A Cruel Design Fault
Our toilets here at work suffer from a distressing design fault. When you flush after use, any toilet paper floating in the bowl balloons up as the flushing water forces air underneath it. The wet paper then traps little pockets of air, which in turn prevent the paper from flushing away: it dances and spins on the top of the water in all of its sh*tty glory and doesn't get sucked away through the pipe.
It is embarassing when you're in the cubicle flushing for the second or third time. They must think King Kong's in there.
More distressing though is when you jump into a cubicle and discover that the previous occupant didn't bother to wait around for a second (or sometimes even first) flush.
I face this every day. Please rescue me.
Tuesday, November 12, 2002
The Name's Bond. Sticky Bond.
I'm writing this entry through red eyes. Although not quite "welled-up", there has been sufficient moisture generated that I've had to blink back the emotional mists. The reason?
You know how you have just a handful of friends who you really connect with. People who share the same sense of humour, enjoy the same things, and have a similar out-look on life as you do. Brightly coloured shiny fish in your personal pond. People who you love spending time with, love seeing - no matter how short the time, and indeed usually love full stop.
When your connections with these special people are broken, it can be very upsetting. For example, having my best mate (and best man) Rob living out in Chicago means I just don't see him anymore. We used to be like brothers, as thick as thieves, even closer than the Mitchell family. A few short trips, quick telephone conversations and email lines can never make up for the lack of quality time spent together. As time passes, it naturally becomes harder and harder to instantly "reconnect" when we do see each other. Seeing and feeling the strong bonds that tied weaken is sad and traumatic.
These feelings normally arise from friends within your first Circle of Friends. The Inner Sanctum of people you see regularly and are very close to. Sometimes they arise with those outside of this group.
Yesterday I got melancholy when I began thinking about how I hadn't seen Tony Boydell for a while. Tony and I are friends from Magic. We share the same sense of humour, enjoy the same things, share a similar-ish out-look on the world. We shouldn't be that close, and on paper aren't - Tony has never met my wife or visited my home, I haven't met Tony's wife and small army of children or visited his home - but for some reason I LOVE TONY, and would trade much to spent a hour in his company.
But Tony has given up Magic, and my interest isn't what it was. The realisation dawned that I'm unlikely to see much of Tony in the future. Our big connection - meeting up at Magic tournaments and playing our silly games - is broken. Our regular email correspondence - poked along by Magic sticks - has petered out to a few lines now and again.
I was beginning to mourn the demise of our short friendship. I was getting sentimental and foolish.
It was therefore very exciting and uplifting * to discover a new referral to my blog from www.tonyboydell.blogspot.com this morning. I can now catch up on what Tony is doing and thinking every day to my hearts content. A thread of the bond has been reconnected. I'm a happy bunny and now realise the true power of blogs.
The power to (re)connect people. Whether friends or strangers.
If you're a stranger to Tony, I'd recommend keeping an eye on his blog. He's a fab writer - his legacy to Magic is being the best internet writer the hobby has ever known (he always pushed the envelope). He's a sensitive soul and a cuddly family man. He's also extremely funny once he gets his humour engine up and running...
Happy Birthday Tony and start your engine please!
* no, not uplifting (or exciting) in THAT sense!
I'm writing this entry through red eyes. Although not quite "welled-up", there has been sufficient moisture generated that I've had to blink back the emotional mists. The reason?
You know how you have just a handful of friends who you really connect with. People who share the same sense of humour, enjoy the same things, and have a similar out-look on life as you do. Brightly coloured shiny fish in your personal pond. People who you love spending time with, love seeing - no matter how short the time, and indeed usually love full stop.
When your connections with these special people are broken, it can be very upsetting. For example, having my best mate (and best man) Rob living out in Chicago means I just don't see him anymore. We used to be like brothers, as thick as thieves, even closer than the Mitchell family. A few short trips, quick telephone conversations and email lines can never make up for the lack of quality time spent together. As time passes, it naturally becomes harder and harder to instantly "reconnect" when we do see each other. Seeing and feeling the strong bonds that tied weaken is sad and traumatic.
These feelings normally arise from friends within your first Circle of Friends. The Inner Sanctum of people you see regularly and are very close to. Sometimes they arise with those outside of this group.
Yesterday I got melancholy when I began thinking about how I hadn't seen Tony Boydell for a while. Tony and I are friends from Magic. We share the same sense of humour, enjoy the same things, share a similar-ish out-look on the world. We shouldn't be that close, and on paper aren't - Tony has never met my wife or visited my home, I haven't met Tony's wife and small army of children or visited his home - but for some reason I LOVE TONY, and would trade much to spent a hour in his company.
But Tony has given up Magic, and my interest isn't what it was. The realisation dawned that I'm unlikely to see much of Tony in the future. Our big connection - meeting up at Magic tournaments and playing our silly games - is broken. Our regular email correspondence - poked along by Magic sticks - has petered out to a few lines now and again.
I was beginning to mourn the demise of our short friendship. I was getting sentimental and foolish.
It was therefore very exciting and uplifting * to discover a new referral to my blog from www.tonyboydell.blogspot.com this morning. I can now catch up on what Tony is doing and thinking every day to my hearts content. A thread of the bond has been reconnected. I'm a happy bunny and now realise the true power of blogs.
The power to (re)connect people. Whether friends or strangers.
If you're a stranger to Tony, I'd recommend keeping an eye on his blog. He's a fab writer - his legacy to Magic is being the best internet writer the hobby has ever known (he always pushed the envelope). He's a sensitive soul and a cuddly family man. He's also extremely funny once he gets his humour engine up and running...
Happy Birthday Tony and start your engine please!
* no, not uplifting (or exciting) in THAT sense!
Monday, November 11, 2002
No Dead Dog On The Road
My prayers were answered: the little dog wasn't converted to road pizza [phew!]. My wife told me that what I'd written was "terrible". I thought she meant terrible as in "you should have rescued that poor little doggy!", but she actually meant "your grammar and spelling was awful!".
The joys of living with an editor...
The Goose Is Getting Fat
The shops - including the Sainsburys garage at the end of our road - are already decked out with the full load of Christmas decorations and piping out the usual array of Christmas tunes. It's a pet hate of mine: Christmas stuff should not be seen or heard until December, and even then, 3 weeks of it is 3 weeks too many. It is my opinion that the earlier Christmas tat goes up, the more it devalues the meaning of Christmas and dilutes the excitement of the Christmas holiday itself. Down with decorations is what I say.
That being said, I spent some of the weekend burning copies of my favourite Christmas CDs - including the complete Maddy Prior and The Carnival Band back catalogue (essential listening) - whilst Vic went into food-preparation overdrive: Christmas Day canapes, a big fruit pie, etc, etc. However, the cake wasn't baked because the supermarket ran out of glace cherries, claiming that the second weekend in November was apparently the weekend on which EVERYONE bakes their Christmas cakes and steams their puddings...
It's obviously not a disaster - the glace cherries can be bought next week - but in order to test Waitrose's explanation for their lack of stock, I took a quick straw-poll in the office.
Of 6 people asked, not one had made their Christmas cake at the weekend. So either Waitrose were lying in an attempt to disguise their stock mismanagement, or someone somewhere is stockpiling huge quantities of glace cherries.
Perhaps when David Blunkett warned us about a possible Dirty Bomb attack on London, he really meant a possible Glace Cherry ice cream Bomb instead.
Actually, that's stupid. Much more likely is:
[al-Qaeda Terrorist Man #1 in Tora Bora cave]: "How can we disrupt the Christmas celebrations of those stupid, evil, christian, western fools?!"
[al-Qaeda Terrorist Man #2 in Tora Bora cave]: "We could use Osama's billions to buy up all of their glace cherries... so they can't make any cakes, pies and puddings. That would wipe the festive Ronald McDonald smiles off their foolish western faces!"
Be vigilant. Sinister plots lurk everywhere.
My prayers were answered: the little dog wasn't converted to road pizza [phew!]. My wife told me that what I'd written was "terrible". I thought she meant terrible as in "you should have rescued that poor little doggy!", but she actually meant "your grammar and spelling was awful!".
The joys of living with an editor...
The Goose Is Getting Fat
The shops - including the Sainsburys garage at the end of our road - are already decked out with the full load of Christmas decorations and piping out the usual array of Christmas tunes. It's a pet hate of mine: Christmas stuff should not be seen or heard until December, and even then, 3 weeks of it is 3 weeks too many. It is my opinion that the earlier Christmas tat goes up, the more it devalues the meaning of Christmas and dilutes the excitement of the Christmas holiday itself. Down with decorations is what I say.
That being said, I spent some of the weekend burning copies of my favourite Christmas CDs - including the complete Maddy Prior and The Carnival Band back catalogue (essential listening) - whilst Vic went into food-preparation overdrive: Christmas Day canapes, a big fruit pie, etc, etc. However, the cake wasn't baked because the supermarket ran out of glace cherries, claiming that the second weekend in November was apparently the weekend on which EVERYONE bakes their Christmas cakes and steams their puddings...
It's obviously not a disaster - the glace cherries can be bought next week - but in order to test Waitrose's explanation for their lack of stock, I took a quick straw-poll in the office.
Of 6 people asked, not one had made their Christmas cake at the weekend. So either Waitrose were lying in an attempt to disguise their stock mismanagement, or someone somewhere is stockpiling huge quantities of glace cherries.
Perhaps when David Blunkett warned us about a possible Dirty Bomb attack on London, he really meant a possible Glace Cherry ice cream Bomb instead.
Actually, that's stupid. Much more likely is:
[al-Qaeda Terrorist Man #1 in Tora Bora cave]: "How can we disrupt the Christmas celebrations of those stupid, evil, christian, western fools?!"
[al-Qaeda Terrorist Man #2 in Tora Bora cave]: "We could use Osama's billions to buy up all of their glace cherries... so they can't make any cakes, pies and puddings. That would wipe the festive Ronald McDonald smiles off their foolish western faces!"
Be vigilant. Sinister plots lurk everywhere.
Friday, November 08, 2002
Good Dog, Bad Man
I did a bad thing this morning. Something I feel absolutely terrible about. I have a nasty feeling at the back of my mind that my inaction may have resulted in a fatality, and assoicated heartache, for a family.
On my way to work through the village of Postcombe, the traffic came to a sudden halt in the rain. A little doggy was scampering in the middle of the road. It was clearly young, excited and confused - it looked as if it had just escaped from its owners house or car and didn't know what it was going to do next.
I should have stopped, gathered the little pup up in my arms and delivered it to the local village shop / garage, where it would have been safe. The shop owner might well have known who the doggy belong to. This is what the dog's owner would have wanted me to do. It would have been the right thing to do.
Instead I did the wrong thing. Someone behind me in the queue of traffic pipped their horn - either to get the dog out of the road or to hurry us drivers up. Whatever the reason, it jolted me along, and I followed the car in front like a sheep.
For the next ten minutes, every turning I passed, I felt I should be swinging the car around to go back and find the dog. But I didn't. I just kept on driving.
I feel disappointed in myself. I've let the dog and its owner down. I've let myself down. I just hope the dog's ok and reunited with its family. I feel guilty enough already, but if I see a dead dog on the road going home this afternoon, I don't know want I'm going to...
I'm literally praying for that doggy and I'm vowing never to drive on past ever again.
I did a bad thing this morning. Something I feel absolutely terrible about. I have a nasty feeling at the back of my mind that my inaction may have resulted in a fatality, and assoicated heartache, for a family.
On my way to work through the village of Postcombe, the traffic came to a sudden halt in the rain. A little doggy was scampering in the middle of the road. It was clearly young, excited and confused - it looked as if it had just escaped from its owners house or car and didn't know what it was going to do next.
I should have stopped, gathered the little pup up in my arms and delivered it to the local village shop / garage, where it would have been safe. The shop owner might well have known who the doggy belong to. This is what the dog's owner would have wanted me to do. It would have been the right thing to do.
Instead I did the wrong thing. Someone behind me in the queue of traffic pipped their horn - either to get the dog out of the road or to hurry us drivers up. Whatever the reason, it jolted me along, and I followed the car in front like a sheep.
For the next ten minutes, every turning I passed, I felt I should be swinging the car around to go back and find the dog. But I didn't. I just kept on driving.
I feel disappointed in myself. I've let the dog and its owner down. I've let myself down. I just hope the dog's ok and reunited with its family. I feel guilty enough already, but if I see a dead dog on the road going home this afternoon, I don't know want I'm going to...
I'm literally praying for that doggy and I'm vowing never to drive on past ever again.
Thursday, November 07, 2002
The World's A Stage
We're back from the Inlaws. I could give you a full report on things, but Scott's already posted up his take on things (nicely done too), so I'll skip the details.
I will say that although I spent the majority of the time up there locked in a tiny room with my head in my books, it wasn't until I strolled into work this morning that I realised how energising a few days away from the office can be. I feel refreshed and full of spunk. I give it two days before this Well of Chi is drained by the leeches here at work.
As Scott points out, Emma has foolishly asked me if I'd like to write her a school play about WWII. Taking Sheila Starline's advice that one should never turn down such an opportunity, I've jumped at the chance, especially as the Second World War is one of my specialist subjects. I can't decide to go for the epic approach - a complete run through of all the major events of the conflict - or focus in on a single, smaller episode, with a human story / tragedy - i.e. a more humanistic approach.
The epic route has its appeal. Having a dozen kids running about on stage, with their arms flung horizontal to their bodies, screaming "neeeee-owwwww" and "badda badda badda!", could be a cheap and very effective way of recreating the Battle of Britain.
Problems that we may need to overcome:
1) Political Correctness: Dangerous ground getting kids to dress up as Nazis. Add in the Final Solution and how to deal with it sensitively and appropriately, and we have a cocktail of extremely difficult issues to contend with.
2) Parental Response: I will probably need to cast a Hitler and a Stalin. As a parent, how would you feel about Little Johnny playing HItler in the school play?
I will want to add some songs too. Classic war songs should do the trick. If you know any - other than "...the other is in the Albert Hall!" - let me know.
This project is on ice until December.
Setting A Trend
Simon's posted up the best referral search to his blog. He is number one for "gay beefeaters in uniforms" apparently. A good effort at trying to usurp the crazies who have found my Wonderful World through nutty searches, but it crumbles to dust in the face of this little gem:
"I had a dream last night that someone cooked a dog and put the whole dog on a plate with scramb[led eggs]"
A nice short concise search that one...
We also have:
Ikea Snake (possibly a reader testing me out)
Email Ikea
Table tennis twiddling learning
Optician Halloween (?)
Halloween image lady table window soldier (??)
Wonderful pregnancy
What do you predict may happen in the High Street over the next ten years
Giant chimney sweeps website
Clearly I am now a great source of information for those who are pregnant, those who need retail investment advice, people with massive chimneys, and Koreans.
We're back from the Inlaws. I could give you a full report on things, but Scott's already posted up his take on things (nicely done too), so I'll skip the details.
I will say that although I spent the majority of the time up there locked in a tiny room with my head in my books, it wasn't until I strolled into work this morning that I realised how energising a few days away from the office can be. I feel refreshed and full of spunk. I give it two days before this Well of Chi is drained by the leeches here at work.
As Scott points out, Emma has foolishly asked me if I'd like to write her a school play about WWII. Taking Sheila Starline's advice that one should never turn down such an opportunity, I've jumped at the chance, especially as the Second World War is one of my specialist subjects. I can't decide to go for the epic approach - a complete run through of all the major events of the conflict - or focus in on a single, smaller episode, with a human story / tragedy - i.e. a more humanistic approach.
The epic route has its appeal. Having a dozen kids running about on stage, with their arms flung horizontal to their bodies, screaming "neeeee-owwwww" and "badda badda badda!", could be a cheap and very effective way of recreating the Battle of Britain.
Problems that we may need to overcome:
1) Political Correctness: Dangerous ground getting kids to dress up as Nazis. Add in the Final Solution and how to deal with it sensitively and appropriately, and we have a cocktail of extremely difficult issues to contend with.
2) Parental Response: I will probably need to cast a Hitler and a Stalin. As a parent, how would you feel about Little Johnny playing HItler in the school play?
I will want to add some songs too. Classic war songs should do the trick. If you know any - other than "...the other is in the Albert Hall!" - let me know.
This project is on ice until December.
Setting A Trend
Simon's posted up the best referral search to his blog. He is number one for "gay beefeaters in uniforms" apparently. A good effort at trying to usurp the crazies who have found my Wonderful World through nutty searches, but it crumbles to dust in the face of this little gem:
"I had a dream last night that someone cooked a dog and put the whole dog on a plate with scramb[led eggs]"
A nice short concise search that one...
We also have:
Ikea Snake (possibly a reader testing me out)
Email Ikea
Table tennis twiddling learning
Optician Halloween (?)
Halloween image lady table window soldier (??)
Wonderful pregnancy
What do you predict may happen in the High Street over the next ten years
Giant chimney sweeps website
Clearly I am now a great source of information for those who are pregnant, those who need retail investment advice, people with massive chimneys, and Koreans.
Tuesday, November 05, 2002
The Training Camp
No updates for a few days because I've been residing at my training camp (aka The Inlaws) up in Carlisle, revising and preparing for my CIMA exams. Scott has this image that its like the forest-dwelling shack in Rocky 4, and I'm focussed like the big Rocky man himself.
Funnily enough, I'm writing this blog entry in a wooly hat after hours of sit ups and running miles through the trees. Sweat's pouring off of me, but I'm ready to crush those Commie exam invigilator bastards if its the last thing I do... Their defeat could well be the catalyst in breaking the whole Soviet-style CIMA global state apart.
Just stop Apollo from taking the exam before me.
The Prediction Was 66% Correct
The prediction was:
"We're bound to lose 1-0 to a last minute penalty, after a terrible game, and thoroughly lacklustre Oxford performance. It will rain and be bloody chilly too."
1-0 loss. Terrible game. Lacklustre Oxford performance. It pissed it down too. I should do horoscopes.
No updates for a few days because I've been residing at my training camp (aka The Inlaws) up in Carlisle, revising and preparing for my CIMA exams. Scott has this image that its like the forest-dwelling shack in Rocky 4, and I'm focussed like the big Rocky man himself.
Funnily enough, I'm writing this blog entry in a wooly hat after hours of sit ups and running miles through the trees. Sweat's pouring off of me, but I'm ready to crush those Commie exam invigilator bastards if its the last thing I do... Their defeat could well be the catalyst in breaking the whole Soviet-style CIMA global state apart.
Just stop Apollo from taking the exam before me.
The Prediction Was 66% Correct
The prediction was:
"We're bound to lose 1-0 to a last minute penalty, after a terrible game, and thoroughly lacklustre Oxford performance. It will rain and be bloody chilly too."
1-0 loss. Terrible game. Lacklustre Oxford performance. It pissed it down too. I should do horoscopes.
Friday, November 01, 2002
My Mind Resides In A Pumpkin Lantern
It took a while for Jacob (nephew) to get to bed last night. Like all kids at that age (3), he didn't want to go to sleep as he felt he was missing out on what the adults were doing downstairs. He came up with a whole host of excuses to try and get out of bed: he was afraid of the dark, there was a monster in the backgarden, he wasn't tired, etc. It was quite difficult to convince him that he was not actually missing out on any "play" - we were only talking and eating downstairs, that I'd have liked him to be downstairs just as much as he would, but unfortunately sleep came first. After a little ten minute one-on-one chat, he eventually admitted that he wasn't afraid of the dark, that there wasn't a monster in the garden, and he just wanted to rejoin the party (in the end I convinced him to accept a cuddle from his mummy instead). It's ironic that when he hits my age, he'll want to leave parties as soon as the clock strikes bedtime...
Jacob did manage to escape from his bedroom Colditz for five minutes, which was cool and well timed, as I was putting the final touches to my pumpkin lantern. I'd forgotten how much of a simple pleasure something as crude as carving a stupid face into a vegetable can be. I don't do much art or tangible creativity these days, so I really relished the chance to make the lantern. Bottomline, pumpkin lanterns are basic primitive artwork, and I think I've got a basic primitive need to create things running through my mind, body and soul.
I think this blog is a sad manifestation of that need.
The Yellow and Blue Army Strikes North!
After cancelling the planned trip last season, Scott and I (and the ladies) are making the big road trip up North today in order to see the mighty Oxford United play away at Carlisle. The trip represents a bit of a pilgrimage, and I'm looking forward to joining the rest of the away fan nutters who have made the ten hour round trip to watch football. Being an away fan at the best of times can induce a feeling of camaraderie, but Saturday should be quite a special Yellow and Blue Army atmosphere.
We're bound to lose 1-0 to a last minute penalty, after a terrible game, and thoroughly lacklustre Oxford performance. It will rain and be bloody chilly too.
It took a while for Jacob (nephew) to get to bed last night. Like all kids at that age (3), he didn't want to go to sleep as he felt he was missing out on what the adults were doing downstairs. He came up with a whole host of excuses to try and get out of bed: he was afraid of the dark, there was a monster in the backgarden, he wasn't tired, etc. It was quite difficult to convince him that he was not actually missing out on any "play" - we were only talking and eating downstairs, that I'd have liked him to be downstairs just as much as he would, but unfortunately sleep came first. After a little ten minute one-on-one chat, he eventually admitted that he wasn't afraid of the dark, that there wasn't a monster in the garden, and he just wanted to rejoin the party (in the end I convinced him to accept a cuddle from his mummy instead). It's ironic that when he hits my age, he'll want to leave parties as soon as the clock strikes bedtime...
Jacob did manage to escape from his bedroom Colditz for five minutes, which was cool and well timed, as I was putting the final touches to my pumpkin lantern. I'd forgotten how much of a simple pleasure something as crude as carving a stupid face into a vegetable can be. I don't do much art or tangible creativity these days, so I really relished the chance to make the lantern. Bottomline, pumpkin lanterns are basic primitive artwork, and I think I've got a basic primitive need to create things running through my mind, body and soul.
I think this blog is a sad manifestation of that need.
The Yellow and Blue Army Strikes North!
After cancelling the planned trip last season, Scott and I (and the ladies) are making the big road trip up North today in order to see the mighty Oxford United play away at Carlisle. The trip represents a bit of a pilgrimage, and I'm looking forward to joining the rest of the away fan nutters who have made the ten hour round trip to watch football. Being an away fan at the best of times can induce a feeling of camaraderie, but Saturday should be quite a special Yellow and Blue Army atmosphere.
We're bound to lose 1-0 to a last minute penalty, after a terrible game, and thoroughly lacklustre Oxford performance. It will rain and be bloody chilly too.
Thursday, October 31, 2002
I've not had much time over the last couple of days to write, so here is some cheapskate cutting, pasting and ripping off of other people's emails instead...
Potter Totter
Is what the internet bookie Blue Square calls its latest special betting opportunity. JK Rowling (author of the Harry Potter books) is apparently pregnant and due to pop in the Spring. You can gamble on what you think she will name her bonny new arrival. All the names you'd expect are there including:
Harry, at a generous 33-1
and
Voldemort, at 200-1
Larry's Good News - Update
Background Info: See my last post. Larry is 40 going on 22. He looks like an East End villian, but is a big softie. I emailed him to get the news straight from the horses mouth. His response (slightly edited) was as follows:
"Gonna get married in Scotland next September/October. There has been no great announcement and the news is just getting round. As for the proposal - top brownie points for me! I am now viewed in a completely new - and thus, favourable - light by all the women on the planet, or the ones that have spoken to Carole in the last week or so at least. The long version of events is ..... [and it is really long before I get to the point] .... Carole was away on a pampering week in a Scottish castle and I was at home on my Todd. For a couple of weeks I had a really annoying bunged up nose and I was sniffing, snorting and clearing my throat all the time and as a consequence I got only a couple of hours sleep for two nights running. So, I went to the doctor and he gave me some goo to settle me down and some penicillin to clear up the throat problem. Unfortunately by about 7pm I was climbing the walls. I've never had anything like this before but I was sweating, had a dry throat, my arms were flapping, I wanted to run out into the street, basically I was having a panic attack. I had enough wherewithal to phone for a doctor who spoke to me and told me what was happening and to blow into a bag, etc, etc. Anyway, a couple of days later Carole comes home and I'm still not sleeping properly (in fact I'm still not and am on double tamazipan, but I hope it's all clearing up), I wake up at 4:30am and decide to make the most of being up at that hour. I had planned how to propose for some time and it involved being up at that time of day so, I thought that there really was no time like the present - and the lack of sleep was clearly interfering with my reasoning processes. I woke Carole, told her not to argue and to just trust me this once, bundled her into the car, wrapped her in a blanket and drove into central London. She was well behaved considering the unreasonable nature of my actions and just thought that we were going for a walk down the Thames as I couldn't sleep. So, when we got to the middle of the Millennium (wobbly) Bridge and the dawn was rising behind Tower Bridge, I asked her. No audience, just me, her and the dawn over London. Romantic, huh?"
As I said, a big softie.
Congratulations Lazza.
Halloween Update
It's my mum and dad's wedding anniversary.
I bought a pumpkin to make a lantern - I haven't sculpted one since I was about six.
Vic has banned me from wearing my hobgoblin mask in case it scares the crap out of my 3 year old nephew (who we're seeing tonight). She reminded me that he freaked out in a farm shop when his dad tried on an innocent plastic sheep mask. My life-like goblin visage could permanently scar him.
James sent me an email earlier today relating a Halloween-themed story that seems very close to my own kid-scaring fantasties (related a few postings ago):
Read a funny interview with George Romero (director of night of the Living
Dead, etc) recently. He said he was preparing for his annual halloween party which he invites all his industry friends to. He says none of them dress up except for Tom Savini, who is a special effects wizard working primarily in the horror industry.
Have you seen from Dusk Till Dawn?
That film was developed as a showcase for Tom's company's work - he also
played Sex Machine in the film.
Apparently every year Tom goes all out to put himself in the scariest
costume he can create and spends all evening terrorising the children in
George Romero's neighbourhood!
How cool is that!"
If I was a special FX wizard, that's exactly what I would do too.
Potter Totter
Is what the internet bookie Blue Square calls its latest special betting opportunity. JK Rowling (author of the Harry Potter books) is apparently pregnant and due to pop in the Spring. You can gamble on what you think she will name her bonny new arrival. All the names you'd expect are there including:
Harry, at a generous 33-1
and
Voldemort, at 200-1
Larry's Good News - Update
Background Info: See my last post. Larry is 40 going on 22. He looks like an East End villian, but is a big softie. I emailed him to get the news straight from the horses mouth. His response (slightly edited) was as follows:
"Gonna get married in Scotland next September/October. There has been no great announcement and the news is just getting round. As for the proposal - top brownie points for me! I am now viewed in a completely new - and thus, favourable - light by all the women on the planet, or the ones that have spoken to Carole in the last week or so at least. The long version of events is ..... [and it is really long before I get to the point] .... Carole was away on a pampering week in a Scottish castle and I was at home on my Todd. For a couple of weeks I had a really annoying bunged up nose and I was sniffing, snorting and clearing my throat all the time and as a consequence I got only a couple of hours sleep for two nights running. So, I went to the doctor and he gave me some goo to settle me down and some penicillin to clear up the throat problem. Unfortunately by about 7pm I was climbing the walls. I've never had anything like this before but I was sweating, had a dry throat, my arms were flapping, I wanted to run out into the street, basically I was having a panic attack. I had enough wherewithal to phone for a doctor who spoke to me and told me what was happening and to blow into a bag, etc, etc. Anyway, a couple of days later Carole comes home and I'm still not sleeping properly (in fact I'm still not and am on double tamazipan, but I hope it's all clearing up), I wake up at 4:30am and decide to make the most of being up at that hour. I had planned how to propose for some time and it involved being up at that time of day so, I thought that there really was no time like the present - and the lack of sleep was clearly interfering with my reasoning processes. I woke Carole, told her not to argue and to just trust me this once, bundled her into the car, wrapped her in a blanket and drove into central London. She was well behaved considering the unreasonable nature of my actions and just thought that we were going for a walk down the Thames as I couldn't sleep. So, when we got to the middle of the Millennium (wobbly) Bridge and the dawn was rising behind Tower Bridge, I asked her. No audience, just me, her and the dawn over London. Romantic, huh?"
As I said, a big softie.
Congratulations Lazza.
Halloween Update
It's my mum and dad's wedding anniversary.
I bought a pumpkin to make a lantern - I haven't sculpted one since I was about six.
Vic has banned me from wearing my hobgoblin mask in case it scares the crap out of my 3 year old nephew (who we're seeing tonight). She reminded me that he freaked out in a farm shop when his dad tried on an innocent plastic sheep mask. My life-like goblin visage could permanently scar him.
James sent me an email earlier today relating a Halloween-themed story that seems very close to my own kid-scaring fantasties (related a few postings ago):
Read a funny interview with George Romero (director of night of the Living
Dead, etc) recently. He said he was preparing for his annual halloween party which he invites all his industry friends to. He says none of them dress up except for Tom Savini, who is a special effects wizard working primarily in the horror industry.
Have you seen from Dusk Till Dawn?
That film was developed as a showcase for Tom's company's work - he also
played Sex Machine in the film.
Apparently every year Tom goes all out to put himself in the scariest
costume he can create and spends all evening terrorising the children in
George Romero's neighbourhood!
How cool is that!"
If I was a special FX wizard, that's exactly what I would do too.
Tuesday, October 29, 2002
Great Coleman Balls Of Fire
Top quote from Radio 5 last night. News lady is reporting on the latest IVF mix-up story (Lady 1 has four eggs removed, the two bad ones are put back inside her and the two good ones are put inside Lady 2. Lady 2's two good eggs are put inside Lady 3. The doctors involved clearly shouldn't be playing God - they can't even play Doctors without f*cking things up...)
The presenter asks the reporter: "Should all people currently having IVF treatment be worried by this story?"
Reporter replies - totally deadpan: "Well we don't want to put the willies up people having IVF, but..."
Classic.
The Latest Poor Sucker...
...searched for "Guy Fawkes face masks".
A Bit Of A Teaser
Something which always conjures up a range of emotions and excitement, is when someone sends you an email with the final tag line of:
"Trust you've heard [so and so's] good news."
And you have no idea what they are talking about and cannot immediately email - or phone - them back to find out what this good news is. You're left in this limbo of not knowing, where your imagination goes to work dreaming up all of the possible good news options available. You're naturally happy that [so and so] has had some good news (if they are a friend and you care), but this joy is offset by the feeling that you've been left out of their loop: How come the guy who emailed you knows and you don't?! What makes it worse is that he expects you to know, hasn't given you a clue, and therefore you risk a loss of face having to email him back asking "What good news?". What if it's a wind-up?
Darren emailed me this morning with "Trust you've heard Larry's good news."
Having not yet been able to verify the facts, my imagination has come up with the following options:
1) Larry's going to be a daddy.
2) He's won the Lottery.
3) He's starring as a villian in the new James Bond film.
4) He and Carol are getting married.
5) They are moving to a huge house in France and he is planning to make wine.
6) His hair has spontaneously starting growing again.
7) His new teaching career is being accelerated and he has a headmastership of some top school lined up.
8) The rugby team he coaches - Burnham D team - has won some cup or something and he has been offered the job of head coach of his beloved Saracens.
As soon as I get the result, I'll let you know. It's quite exciting isn't it!
Top quote from Radio 5 last night. News lady is reporting on the latest IVF mix-up story (Lady 1 has four eggs removed, the two bad ones are put back inside her and the two good ones are put inside Lady 2. Lady 2's two good eggs are put inside Lady 3. The doctors involved clearly shouldn't be playing God - they can't even play Doctors without f*cking things up...)
The presenter asks the reporter: "Should all people currently having IVF treatment be worried by this story?"
Reporter replies - totally deadpan: "Well we don't want to put the willies up people having IVF, but..."
Classic.
The Latest Poor Sucker...
...searched for "Guy Fawkes face masks".
A Bit Of A Teaser
Something which always conjures up a range of emotions and excitement, is when someone sends you an email with the final tag line of:
"Trust you've heard [so and so's] good news."
And you have no idea what they are talking about and cannot immediately email - or phone - them back to find out what this good news is. You're left in this limbo of not knowing, where your imagination goes to work dreaming up all of the possible good news options available. You're naturally happy that [so and so] has had some good news (if they are a friend and you care), but this joy is offset by the feeling that you've been left out of their loop: How come the guy who emailed you knows and you don't?! What makes it worse is that he expects you to know, hasn't given you a clue, and therefore you risk a loss of face having to email him back asking "What good news?". What if it's a wind-up?
Darren emailed me this morning with "Trust you've heard Larry's good news."
Having not yet been able to verify the facts, my imagination has come up with the following options:
1) Larry's going to be a daddy.
2) He's won the Lottery.
3) He's starring as a villian in the new James Bond film.
4) He and Carol are getting married.
5) They are moving to a huge house in France and he is planning to make wine.
6) His hair has spontaneously starting growing again.
7) His new teaching career is being accelerated and he has a headmastership of some top school lined up.
8) The rugby team he coaches - Burnham D team - has won some cup or something and he has been offered the job of head coach of his beloved Saracens.
As soon as I get the result, I'll let you know. It's quite exciting isn't it!
Monday, October 28, 2002
Home Is Where The Hearth Is
HIP #4 is coming along quite nicely now. The new fireplace hearth is bedded down in cement, and the wooden flooring is shaping up around it. Once Tony the Werewolf boxes in the pipework, we'll be able to finish lying the floor and the skirting boards.
The hearth was eventually purchased from Site 77 - a reclaimation yard in Aston Clinton - on Friday. It is a reproduction - a single piece of black granite polished to a beautiful shiny surface. It catches and reflects the light, and if you gaze upon it, you can see your face looking back from its dark depths. If you stood it on its side, it would look like the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey.
After putting the floor down, we crashed out on the sofa and sat open-mouthed, gazing upon the granite hearth like primitive apemen. Vic even picked up a large thigh bone, bashed the granite with it, and roared with primal rage.
"Rah!"
You probably don't realise how frustrating it is getting these things straight and level...
Spelling Correction
There's only one L in cassoulet.
Signs
Watched the movie Signs on Friday night. Pretty good. Well-acted, nicely paced, understated, and apart from the rather obvious Sixth Sense style twist, just unpredictable enough to keep you guessing. It was also notable in that it managed to make me jump - something very few films do. The poor skewered doggy now finds himself on a short-list with:
The head in the small boat with the hole in its hull in Jaws.
Something stupid - perhaps a squeeling cat - in the original Halloween.
The zombie that jumps out of the bedroom cupboard in the first Resident Evil PS1 game.
Vic when telling me to pick up my dirty socks and pants and put them in the washing basket.
HIP #4 is coming along quite nicely now. The new fireplace hearth is bedded down in cement, and the wooden flooring is shaping up around it. Once Tony the Werewolf boxes in the pipework, we'll be able to finish lying the floor and the skirting boards.
The hearth was eventually purchased from Site 77 - a reclaimation yard in Aston Clinton - on Friday. It is a reproduction - a single piece of black granite polished to a beautiful shiny surface. It catches and reflects the light, and if you gaze upon it, you can see your face looking back from its dark depths. If you stood it on its side, it would look like the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey.
After putting the floor down, we crashed out on the sofa and sat open-mouthed, gazing upon the granite hearth like primitive apemen. Vic even picked up a large thigh bone, bashed the granite with it, and roared with primal rage.
"Rah!"
You probably don't realise how frustrating it is getting these things straight and level...
Spelling Correction
There's only one L in cassoulet.
Signs
Watched the movie Signs on Friday night. Pretty good. Well-acted, nicely paced, understated, and apart from the rather obvious Sixth Sense style twist, just unpredictable enough to keep you guessing. It was also notable in that it managed to make me jump - something very few films do. The poor skewered doggy now finds himself on a short-list with:
The head in the small boat with the hole in its hull in Jaws.
Something stupid - perhaps a squeeling cat - in the original Halloween.
The zombie that jumps out of the bedroom cupboard in the first Resident Evil PS1 game.
Vic when telling me to pick up my dirty socks and pants and put them in the washing basket.
Thursday, October 24, 2002
Cane Rat Cassoullet
It gets worse. I'm 5th on Yahoo if you search for "Cassoullet". Bizarre isn't it...
The person from South Africa who did the search was presumably looking for a recipe to use their Cane Rat meat in. These big rodent fella are farmed for their juicy bush meat all over Africa, and are particularly good in spicy curries (according to the South African guy I used to work with at Entranet - his family are farmers).
Great Britons ?
The BBC are running their search for the Greatest Briton at the moment. Go cast your vote. Like all UK public votes, the results are laughable: tabloid attitudes, lack of historical knowledge and short-term memories combine to produce truly bizarre and embarassing top ten and 100 lists.
Diana is in the top ten, currently in 5th place behind Brunel, Churchill, Darwin and Shakespeare. The Peoples Princess is ahead of Newton and Elizabeth I. That's right, Diana - who did nothing for Britain except a few charity gigs and get our sympathy for a foolish broken marriage - is ahead of Queen Elizabeth the First. It beggars belief. Diana shouldn't even be in the top 50.
But it's the top 100 that really blows:
17 Michael Crawford
29 David Bowie
30 Guy Fawkes (anarchist vote #1)
33 David Beckham (ahead of the late great Bobby Moore at 69th - captain of our 1966 World Cup winners and a supreme gentleman)
40 King Henry VIII (surprisingly low in the ratings)
43 John Peel
46 Boy George
56 Sir Cliff Richard
58 Freddie Mercury (he wasn't even British)
76 The Unknown Soldier (unexpected but I can see where people were coming from)
77 Robbie Williams
83 JK Rowling
87 John Lydon (anarchist vote #2)
Can someone please explain how Michael Crawford weighs in on the chart in 17th place?!
Halloween Lunch Cancelled
Our canteen run theme days at strategic points of the year. Valentines Day will see a special Valentine Menu. So does Burns Night, Chinese New Year, and Gandhi's Birthday. Normally we have a special Halloween Menu, but this year's has been cancelled because our devoutly Seven Day Adventist Facilities Manager thinks it will promote paganism here at work. The place feels like hell, and we already have plenty of witches, so I can't see how serving up Ghoul-Lash and Stake and Kidney Pie is going to make things any worse...
It gets worse. I'm 5th on Yahoo if you search for "Cassoullet". Bizarre isn't it...
The person from South Africa who did the search was presumably looking for a recipe to use their Cane Rat meat in. These big rodent fella are farmed for their juicy bush meat all over Africa, and are particularly good in spicy curries (according to the South African guy I used to work with at Entranet - his family are farmers).
Great Britons ?
The BBC are running their search for the Greatest Briton at the moment. Go cast your vote. Like all UK public votes, the results are laughable: tabloid attitudes, lack of historical knowledge and short-term memories combine to produce truly bizarre and embarassing top ten and 100 lists.
Diana is in the top ten, currently in 5th place behind Brunel, Churchill, Darwin and Shakespeare. The Peoples Princess is ahead of Newton and Elizabeth I. That's right, Diana - who did nothing for Britain except a few charity gigs and get our sympathy for a foolish broken marriage - is ahead of Queen Elizabeth the First. It beggars belief. Diana shouldn't even be in the top 50.
But it's the top 100 that really blows:
17 Michael Crawford
29 David Bowie
30 Guy Fawkes (anarchist vote #1)
33 David Beckham (ahead of the late great Bobby Moore at 69th - captain of our 1966 World Cup winners and a supreme gentleman)
40 King Henry VIII (surprisingly low in the ratings)
43 John Peel
46 Boy George
56 Sir Cliff Richard
58 Freddie Mercury (he wasn't even British)
76 The Unknown Soldier (unexpected but I can see where people were coming from)
77 Robbie Williams
83 JK Rowling
87 John Lydon (anarchist vote #2)
Can someone please explain how Michael Crawford weighs in on the chart in 17th place?!
Halloween Lunch Cancelled
Our canteen run theme days at strategic points of the year. Valentines Day will see a special Valentine Menu. So does Burns Night, Chinese New Year, and Gandhi's Birthday. Normally we have a special Halloween Menu, but this year's has been cancelled because our devoutly Seven Day Adventist Facilities Manager thinks it will promote paganism here at work. The place feels like hell, and we already have plenty of witches, so I can't see how serving up Ghoul-Lash and Stake and Kidney Pie is going to make things any worse...
Wednesday, October 23, 2002
A Clean Sweep
Firstly, hello to Kelly at Lilac Senses. She's the second alien blogger to link to me. My excitement at being linked to is probably a source of great amusement to veteran bloggers, but as this stuff is all new to me, I can't help but get a warm rosy feeling inside at the thought that at least two net trawlers have liked my ramblings enough to come back for more. I'm really looking forward to getting my first "blogs to avoid" link though. That will be cool.
One of Kelly's recent postings gives a dire warning about the dangers of open fires and the importance of having your chimney swept by a qualified professional. Taking her terrifying story of exploding oil burners and chimney fires to heart, we had our chimney swept yesterday by our local sweep. Actually it was pure coincidence, but I'm thanking my lucky stars we've had it done.
What was a slight disappointment was the fact he didn't look as if he was in Mary Poppins - no flat cap, no sooty face, no black hands and no dancing on rooftops. He didn't even have a team of small street urchins with him to run up the stack and distract old ladies while he pockets the family silver. He looked like a van driver and just had a big industrial-sized hoover which sucked all the soot down the chimney. Clean as a whistle guv'nor.
Renaming The Blog For Financial Gain
I told you I was obsessed with them, and now I'm thinking of renaming the blog "The Unofficial Ikea Snake Website" and changing the colours to a lurid lime green.
I will then email Ikea's Marketing Manager, point out the fact that if you search for Ikea+Snake on Google you find this blog, and attempt to blag not just a crate of free snakes to give away to Thame's street urchins - who cannot even get jobs as chimney sweep monkeys - but a whole new Ikea-funded kitchen makeover as well!
I will of course retain all rights to Unofficial Ikea Snake Website merchandise. Mugs, T-shirts, pens, giant inflatable Ikea Snakes to wave at football, sex toys and Ikea Snake halloween masks. I'm going to make a mint.
All Hallows Eve
Halloween is just a week away. The americanism that is Trick or Treat has breached Britain's defenses and the whole "let's go and scare the crap out of old folks by dressing up as demons and knocking on their doors begging for sweets and money" thing grows exponentially each year. Ten years ago, the best masks you could buy here were of the rubbish 99p flimsy plastic variety that would cut your face or gouge out your eyes if you put them on wrong. These days we can get hold of the life-like soft rubber masks dead-easy and I love 'em!
I have a goblin mask that freaks Vic out, and last year I wore it to greet little tricksters at the door. I did the full goblin act - hunched over, lurching about, stupid voice, etc. Three eleven year old boys who came a knocking didn't know what to do or say apart from a nervous "but we're the ones who are meant to be dressed up!".
They were disturbed, but not quite enough for my liking, so this year I'm going to do things properly. I'm going to make a pumpkin lantern and pop his evil grinning head in the front window. I will wear my mask again, but this time in unison with a butchers apron splashed with a bucket of pigs blood from top-sausage makers Newitts. If anyone has a chainsaw I could borrow to top off the outfit, I'd be much obliged. Otherwise I'll have to make do with using a garden fork or spade from the shed.
That should impress the neighbours.
Firstly, hello to Kelly at Lilac Senses. She's the second alien blogger to link to me. My excitement at being linked to is probably a source of great amusement to veteran bloggers, but as this stuff is all new to me, I can't help but get a warm rosy feeling inside at the thought that at least two net trawlers have liked my ramblings enough to come back for more. I'm really looking forward to getting my first "blogs to avoid" link though. That will be cool.
One of Kelly's recent postings gives a dire warning about the dangers of open fires and the importance of having your chimney swept by a qualified professional. Taking her terrifying story of exploding oil burners and chimney fires to heart, we had our chimney swept yesterday by our local sweep. Actually it was pure coincidence, but I'm thanking my lucky stars we've had it done.
What was a slight disappointment was the fact he didn't look as if he was in Mary Poppins - no flat cap, no sooty face, no black hands and no dancing on rooftops. He didn't even have a team of small street urchins with him to run up the stack and distract old ladies while he pockets the family silver. He looked like a van driver and just had a big industrial-sized hoover which sucked all the soot down the chimney. Clean as a whistle guv'nor.
Renaming The Blog For Financial Gain
I told you I was obsessed with them, and now I'm thinking of renaming the blog "The Unofficial Ikea Snake Website" and changing the colours to a lurid lime green.
I will then email Ikea's Marketing Manager, point out the fact that if you search for Ikea+Snake on Google you find this blog, and attempt to blag not just a crate of free snakes to give away to Thame's street urchins - who cannot even get jobs as chimney sweep monkeys - but a whole new Ikea-funded kitchen makeover as well!
I will of course retain all rights to Unofficial Ikea Snake Website merchandise. Mugs, T-shirts, pens, giant inflatable Ikea Snakes to wave at football, sex toys and Ikea Snake halloween masks. I'm going to make a mint.
All Hallows Eve
Halloween is just a week away. The americanism that is Trick or Treat has breached Britain's defenses and the whole "let's go and scare the crap out of old folks by dressing up as demons and knocking on their doors begging for sweets and money" thing grows exponentially each year. Ten years ago, the best masks you could buy here were of the rubbish 99p flimsy plastic variety that would cut your face or gouge out your eyes if you put them on wrong. These days we can get hold of the life-like soft rubber masks dead-easy and I love 'em!
I have a goblin mask that freaks Vic out, and last year I wore it to greet little tricksters at the door. I did the full goblin act - hunched over, lurching about, stupid voice, etc. Three eleven year old boys who came a knocking didn't know what to do or say apart from a nervous "but we're the ones who are meant to be dressed up!".
They were disturbed, but not quite enough for my liking, so this year I'm going to do things properly. I'm going to make a pumpkin lantern and pop his evil grinning head in the front window. I will wear my mask again, but this time in unison with a butchers apron splashed with a bucket of pigs blood from top-sausage makers Newitts. If anyone has a chainsaw I could borrow to top off the outfit, I'd be much obliged. Otherwise I'll have to make do with using a garden fork or spade from the shed.
That should impress the neighbours.
Tuesday, October 22, 2002
Google Is Great
Sitemeter lets me see what site referred you to my Wonderful World. Go check out the link at the bottom of the page.
Mostly it's "unknown", but some are via Google.
Some poor German games freak searched for Coppertwaddle and found me. Not a surprise as there's only a handful of sites that may have commented on this top game.
More worrying is if you had searched for Ant and Dec at the NTA awards. I'm listed second on the results.
Or for Ikea Snake. I'm listed first - that's my CEC article - and second. Cue writ from Swedish corporate giant...
I'd like to apologise to those who searched for these links. It's a crazy world and I'm not helping.
Sitemeter lets me see what site referred you to my Wonderful World. Go check out the link at the bottom of the page.
Mostly it's "unknown", but some are via Google.
Some poor German games freak searched for Coppertwaddle and found me. Not a surprise as there's only a handful of sites that may have commented on this top game.
More worrying is if you had searched for Ant and Dec at the NTA awards. I'm listed second on the results.
Or for Ikea Snake. I'm listed first - that's my CEC article - and second. Cue writ from Swedish corporate giant...
I'd like to apologise to those who searched for these links. It's a crazy world and I'm not helping.
Mister Magoo
I need to get my eyes tested. Last time they saw an optician was 12 years ago, before we had to pay for the privilege. A lot can go wrong in 12 years, and as some helpful lady said on the telly, visiting your optician is more important than visiting your dentist: they can replace your teeth with synthethics, but you only get one chance with your eyes.
I need glasses of course. I've known this for the last 2 years. The realisation came at the inlaws when trying to read Teletext - the text was all blurred and fuzzy. Since then I've noticed how much quicker Vic reads road signs than me, how I struggle to read the overhead projector on my CIMA courses, and how much longer it takes me to change focus from long to short vision. I've also noticed a difference when playing golf and table tennis. Reading the football scores on Teletext last night - through my wine glass - kicked off the "I'm going" blind panic again.
I'm not surprised that my eye-sight has deteriorated, as both of my parents, all of my grandparents, and now my brother, all wear glasses. I don't have a problem with me wearing glasses: Not only will I be able to see the world as it is again, but I reckon they'll add an extra 20 points to my IQ, and with the right pair I might look as sexy as Sara. What does depress me though is the inescapable truth that my failing eys are another indication that I'm getting old. My youthful atheletic body is gradually turning into a decrepid husk.
I'll look more like Smithers than Harry Potter.
The Bells Toll
An alarm went off at 3:30 am this morning on the industrial area across from our house. Alarms have been going off virtually every night for the last few weeks. The noise pollution and lack of sleep is driving me mad. I will be psycho within a week if they continue. What can you do about them at 3:30 in the morning?! A second call to the police today resulted in a friendly chap advising me to "phone the council" aka "the police have better things to worry about". They'll soon change their tune when I go loco in Thame's High Street, dancing like a monkey with my imaginary Ikea Snake...
I need to get my eyes tested. Last time they saw an optician was 12 years ago, before we had to pay for the privilege. A lot can go wrong in 12 years, and as some helpful lady said on the telly, visiting your optician is more important than visiting your dentist: they can replace your teeth with synthethics, but you only get one chance with your eyes.
I need glasses of course. I've known this for the last 2 years. The realisation came at the inlaws when trying to read Teletext - the text was all blurred and fuzzy. Since then I've noticed how much quicker Vic reads road signs than me, how I struggle to read the overhead projector on my CIMA courses, and how much longer it takes me to change focus from long to short vision. I've also noticed a difference when playing golf and table tennis. Reading the football scores on Teletext last night - through my wine glass - kicked off the "I'm going" blind panic again.
I'm not surprised that my eye-sight has deteriorated, as both of my parents, all of my grandparents, and now my brother, all wear glasses. I don't have a problem with me wearing glasses: Not only will I be able to see the world as it is again, but I reckon they'll add an extra 20 points to my IQ, and with the right pair I might look as sexy as Sara. What does depress me though is the inescapable truth that my failing eys are another indication that I'm getting old. My youthful atheletic body is gradually turning into a decrepid husk.
I'll look more like Smithers than Harry Potter.
The Bells Toll
An alarm went off at 3:30 am this morning on the industrial area across from our house. Alarms have been going off virtually every night for the last few weeks. The noise pollution and lack of sleep is driving me mad. I will be psycho within a week if they continue. What can you do about them at 3:30 in the morning?! A second call to the police today resulted in a friendly chap advising me to "phone the council" aka "the police have better things to worry about". They'll soon change their tune when I go loco in Thame's High Street, dancing like a monkey with my imaginary Ikea Snake...
Monday, October 21, 2002
The Snake Basket
The Ikea Snake was in the shopping basket for just under 10 minutes, before Vic discovered it and threw him out. Next time I'll stick it down my trousers. Didn't buy any large items of furniture - it all looked a bit cheap. Why did I expect anything different? It's Ikea! Bonus though was the A40 into London. It should be renamed Hubcap Row.
Friday's Sweepstake
Julian asked the question at 11:02 am Friday morning.
Scott and Emma Come For Dinner
I'd been looking forward to it all day: Scott and Em coming over for dinner on Saturday night. It was one of those "I want to spend some time with friends" days. I have to say that, as usual, I really enjoyed it (Scott reads this and will tell Em if I say anything otherwise. I could've had some fun at Emma's expense and said that I didn't enjoy it, but that would be a lie and result in a clip round the ear from Em AND Vic).
Dish of the Day - apart from Scott and me - was Jamie Oliver's Quick Sausage Cassoullet with mash potatoes, followed by sticky toffee pudding. Emma, in an attempt to avoid using our toilet (she presumably has an image of me pissing all over the seat), drank all of half a cup of ginger beer whilst Scott put the lager away in his typically boisterous fashion.
As this blog is a result of me copying Scott's, it was natural that some of the evening was spent discussing blogs. By the end of the evening we had concluded that Emma should have her own blog, as the stories she tells would grace the best of the best. "Confessions of a Primary School Teacher" - with its tales of gypsy kids cursing one another and ripping each others faces off - would top many a "blogs I read" bookmark list. Add in Emma's glamour photography stories and it would rip through the internet, leaving rubber Scaryducks bobbing in its wake...
Political Sentiment Of The Day
British firemen are going ahead with their strikes in an attempt to force through a 40% pay-increase demand. I have every sympathy for them - £21K for a qualified firefighter is hardly sufficient remuneration (images of Septemebr 11th jump to mind) - but their plan to strike on Bonfire Night does seem a little irresponsible...
Plus, please avoid getting trapped in a car wreck over the next few weeks: Specialist cutting equipment won't be made available to the spotty 17 year-old soldier, who will turn up too late to save you, in a 1960's Green Goddess firetruck. Presumably he'll have to use an old tin-opener to prise you out of the twisted metal and pop you in the bodybag.
People will die because of this strike. Whose fault will it be? The firemen or their paymasters? As soon as this happens, public support for the strike action will drop like a rock.
The Ikea Snake was in the shopping basket for just under 10 minutes, before Vic discovered it and threw him out. Next time I'll stick it down my trousers. Didn't buy any large items of furniture - it all looked a bit cheap. Why did I expect anything different? It's Ikea! Bonus though was the A40 into London. It should be renamed Hubcap Row.
Friday's Sweepstake
Julian asked the question at 11:02 am Friday morning.
Scott and Emma Come For Dinner
I'd been looking forward to it all day: Scott and Em coming over for dinner on Saturday night. It was one of those "I want to spend some time with friends" days. I have to say that, as usual, I really enjoyed it (Scott reads this and will tell Em if I say anything otherwise. I could've had some fun at Emma's expense and said that I didn't enjoy it, but that would be a lie and result in a clip round the ear from Em AND Vic).
Dish of the Day - apart from Scott and me - was Jamie Oliver's Quick Sausage Cassoullet with mash potatoes, followed by sticky toffee pudding. Emma, in an attempt to avoid using our toilet (she presumably has an image of me pissing all over the seat), drank all of half a cup of ginger beer whilst Scott put the lager away in his typically boisterous fashion.
As this blog is a result of me copying Scott's, it was natural that some of the evening was spent discussing blogs. By the end of the evening we had concluded that Emma should have her own blog, as the stories she tells would grace the best of the best. "Confessions of a Primary School Teacher" - with its tales of gypsy kids cursing one another and ripping each others faces off - would top many a "blogs I read" bookmark list. Add in Emma's glamour photography stories and it would rip through the internet, leaving rubber Scaryducks bobbing in its wake...
Political Sentiment Of The Day
British firemen are going ahead with their strikes in an attempt to force through a 40% pay-increase demand. I have every sympathy for them - £21K for a qualified firefighter is hardly sufficient remuneration (images of Septemebr 11th jump to mind) - but their plan to strike on Bonfire Night does seem a little irresponsible...
Plus, please avoid getting trapped in a car wreck over the next few weeks: Specialist cutting equipment won't be made available to the spotty 17 year-old soldier, who will turn up too late to save you, in a 1960's Green Goddess firetruck. Presumably he'll have to use an old tin-opener to prise you out of the twisted metal and pop you in the bodybag.
People will die because of this strike. Whose fault will it be? The firemen or their paymasters? As soon as this happens, public support for the strike action will drop like a rock.
Friday, October 18, 2002
The Games We Play
We a title like that, this post should be about how I screwed over some poor fool or something. However...
Forgot to give the link to Snatch yesterday. If you like word games, you'll love Snatch. Although they've ripped off an old english palour game, Portobello Games deserve congratulations for sticking their necks - and own cash - on the line to produce this version. I highly recommend the game. It can be played casually or competitively. Really nice look to the game, high quality pieces, and it looks good on your coffee table too. Simple rules, no frills, classic game. Educational too. We have our own copy and bought one for Sara for Christmas. The fact that Portobello sold out of stock at the start of the year says it all really. It also won The Times best game of the year award for 2001. Go buy it!
And in case you're wondering, no the makers aren't my friends.
If you want to buy a great card game that IS produced by one of my friends, try Coppertwaddle. One-on-one card game, medium complexity, high quality production, stupid name.
End of the commercial break.
We a title like that, this post should be about how I screwed over some poor fool or something. However...
Forgot to give the link to Snatch yesterday. If you like word games, you'll love Snatch. Although they've ripped off an old english palour game, Portobello Games deserve congratulations for sticking their necks - and own cash - on the line to produce this version. I highly recommend the game. It can be played casually or competitively. Really nice look to the game, high quality pieces, and it looks good on your coffee table too. Simple rules, no frills, classic game. Educational too. We have our own copy and bought one for Sara for Christmas. The fact that Portobello sold out of stock at the start of the year says it all really. It also won The Times best game of the year award for 2001. Go buy it!
And in case you're wondering, no the makers aren't my friends.
If you want to buy a great card game that IS produced by one of my friends, try Coppertwaddle. One-on-one card game, medium complexity, high quality production, stupid name.
End of the commercial break.
Thursday, October 17, 2002
Must Do More Together
After Tuesday nights exciting evening in front of the telly, Vic and I have decided to do a few more things together midweek.
Vic watches a little too much telly, and freely acknowledged this last night. Her idea is to cut down on the brain-rotting activity and start doing more things together. The original plan of me going to the gym with her has predictably collapsed, and my membership has been cancelled from November (I've been about once in the last 12 months). Jogging after work - as we did for a few weeks in the built up to her sponsored cancer charity run - is not something I enjoy in the dark, cold and wet. Realistically - as Vic is unlikely to want to come with me to Monday night table tennis and Wednesday night Magic - we're talking about games of Scrabble and Snatch in front of our new fireplace (if it ever gets ordered).
Which is cool.
We may even catch up on some old classic movies on DVD that we've never seen - although this is cheating, as watching a DVD isn't really that different from just watching the telly. We'll have our own little film club.
And perhaps a book club too, as I've not been reading as much recently and have a stack of books I need to catch up with: I'm halfway through Redcoat, and have Northern Lights, A New History of the Third Reich, HP Goblet of Fire, More What If? and Colditz all ready to go. I've also got to get registered at our local library asap.
We are also determined to do more walks on a Sunday, and up our National Trust usage to a more acceptable level.
Progress Report: HIP#4
One thing we are doing together, but in shifts, is HIP#4. Current situation is: Vic is off work for a couple of days painting the ceiling and newly plastered walls. The colour is a light and airy Ivory Cream. We've chosen the fireplace hearth: natural Cotswold stone, that a full mantlepiece can be built up from at a later date (when we have some cash - anyone want to advertise on this site? Cheap rates!). Unfortunately the store we're trying to order it through is useless, and it looks as if, when finally ordered, it won't arrive until the 4th of November. The floor, skirting boards and woodwork cannot be fitted until the hearth goes down. Another two weeks of living in the kitchen and dining room with all the furniture. Joy. Off to Ikea to find some low cost storage solutions tomorrow. The big goal for me is of course getting an Ikea Snake in the trolley and through the tills without Vicster spotting it.
As I'm likely to shout with glee, wave it around, pretend it's alive, attack Vic and scare random children with it in the shop, it's a fair bet to wager that the snake won't get successfully smuggled out...
Stuff Of The Day
Science article OTD: Learn what an Event Horizon is and why there is a big void in your life.
Bad joke OTD:
Me - "Fancy a date Julian?" [Offering a packet of the glistening dried fruits]
Julian - "No thanks!"
Me - "What about one of these then?" [Waving the packet of dates]
After Tuesday nights exciting evening in front of the telly, Vic and I have decided to do a few more things together midweek.
Vic watches a little too much telly, and freely acknowledged this last night. Her idea is to cut down on the brain-rotting activity and start doing more things together. The original plan of me going to the gym with her has predictably collapsed, and my membership has been cancelled from November (I've been about once in the last 12 months). Jogging after work - as we did for a few weeks in the built up to her sponsored cancer charity run - is not something I enjoy in the dark, cold and wet. Realistically - as Vic is unlikely to want to come with me to Monday night table tennis and Wednesday night Magic - we're talking about games of Scrabble and Snatch in front of our new fireplace (if it ever gets ordered).
Which is cool.
We may even catch up on some old classic movies on DVD that we've never seen - although this is cheating, as watching a DVD isn't really that different from just watching the telly. We'll have our own little film club.
And perhaps a book club too, as I've not been reading as much recently and have a stack of books I need to catch up with: I'm halfway through Redcoat, and have Northern Lights, A New History of the Third Reich, HP Goblet of Fire, More What If? and Colditz all ready to go. I've also got to get registered at our local library asap.
We are also determined to do more walks on a Sunday, and up our National Trust usage to a more acceptable level.
Progress Report: HIP#4
One thing we are doing together, but in shifts, is HIP#4. Current situation is: Vic is off work for a couple of days painting the ceiling and newly plastered walls. The colour is a light and airy Ivory Cream. We've chosen the fireplace hearth: natural Cotswold stone, that a full mantlepiece can be built up from at a later date (when we have some cash - anyone want to advertise on this site? Cheap rates!). Unfortunately the store we're trying to order it through is useless, and it looks as if, when finally ordered, it won't arrive until the 4th of November. The floor, skirting boards and woodwork cannot be fitted until the hearth goes down. Another two weeks of living in the kitchen and dining room with all the furniture. Joy. Off to Ikea to find some low cost storage solutions tomorrow. The big goal for me is of course getting an Ikea Snake in the trolley and through the tills without Vicster spotting it.
As I'm likely to shout with glee, wave it around, pretend it's alive, attack Vic and scare random children with it in the shop, it's a fair bet to wager that the snake won't get successfully smuggled out...
Stuff Of The Day
Science article OTD: Learn what an Event Horizon is and why there is a big void in your life.
Bad joke OTD:
Me - "Fancy a date Julian?" [Offering a packet of the glistening dried fruits]
Julian - "No thanks!"
Me - "What about one of these then?" [Waving the packet of dates]
Wednesday, October 16, 2002
And The Winner Is...
Last night's telly was utter crap.
Normally I'd switch off and do something less boring instead, but last night I just wanted to veg out. Unfortunately there was NOTHING on the box of any note, and we ended up watching The National Television Awards *. It was like watching a car crash. Horrible, but hypnotic. Twice I leapt off the sofa and began pacing the room like a freaked-out psycho monkey trapped in cage.
It was TV of gutter life. The lowest common-denominator. The show should have been called "TV What Sun Readers Enjoy Most".
We played a guessing game: Predict the four or five programmes, or peeps, who would be on the short-list for the "best soup opera newcomer with blonde hair and a nice pair" award. Then predict the winner.
It was actually really easy in the end. You just picked anything and everything with David Jason in it. Best actor, best drama, best comedy. If David Jason wasn't in it, then you picked Ant and Dec, and if they weren't in the running, you picked the lady - especially if she appealed to the male Sun readers. It'll be exactly the same next year too.
The most exciting moment for me - apart from the size of Trevor McDonald's huge dickie - was seeing Bargain Hunt pick up Best Daytime TV show. David D was magnificent. He even thanked all those Bargain Hunters out there. I was overcome with emotion, and if I could have spoken through the tears, I would have phoned Scott up (DD's other fan) to celebrate.
The only real surprise is that Tina and the gang haven't mentioned it once today.
* Abbreviated to NTA. Considering television is normally abbreviated to TV, surely it should have been NTVA?
Last night's telly was utter crap.
Normally I'd switch off and do something less boring instead, but last night I just wanted to veg out. Unfortunately there was NOTHING on the box of any note, and we ended up watching The National Television Awards *. It was like watching a car crash. Horrible, but hypnotic. Twice I leapt off the sofa and began pacing the room like a freaked-out psycho monkey trapped in cage.
It was TV of gutter life. The lowest common-denominator. The show should have been called "TV What Sun Readers Enjoy Most".
We played a guessing game: Predict the four or five programmes, or peeps, who would be on the short-list for the "best soup opera newcomer with blonde hair and a nice pair" award. Then predict the winner.
It was actually really easy in the end. You just picked anything and everything with David Jason in it. Best actor, best drama, best comedy. If David Jason wasn't in it, then you picked Ant and Dec, and if they weren't in the running, you picked the lady - especially if she appealed to the male Sun readers. It'll be exactly the same next year too.
The most exciting moment for me - apart from the size of Trevor McDonald's huge dickie - was seeing Bargain Hunt pick up Best Daytime TV show. David D was magnificent. He even thanked all those Bargain Hunters out there. I was overcome with emotion, and if I could have spoken through the tears, I would have phoned Scott up (DD's other fan) to celebrate.
The only real surprise is that Tina and the gang haven't mentioned it once today.
* Abbreviated to NTA. Considering television is normally abbreviated to TV, surely it should have been NTVA?
Tuesday, October 15, 2002
Wrong Spelling, Wight Idea
They were discussing Bali this morning and to quote Tina (slightly - only slightly - out of context):
"Bali is like the Isle of Wight"
Remember, Tina's most exotic holiday was in Devon.
Ironically, if you subtly change the spelling of Wight to White, Tina's accidently hit the nail on the head: If they were Islamic terrorists who perpetrated the attack, then this is probably exactly what they viewed Bali as.
The Isle of White.
They were discussing Bali this morning and to quote Tina (slightly - only slightly - out of context):
"Bali is like the Isle of Wight"
Remember, Tina's most exotic holiday was in Devon.
Ironically, if you subtly change the spelling of Wight to White, Tina's accidently hit the nail on the head: If they were Islamic terrorists who perpetrated the attack, then this is probably exactly what they viewed Bali as.
The Isle of White.
Monday, October 14, 2002
Welcome to the Wonderful World of Grey
It's not that I don't like autumn: Who doesn't love the changing of the leaves from green to gold? And it's not like I hate the winter either: Crisp frosty mornings, and Christmas-card dustings of snow, make me feel alive just as much as they do anyone else. I even enjoy a little occasional mist. And I certainly get spellbound by fallen leaves, picked up in an eddy, and spun and danced by the breeze.
It's just the darkness and the short days that get me down. I think - and I've been told this many times by friends and family - that I'm a bit SAD.
I'm fortunate to have a window seat at work. In the spring and summer it's a godsend. The sun comes through so brightly we had to tint the windows this summer to ensure our eyeballs didn't poach in our skulls. Unfortunately the tints have now come back to haunt us: They make an already dull and grey day even darker. There's nothing better than gazing out onto a dull and grey industrial estate, on a dull and grey Monday morning, to get you motivated and stoked-up for work.
The Wedding
Josstick and Enda tied the knot on Saturday. Great day - really enjoyed it. You'd expect everyone at an Irish wedding to be drunk, but the only person there who was apparently "dancing like a monkey" was me. No Danny Boy. No Riverdance. No fighting. They didn't even have Guinness on tap either!
I recovered at 2 p.m. Sunday afternoon.
I was in trouble for:
a) Embarrassing myself - being drunk, dancing like a monkey, and talking about Oxford United to Mickey Aiya Napa from Fox FM. I may or may not have called him a twat.
b) Snoring (after the wedding, not during).
c) Losing someone's jacket.
d) Phoning my brother and brother-in-law (from the Gentlemen's toilet) in a desperate bid to get a live update on the Slovakia v England match.
I also managed to drip hot sausage grease down my best tie, but my plan to switch it with someone else's - he was wearing the same tie - was foiled because he never took it off or went to the Gents on his own...
Highlight of the ceremony was hymn number two: Jerusalem, that stirring, patriotic English anthem... that the majority of the groom's Irish contingent refused to sing.
Julian Returns From Cyprus
Today's conversation between Jo and Nobby regarding Julian:
Jo - "He's a treasure isn't he."
Nob - "Oh yeah, he's a real treasure alright. He should be locked in a chest and buried six feet under on a desert island!"
Jo - "But what if a pirate discovered him and dug him up?!"
Nob - "With any luck the pirate would put the spade though his neck..."
Kefei and Chestor Experience The Welcome
I played magic in Oxford last Wednesday night.
A new set - "excitingly" entitled Onslaught (Yawn) - has just been released. Apparently even seasoned old hands like me are meant to get excited by a new set and get caught up in the buzz. I couldn't be more underwhelmed than if you poked me with a Rod of Underwhelming.
[Insert bad random magic joke]
Rod of Underwhelming
Artifact
Common
2 casting cost
Tap: Target player is underwhelmed by new cards - especially Rod of Underwhelming.
"It's a stick..."
Anyway, there were 17 guys there at the Donnington Arms pub, a reasonably impressive number of players for a midweek draft event. However, it transpired that 9 of them were only there to collect boxes of the new product from Rob and cleared off immediately on receiving the goods.
I can't understand this: They travel into Oxford, wait for an hour for the cards to turn up, are willing to pay over £100 for 2 boxes of cardboard junk, but don't actually want to PLAY the game they quite clearly love. It's bizarre.
The other thing about last night was the continued total lack of welcoming reception for new attendees at the group. Two Japanese guys (one with girlfriend in tow) turned up to play and were met by the usual Oxford Arena League greeting: Silence. They were ignored. Except by me. I yet again had to try and disprove the fact that the vast majority of UK magic players are boring runts with zero social skills.
As usual I failed ;)
I just hope I did enough to ensure they felt welcomed sufficiently to return in the future.
Won't be there this week though: England play Macedonia.
It's not that I don't like autumn: Who doesn't love the changing of the leaves from green to gold? And it's not like I hate the winter either: Crisp frosty mornings, and Christmas-card dustings of snow, make me feel alive just as much as they do anyone else. I even enjoy a little occasional mist. And I certainly get spellbound by fallen leaves, picked up in an eddy, and spun and danced by the breeze.
It's just the darkness and the short days that get me down. I think - and I've been told this many times by friends and family - that I'm a bit SAD.
I'm fortunate to have a window seat at work. In the spring and summer it's a godsend. The sun comes through so brightly we had to tint the windows this summer to ensure our eyeballs didn't poach in our skulls. Unfortunately the tints have now come back to haunt us: They make an already dull and grey day even darker. There's nothing better than gazing out onto a dull and grey industrial estate, on a dull and grey Monday morning, to get you motivated and stoked-up for work.
The Wedding
Josstick and Enda tied the knot on Saturday. Great day - really enjoyed it. You'd expect everyone at an Irish wedding to be drunk, but the only person there who was apparently "dancing like a monkey" was me. No Danny Boy. No Riverdance. No fighting. They didn't even have Guinness on tap either!
I recovered at 2 p.m. Sunday afternoon.
I was in trouble for:
a) Embarrassing myself - being drunk, dancing like a monkey, and talking about Oxford United to Mickey Aiya Napa from Fox FM. I may or may not have called him a twat.
b) Snoring (after the wedding, not during).
c) Losing someone's jacket.
d) Phoning my brother and brother-in-law (from the Gentlemen's toilet) in a desperate bid to get a live update on the Slovakia v England match.
I also managed to drip hot sausage grease down my best tie, but my plan to switch it with someone else's - he was wearing the same tie - was foiled because he never took it off or went to the Gents on his own...
Highlight of the ceremony was hymn number two: Jerusalem, that stirring, patriotic English anthem... that the majority of the groom's Irish contingent refused to sing.
Julian Returns From Cyprus
Today's conversation between Jo and Nobby regarding Julian:
Jo - "He's a treasure isn't he."
Nob - "Oh yeah, he's a real treasure alright. He should be locked in a chest and buried six feet under on a desert island!"
Jo - "But what if a pirate discovered him and dug him up?!"
Nob - "With any luck the pirate would put the spade though his neck..."
Kefei and Chestor Experience The Welcome
I played magic in Oxford last Wednesday night.
A new set - "excitingly" entitled Onslaught (Yawn) - has just been released. Apparently even seasoned old hands like me are meant to get excited by a new set and get caught up in the buzz. I couldn't be more underwhelmed than if you poked me with a Rod of Underwhelming.
[Insert bad random magic joke]
Rod of Underwhelming
Artifact
Common
2 casting cost
Tap: Target player is underwhelmed by new cards - especially Rod of Underwhelming.
"It's a stick..."
Anyway, there were 17 guys there at the Donnington Arms pub, a reasonably impressive number of players for a midweek draft event. However, it transpired that 9 of them were only there to collect boxes of the new product from Rob and cleared off immediately on receiving the goods.
I can't understand this: They travel into Oxford, wait for an hour for the cards to turn up, are willing to pay over £100 for 2 boxes of cardboard junk, but don't actually want to PLAY the game they quite clearly love. It's bizarre.
The other thing about last night was the continued total lack of welcoming reception for new attendees at the group. Two Japanese guys (one with girlfriend in tow) turned up to play and were met by the usual Oxford Arena League greeting: Silence. They were ignored. Except by me. I yet again had to try and disprove the fact that the vast majority of UK magic players are boring runts with zero social skills.
As usual I failed ;)
I just hope I did enough to ensure they felt welcomed sufficiently to return in the future.
Won't be there this week though: England play Macedonia.
