wasn't over done. It was served with plenty of mixed leaves, balsamic dressing, walnut pieces and a sliced half of pear. The only minor criticism was that the pear was a little firm -- it could have been a bit riper -- but it did offer a good contrast to the soft souffle. THe souffle wasn't cheap at £6.80, and with that and the firm pear in mind, I rated it a 8/10.

For main course Vic selected the beef filet medallions, served with horseradish mash and French beans, I went for the pork belly with savoy cabbage and half a baked apple. Jane suggested that I might need a side portion of potatoes and she was right. Vic asked for the beef rare and it came cooked exactly as requested -- she was very pleased. My pork belly was sublime: the cracking was like a thin layer of brittle toffee, which complemented the soft fat perfectly, and the meat itself was moist and full of taste. The apple side was unusual, as it was a sweet dessert apple that had been cooked with the pork, so that it took up the meat flavours. It was delicious and worked brilliantly with the rest of the dish. The meat portion was perfect, and I rated the dish a 10/10, although there could have been more cabbage and potatoes if I was nit-picking. I think Vic rated her beef as a 10/10 too. For £12, I'd eat the pork belly every day of the week if I could!

As we'd enjoyed our free starters and mains so much, and had wine left in the bottle, we ordered a dessert to share. A Mont Blanc meringue served with chestnut & rum puree and chantily cream. Vic thought it was really good, but I was a bit disappointed. I think it came down to personal taste, but the meringue was just a little to dry and sticky for me, and the puree didn't quite have enough power to cut into the meringue and cream's sweetness. I rated it a harsh 6/10, but Vic upped that to an eight or nine.

We really enjoyed our lunch at Eight at the Thatch, and we will be going back very soon. There were a few minor criticisms -- tiny paper napkins that Jane was already aware of and a couple of my courses drifting by the table (which suggested some communication issues) -- but that was the whole point of the free 'practice sessions' lunches. I made a pin of taking a quick wander around the restaurant and picking up the bar menu. What was good to see was the variety in dishes and prices -- Raymond was plugging their simple omelettes to a couple who had come in from the street -- and that the meat seems to have been locally sourced from the award-winning Newitts butchers. One of the bar menu options is a platter of eight (on theme) tapas style snacks, such as olives, which should be great in the summer sitting out on their terrace with a cold beer or glass of wine.

I'd whole-heartedly recommend a visit and wish Jane & Jeremy good luck with the venture, as it seems to fit a hole in the market in Thame: good quality food, served with some class, in a relaxed but upmarket venue. We left as delighted customers.

Football is Entertainment

You can't buy a simple Mars bar anymore at Arsenal, you can only buy a £3.80 pot of Maltezsers -- the sort you would purchase on a trip to the theatre. It's a clear message that Premiership football is being marketed as entertainment to the upwardly mobile, rather than what it should be: meat pies and painful watching for the masses.

And talking of painful watching, Oxford United's Chairman seems desperate to shank his investment into deep water. A lack of action on the managerial front sees the fanbase evaporating at a fatal rate. No fans = no money. No money = administration and/or no chance of escaping the BSP. Administration means end of the club in the short-term. No escaping the BSP means end of the club in the long-term. And not a single £3.80 box of Maltezsers in sight.

PassPort to PortRait

Due to being generally useless and always leaving things until the last moment, and thereby causing myself and others maximum inconvenience, I had to travel into London yesterday to get my passport renewed on a Premium four hour turnaround service. Four hours isn't a long time to kill in London, so I took a stroll up to Buckingham Palace, then through sunny St James' Park, past Admirality Arch and into Trafalgar Square. A quick splash in the fountains was followed by a visit to the National Gallery -- an ideal place to while away the time.

I went for Holbein's 'The Ambassadors', Stubbs' 'Whistlejacket' and the Canaletto's -- my old favourites -- but its was Duane Hanson's 'Traveller' that really stood out and caught the eye (pictured above). It was so out-of-place that initially, without my glasses on, I thought it was real. A very clever piece of work, cleverly positioned and exhibited by the gallery.

Had a coffee, spotted some NevilleUK trays, picked up the passport -- I now look like a con rather than a boyband member -- and took the slow train home.

India had her first ballet lesson yesterday. Tomorrow is her 4th birthday!

Beans means cricket

I'm in Cambridge today ahead of our inter-site company cricket match. I'm keeping one eye on the BBC Weather reports and the other on the banks of grey clouds rolling in. It looks gloomy, but the groundsman -- who I had a quick chat to at lunch time whilst he was preparing the track -- is confident that it will remain dry. I am less confident and reckon my trip over will be wasted. I have a feeling that come five o'clock it will be wetter than Elliot's over-night nappy.

The skill level, like most company and pub team games, will be mediocre to mixed. I had been looking forward to it until Tuesday night, when my practice session in the local nets was abysmal. I was terrible, even managing to bowl one ball over the nets and into a hedge. i.e. I bowled the ball about 12 feet too high. If I do that later, I'm going to be ashamed of myself, give a load of runs away, and generally be a laughing-stock. I've now put some pressure on myself to deliver, and my mindset has moved from "just enjoy the game" to "don't be a donkey".

At the same time as the self-induced pressure, I now see a big spread on our UK corporate intranet page, biggin' up the match and announcing that there is to be a cup awarded to the winning team. There's even a photo of the damn gleaming thing. Worse still, there will be a globally published match report and in-play photos released across the company.

My cricket whites are so old they have 30" inside leg measurements. That's 4" too short. They come halfway up my calves. They also have a snooker ball sized hole in the rear end area. I shall be wearing a jockstrap and my bare cheeks underneath them.

That's going to look good beamed around the world.

The MD of our Japan operation is going to love the view of my arsehole.

Bite my carrot!

There were two horses that lived in a field around the corner from my grandparents in Tackley, who I would be encouraged to feed peppermints to every time we walked the village. When you're a wee boy, horses seem huge, and to this day I still can taste the fear that welled up each time I was gently pushed forward with the instructions "keep your hand flat so he doesn't bite your fingers off".

For me, until recently, horses have always been immense beasts that bite off children's fingers and shit in the road*.

So it's always a great pleasure to take my own children up to the horse rescue centre at Speen and inflict the same long-term night terrors, resulting from enforced contact with horses, on them.

Unfortunately you can't go throught the trauma of feeding them anymore -- they were getting fat on mountains of carrots, apples and Polos -- but you can still stroke them and get your allergies flared up. I left the place with one bloodshot eye, a torrent of snot oozing down my chin, and red-raw itchy hands.

Anyway, things didn't go to plan. Although India showed some trepidation, Elliot turned the tables. He ran around screaming, hands and fingers outstretched at horses teeth, leaping up at stable doors, scrambling to climb into stables, trying to poke the beasts in the eye, and generally having a wild time. If he could have rode one, he'd have given it a go.

One blast that amused India and made Vic and my eyebrows arch, was whilst petting one of the horses, hearing a good 30 second long fart come from its arse. He held it at a single note. It was impressive stuff. Two boxes further down and that horse did the same.

And the horse's name that lived between these two epic hair blowers?

'Reveille'.

You have to assume that he can play two or three different notes.


* I'd now actually like them to shit in my composter.

Wii Willy Winky

Borrowed next door's Wii system and Sports game. Love the tennis. Bowling is cool. Baseball is alright. Golf is OK. Boxing is awful. Thought it was great on Saturday after mojitos and beers*. Getting bored of it after just five days. I don't think I'll be buying one.

* What isn't great after mojitos and beer?

Adapted/Ripped Off From Ruffles


You can play spot the difference if you have keen eyes...


I've recently registered on Facebook. I've accumulated a handful of friends; I really have no idea of what I'm doing with it or what I should be doing with it. Rob told me to sign up, so I have. As part of the original Internet generation, my comprehension of it was basically as a big unwieldy largely inaccurate book. Social networking was limited to a bit of email and the odd message board. I'm probably missing the whole point of Web 2.0 -- which I suspect is either to hook people up for sex or to get jobs for the boys in the Square Mile -- but apart from accumulating old and lost friends, I just seem to spend most of my time finding out that my 'friends' are making 'friends' with people I've never heard of, turning people into zombies and/or sending them fish. There are 5 Nobby's on there, one of whom also seems to be an accountant who works in London (jobs for the boys in the Square Mile), and looks like a tosser. I've also randomly joined a few local groups, but quickly spotted that I am old enough to be the father of all the other members of said groups ("Welcome to our group gramps").

Second Life reference:

"I like your boobs mummy" -- India to Vic (yesterday)

That's my girl!

In the shadows

There seems little doubt that Maddy McCann is dead. You have to hope otherwise, but reality bites down hard. With India only being a few months younger than Maddy, it's been particularly distressing for us to guess at how both her parents must be feeling, and most horrifically, the fear and terror Maddy must have felt during her kidnap and ordeal. We know how India would have reacted, and it doesn't bear thinking about.

But it's very difficult not to think, especially when your daughter bears a passing resemblence to the missing girl. There was a moment last week on holiday when India and I got out of the apartment block swimming pool (imagine my toned body raising from the water like Craig whatsisname in Casino Royale) and I quickly wrapped India up in her Jedi-style wearable towel. A German lady, who had not seen us before, caught my eye -- she was staring at India. Really staring. And it occurred to me that she was thinking "is that Maddy?!".

And it certainly affected our behaviour whilst away, especially Vic's: she was even concerned about leaving the children by themselves in the apartment room next door to where we were sat outside with my mum and dad. 5 yards. Within earshot and in visuals.


I hope they get the bastards who did it and the McCann's get some proper closure.

I really hope Maddy's still out there unharmed.

Wasteland

I decided to drop the Wonderful World title. One it's naff and two the world isn't wonderful. Apart from the Mrs Nob, the Little Nobbies, and our extended families & friends, lighting up my personal world, the wider world is starting to look like a wasteland rather than the green and pleasant meadows of Oxfordshire, as my dear departed grandparents perceived our environment. I shall elaborate further over the next few days, but to give a clue to my increasing obsession and paranoia, when I do my daily commute to Slough, I'm now seeing the folly of our human behaviour. The single occupancy cars that sit idling in traffic jams are becoming increasingly sinister to my green eyes. Cars full of doomgoblins destroying my wonderful world -- and I am part of the problem.

Dunlop Green Flash

I bought some canvas shoes for our week's holiday in Spain. Last pair of canvas shoes I had were red Converse high-tops back in 1987. Bring the noise. Shows things go round in fads and circles.

I've been in a fad-ish mood lately. Things go in and out of interest for me quite quickly. Not the important things in life -- the Nobby Family and chocolate* for example -- but the little things, the stuff in the background, the 'nobby hobbies'.

Some elaboration on the ins and outs:

1) Blogging. Not been interested in mine or anyone else's for months. Have just discovered that two of my old regulars have a) visited the UK from the States last month (and were within striking distance for a pint of Sheep Dip at least 4 times) and b) been blogging about Oxford United all last season. Anyway, I've subtly changed the colour scheme to raspberry pink (India's favourite colour is pink. What a surprise!), added a list, and even added a photo of the two Little Nobbies digging for gold/oil/dead bodies/fag ends/dog shit on the beach in L'Escala**.

2) Online Poker. I was loving this for ages and at low stakes tables increased my original bank-roll by 2000% (oh yes!). But then they changed the site, I starting losing interest, and I started losing games (30% of that 2000% killed). We cleared most of my account out to help pay the grocery bill last month, and I'm just not enthused anymore. Of course, Vic will be pleased as she -- and probably most of our friends -- still reckons I am just a few games away from a highly dangerous gambling addiction. Clearly, I am not...

3) Magic. Went back and played a night of it. Thought the organiser was a complete tool. Told him so. Never been back to that night or any other. Tried playing it online, but realised that half the fun of it, like any other competitive activity, is the social contact with friends. All packed in. I can't be bothered with it anymore and don't miss it a jolt. Freedom!

4) PS2. Having bought a load of great games two years ago, I'm conscious that I should be getting my money's worth, so the PS2 has been dusted off for some occasional action. Difficult to fit in with the kids, but a beam of light is beginning to shine, as India is becoming interested in computers and video games. Disney Golf and Buzz! Jungle Party are the doors to a future of her and Elliot getting their arses firmly spanked on vg consoles by their Competitive Dad.

Things I need to blog:

India: Angel or Devil?
Elliot: Not a Baby Anymore.
Looming Mid-Life Crisis: What we are going to do with our life in terms of next house and job moves.
Vic's freelancing.
We have negative money syndrome.
Oxford United: Stuck in the BSP for another two years.


* put that in for the ladies.
** they found fuck all, but at least Elliot enjoyed eating the sand.