jt
OK I admit it. I think Justin Timberlake is a fox. Forget Jackson or Prince ever existed. Justin is the new King of Pop.
Holiday Report
We were away on holiday in Cornwall last week. I didn't tell you before we left, as I have a fear that burglers scan blogs, spot where people live from clues -- intentional or otherwise -- written in those blogs, and then raid the empty homes whilst the bloggers are away.
A little paranoid perhaps, but I have images of Ruffles dressed in blue stripey shirt and black eye mask, holding a swag bag, circling our house like a vulture. The vision is completed with Simon -- in a Motty sheepskin coat -- lurking in the shadows ready to fence the goods.
In actuality the house was untouched.
Here's the holiday summary. Apologies if it's a bit "postcardy" or sounds like Kirk's Log:
Friday 13th
We travelled down to Bath in the afternoon. Glorious sunshine greets us -- we are clearly blessed by Minera, the Roman sun goddess. Bath is a beautiful city, the Regency stonework reflecting the light and providing a dignified and graceful atmosphere. We took a cheesy open-top bus tour of the city, seeing all the tourist sites: The Royal Cresent, the Abbey, Jane Austen's house, Charles Dickens' house, and the rows and rows of classic Georgian properties -- currently being filmed for the Hollywood version of Vanity Fair. I didn't spy that hot blonde american chick Alicia Sliverstone though.
We toured the ancient Roman baths and spa by foot. Rich in history and well worth a visit. The warm waters still bubble up from the sacred spring, and although you can partake of a cup for 50p, we were advised by our tour bus guide not to taste it: It's like rusty bath water.
Our hotel was average.
We were treated to a performance by the worlds worst street "entertainer": after irritating a whole square full of people for an hour, not one single person threw a penny in his hat. He was reduced to begging people to give him some money. That always works: irritated people for an hour with shit music and humourless "comedy" and then -- once they are ready to kill you -- ask them for money.
Saturday a.m.
Sunshine. A trip to Cheddar Gorge and its caves. I wouldn't bother again: it's full of gift shops selling tat. The smaller of the cave networks was apparently Tolkein's inspiration for Helms Deep. In their wisdom, the local people have therefore turned this cave into a REALLY BAD Lord of the Rings-esque walk-through for kids, complete with red-eyed goblins, wraiths and demon lord. Incredibly naff and -- this is the best bit -- frightening for their target market. The little boys who were in front of us were TERRIFIED by it and wanted to leave.
Saturday p.m.
Up to Bristol, we stayed overnight at the contemporary Hotel du Vin. Very swish and comfortable apart from the lack of air-con: it was one of the hottest evenings of the year and it felt like it in our room. We had to make do with an open window, a fan, and sweaty pants.
Wandered around the redeveloped dock area of the city and had a pint by the river. Lots of trendy young people.
Sunday
Travelled down to Cornwall in sunshine. As far as Lands End. [For my american readers, grab a map of the UK -- its the far SW tip of the country. Hence Lands End]. We were accommodated in Sally's cottage near St Just. The cottage was damp, due to its location next to its own stream, but ideally located for exploring from, and only a short walk from the coast. Most importantly, it was quiet and out of the way, exactly what we wanted for our week of "getting away from things".
Monday
We were woken up at 5.30 a.m. by someone knocking at the front door. Twice. By the time I'd got downstairs they'd disappeared. Freaky. We reckoned it was either an early bird from the Youth Hostel up the road messing about or a ghost.
With hindsight I think it might have been an Action Cow.
Another day of sunshine and a visit to St Michael's Mount at Penzance. When the tide is out you can walk across the sands to the Mount and its harbour, when the tide is high, it is surrounded by the sea. We walked across and took a boat ride around the island later. A steep climb to the fortifications and house at the top rewarded us with a magnificent 360 view of the area and a glimpse of the Giant's Heart.
Legend has it that a giant built the Mount and protected it from harm. But he got a bit too big for his already sizeable boots, so the locals sent a clever kid to kill him. The boy dug a pit, then teased the giant, who lumbered into it and was killed. The giant's heart dried as hard as stone in the sun, and was incorporated into the stone pathway that leads to the top of the Mount.
I don't know what happened to the kid.
Part 2 tomorrow, including an explanation of what an Action Cow is.
[Moooo!]
Thursday, June 26, 2003
Tuesday, June 10, 2003
Party Poopers
Went to Sara & Stasher's party at the weekend. A disappointing turn-out of E List celebrity media people were in attendance. Nina was there, but Lucy Alexander wasn't. Greg was back from his 5 weeks of embedded reporting in the Gulf. Thankfully his only war wound was a touch of sunburn. I cooked my usual raspberry and almond torte. Giant garden Jenga and pick-up sticks were played. Sara drank enough to be sick the next day. We were going to stay over, but as a result of pregnancy and hay fever, Vic and I were both knackered, so we drove back from Blackheath to Thame at 1 a.m.
Pleased we did too, as the party ended at 4 a.m. -- far too late for me these days.
Pass Me The Hole. The Big One.
Went down the pub with some of Vic's work mates on Friday evening, to the Goose in Gloucester Green, Oxford. The pub used to be called the Brewhouse, and I remember it as being fitted out with its original features, tiny tucked-away old rooms, and saturated with atmosphere.
The company who now own the place, have ripped all that out and replaced it with tasteless identi-kit new pub decor. Another part of Oxford's pub hertitage has been consigned to the dustbin and replaced with soulless tat.
So we're sat outside in the pub garden, enjoying the evening sunshine. I'm talking to Catherine. She keeps asking me to repeat myself. Vic always says that I mumble and don't speak loud enough, so I think it's me. Eventually I get frustrated at having to repeat myself and -- rather aggressively -- ask Catherine "are you deaf or something?!".
And as the last word exited from my lips, I remembered that the last time we met, Catherine explained that she was deaf in one ear.
Pass me the hole so I can hide in it.
It was on par with Emma [Vic's bridesmaid] -- rather aggressively -- telling Tam [my sister-in-law] "it's not as if your parents have died in a car crash or something!"
Ummm... yes they did Emma...
Amsterdamned
Keir and Adam were in 'Dam over the weekend. I'll give you the stories tomorrow.
Went to Sara & Stasher's party at the weekend. A disappointing turn-out of E List celebrity media people were in attendance. Nina was there, but Lucy Alexander wasn't. Greg was back from his 5 weeks of embedded reporting in the Gulf. Thankfully his only war wound was a touch of sunburn. I cooked my usual raspberry and almond torte. Giant garden Jenga and pick-up sticks were played. Sara drank enough to be sick the next day. We were going to stay over, but as a result of pregnancy and hay fever, Vic and I were both knackered, so we drove back from Blackheath to Thame at 1 a.m.
Pleased we did too, as the party ended at 4 a.m. -- far too late for me these days.
Pass Me The Hole. The Big One.
Went down the pub with some of Vic's work mates on Friday evening, to the Goose in Gloucester Green, Oxford. The pub used to be called the Brewhouse, and I remember it as being fitted out with its original features, tiny tucked-away old rooms, and saturated with atmosphere.
The company who now own the place, have ripped all that out and replaced it with tasteless identi-kit new pub decor. Another part of Oxford's pub hertitage has been consigned to the dustbin and replaced with soulless tat.
So we're sat outside in the pub garden, enjoying the evening sunshine. I'm talking to Catherine. She keeps asking me to repeat myself. Vic always says that I mumble and don't speak loud enough, so I think it's me. Eventually I get frustrated at having to repeat myself and -- rather aggressively -- ask Catherine "are you deaf or something?!".
And as the last word exited from my lips, I remembered that the last time we met, Catherine explained that she was deaf in one ear.
Pass me the hole so I can hide in it.
It was on par with Emma [Vic's bridesmaid] -- rather aggressively -- telling Tam [my sister-in-law] "it's not as if your parents have died in a car crash or something!"
Ummm... yes they did Emma...
Amsterdamned
Keir and Adam were in 'Dam over the weekend. I'll give you the stories tomorrow.
Friday, June 06, 2003
Blooming Outrage
We bought a flower cone from Habitat a few weeks ago. It's a hanging basket, but shaped liked a big metal ice cream cone. We planted some pansies in it and positioned the cone outside our front door. Remember, our house is a Victorian terrace, so it's right on the street. To deter the casual thief, we screwed the cone onto the wall. The pansies really brightened the street up.
Of course it was only a matter of time.
And last Friday, in the wee small hours, our cone was ripped from the wall by a couple of drunken fools and carried off into the night.
We were dismayed to discover the theft on Saturday morning. We'd half expected it to get pinched since putting it up, but the act of mindless vandalism still managed to upset. I had a wander up the road, away from the town centre -- thinking the drunks were walking home from the pub --in the vain hope of finding and reclaiming the cone.
Despite peering into every garden and over every fence, I could not locate it. I even put myself in their shoes, thinking if I'd had nicked it, what would I have done with it. Launching it from the old railway bridge was a strong contender, but only a pair of broken stolen bicycles lay in the nettlebeds below.
We resigned ourselves to having lost our little piece of street improvement and cursed those responsible all weekend.
On Sunday evening we had a walk into town. And what did we discover discarded against a fence? The cone, minus flowers, bent and buckled out of shape. It's a shame, but it won't be going up again outside the front door. Retirement in the back garden beckons for it.
The drunks must of been coming home from the rugby club...
We bought a flower cone from Habitat a few weeks ago. It's a hanging basket, but shaped liked a big metal ice cream cone. We planted some pansies in it and positioned the cone outside our front door. Remember, our house is a Victorian terrace, so it's right on the street. To deter the casual thief, we screwed the cone onto the wall. The pansies really brightened the street up.
Of course it was only a matter of time.
And last Friday, in the wee small hours, our cone was ripped from the wall by a couple of drunken fools and carried off into the night.
We were dismayed to discover the theft on Saturday morning. We'd half expected it to get pinched since putting it up, but the act of mindless vandalism still managed to upset. I had a wander up the road, away from the town centre -- thinking the drunks were walking home from the pub --in the vain hope of finding and reclaiming the cone.
Despite peering into every garden and over every fence, I could not locate it. I even put myself in their shoes, thinking if I'd had nicked it, what would I have done with it. Launching it from the old railway bridge was a strong contender, but only a pair of broken stolen bicycles lay in the nettlebeds below.
We resigned ourselves to having lost our little piece of street improvement and cursed those responsible all weekend.
On Sunday evening we had a walk into town. And what did we discover discarded against a fence? The cone, minus flowers, bent and buckled out of shape. It's a shame, but it won't be going up again outside the front door. Retirement in the back garden beckons for it.
The drunks must of been coming home from the rugby club...
Friday, May 30, 2003
Summer's Here At Last
March was a false weather dawn. It was a beautiful month weather-wise, with sunshine and temperatures well above the norm.
April and May were wash-outs.
However, Monday saw a turnabout in the UK's weather fortunes, and summer has arrived at last. I've got the David Beckham-esque sandals and linen trousers on. I didn't have time to gloss my toenails though. I'm looking forward to a weekend of BBQs and cool beers. The heady heights of 26 degrees in the sun.
We were out in the garden last night, grilling some sausages and sweetcorn, listening to a summer Ibiza CD, and just enjoying being outside after the days work.
BTW, Vicster gives the thumbs up to alcohol-free Becks. Unlike most other alcohol-free beers, it actually tastes like beer. No nasty aftertaste either.
Digital Cameras = Fun
I'm getting into our digital camera now. They are so much fun. I feel that I can afford to take frivolous shots of random things now, as if they don't work, I can just delete them. I'm not wasting film on duff photos and my shots are getting increasingly adventurous. A couple of the photos from our Brighton trip have really worked: Some ugly old fishing boats and tackle, and a stack of pebbles on the beach.
Having read an article about an artist who creates and photographs natural objects that he has manipulated in their natural environment, I thought I'd try the same. We were sat on Brighton Beach, next to the pier, so I stacked up half a dozen pebbles into a tower and photographed them at close range (with the pier in the background).
I'm naming it "Brighton Rocks".
Vicster reckons its good enough to print out, frame and display for sale in her mum and dad's gallery. It isn't that good, but I'm game for a laugh, and it might sell for 20 quid. That would be a towering achievement.
I'm tempted to upgrade to Blogger Pro so I can start posting some images up.
March was a false weather dawn. It was a beautiful month weather-wise, with sunshine and temperatures well above the norm.
April and May were wash-outs.
However, Monday saw a turnabout in the UK's weather fortunes, and summer has arrived at last. I've got the David Beckham-esque sandals and linen trousers on. I didn't have time to gloss my toenails though. I'm looking forward to a weekend of BBQs and cool beers. The heady heights of 26 degrees in the sun.
We were out in the garden last night, grilling some sausages and sweetcorn, listening to a summer Ibiza CD, and just enjoying being outside after the days work.
BTW, Vicster gives the thumbs up to alcohol-free Becks. Unlike most other alcohol-free beers, it actually tastes like beer. No nasty aftertaste either.
Digital Cameras = Fun
I'm getting into our digital camera now. They are so much fun. I feel that I can afford to take frivolous shots of random things now, as if they don't work, I can just delete them. I'm not wasting film on duff photos and my shots are getting increasingly adventurous. A couple of the photos from our Brighton trip have really worked: Some ugly old fishing boats and tackle, and a stack of pebbles on the beach.
Having read an article about an artist who creates and photographs natural objects that he has manipulated in their natural environment, I thought I'd try the same. We were sat on Brighton Beach, next to the pier, so I stacked up half a dozen pebbles into a tower and photographed them at close range (with the pier in the background).
I'm naming it "Brighton Rocks".
Vicster reckons its good enough to print out, frame and display for sale in her mum and dad's gallery. It isn't that good, but I'm game for a laugh, and it might sell for 20 quid. That would be a towering achievement.
I'm tempted to upgrade to Blogger Pro so I can start posting some images up.
Thursday, May 29, 2003
Welcome Back
It's been a while.
Exams and the revision they required, plus a Financial Year-end at work, have meant that blogging has been cast aside.But with the exams out of the way, the rickety Blog Bandwagon can restart its one manpower engine and chug gently into the summer.
What Exams?
My final stage CIMA exams. Business strategy papers. Masters-level. Four exams, each of three hours, over the course of two days. 100+ A4 pages of hand-writing. Highly stressful and a real test of time management. Of the four exams, I'm hopeful of passing two of them, but have little confidence in the others. With baby due in September, and retakes scheduled for November, I really need to have passed at least half of them, as revising with a newborn in the house will not be easy.
Results come out at the end of July. Keep your fingers and toes crossed.
Baby
We had the 20 week scan. Everything checked out normal. All the boxes were ticked. We came away with a freaky scan photo, a copy of which is sat on my desk at work. You can see the lenses in baby's eye sockets.
Vic is showing quite nicely now. She's suffering a little discomfort -- from the stretching -- and complaining of a lack of fitting trousers.
Dates
I turned 32. Vic turned 29. We had our 2nd wedding anniversary.
Jacob
Had his eyes tested. He was worried beforehand as he thought the doctors were going to take his eyes out in order to test them.
After the doctors explained that they wre only going to ask him to look at things to make sure he could see OK, Jacob said:
"It's OK... Mummy cut my hair last week and I can see fine now!"
Events
We went to Oxford's hot air "Balloon Festival". It was too windy. As a result, no balloons. Scott rechristened it the great Balloon Fiasco. We saw the world-famous Oxford Inbred Terrier Racing Display Team instead. Seeing those little pups jump through rings of fire made up for the zero balloons. I kept expecting to see a black van pull up... with armed RSPCA SWAT team guys leaping out.
We went to Brighton for Emma's 30th birthday. A cracking weekend. Brighton is great. Unlike most English seaside towns, it's a nice place to visit. I'd expected a nasty cross between Blackpool and Margate, but discovered a clean, trendy and beautiful seaside town, with super shops and a cafe culture. Remove the traffic and it's a place I'd like to live.
"Oh we do like to be beside the seaside..."
Greyhounds
My work sports and social club are off the the greyhounds tonight. Using this as an excuse, I've put trap numbers -- in authentic greyhound colours -- on each of the cubicle doors in the gents toilet.
They look great and offer a saucy gambling opportunity: I just need to install a web cam in there and I could make $millions from gambling internet punters.
"Who will finish first?! Bet now!"
It's been a while.
Exams and the revision they required, plus a Financial Year-end at work, have meant that blogging has been cast aside.But with the exams out of the way, the rickety Blog Bandwagon can restart its one manpower engine and chug gently into the summer.
What Exams?
My final stage CIMA exams. Business strategy papers. Masters-level. Four exams, each of three hours, over the course of two days. 100+ A4 pages of hand-writing. Highly stressful and a real test of time management. Of the four exams, I'm hopeful of passing two of them, but have little confidence in the others. With baby due in September, and retakes scheduled for November, I really need to have passed at least half of them, as revising with a newborn in the house will not be easy.
Results come out at the end of July. Keep your fingers and toes crossed.
Baby
We had the 20 week scan. Everything checked out normal. All the boxes were ticked. We came away with a freaky scan photo, a copy of which is sat on my desk at work. You can see the lenses in baby's eye sockets.
Vic is showing quite nicely now. She's suffering a little discomfort -- from the stretching -- and complaining of a lack of fitting trousers.
Dates
I turned 32. Vic turned 29. We had our 2nd wedding anniversary.
Jacob
Had his eyes tested. He was worried beforehand as he thought the doctors were going to take his eyes out in order to test them.
After the doctors explained that they wre only going to ask him to look at things to make sure he could see OK, Jacob said:
"It's OK... Mummy cut my hair last week and I can see fine now!"
Events
We went to Oxford's hot air "Balloon Festival". It was too windy. As a result, no balloons. Scott rechristened it the great Balloon Fiasco. We saw the world-famous Oxford Inbred Terrier Racing Display Team instead. Seeing those little pups jump through rings of fire made up for the zero balloons. I kept expecting to see a black van pull up... with armed RSPCA SWAT team guys leaping out.
We went to Brighton for Emma's 30th birthday. A cracking weekend. Brighton is great. Unlike most English seaside towns, it's a nice place to visit. I'd expected a nasty cross between Blackpool and Margate, but discovered a clean, trendy and beautiful seaside town, with super shops and a cafe culture. Remove the traffic and it's a place I'd like to live.
"Oh we do like to be beside the seaside..."
Greyhounds
My work sports and social club are off the the greyhounds tonight. Using this as an excuse, I've put trap numbers -- in authentic greyhound colours -- on each of the cubicle doors in the gents toilet.
They look great and offer a saucy gambling opportunity: I just need to install a web cam in there and I could make $millions from gambling internet punters.
"Who will finish first?! Bet now!"
Wednesday, April 16, 2003
Beth Orton Gig Review
We went to see the glorious Beth Orton at the Royal Albert Hall the week before last: As Beth may well end up reading this, I must let her know that she was excellent.
For someone with so much talent, it amazes me how nervous she is on stage. We saw her a few years back at Shepherds Bush Empire, and between the magnificent music, she appeared to find it difficult to engage with her audience -- she was timid and like a little lost lamb in the lions den.
She was still nervous at the RBH for the first couple of tracks, but soon got into it, putting on a great show and managing to generate an intimate atmosphere (no mean feat considering the vastness of the hall's globe).
We were treated to the usual 9:00pm to 10:30pm main show, with Beth missing out a few crowd favourites so that she could come on for the standard first encore and play them.
Some foolish people left just before the end of this first encore, so missed the best section of the night: the second encore.
Whether it was because it was the last night of the Daydreamer tour, or because it was the Royal Albert Hall, Beth came on for a second, acoustic encore, which thrilled the audience and was worth the admission price on its own. Beautifully sung.
Add in our free parking, easy drive in and out of the city, and smashing dinner at Wagamama's in Kensington, and we had a great night out.
Nobby's recommendation: If you don't own a Beth Orton CD, you can get hold of both of her first albums for less than a crisp five pound note. You have no excuse not to treat yourself to some sublime tunes from the best female singer-songwriter in the UK.
Norwich
Beth is from Norwich. Sara used to live there during her Anglia TV days.
Dean and Nigel live there too. They were in the Times magazine last Saturday. Their brand of comedy consists of dressing up in props and impersonating ordinary people in the street. They call it "blending".
I love that sort of thing. Check out their website. The later galleries are the best -- the early ones are a bit crap.
Apparently Norwich offers them a wealth of blending opportunities, as the town (according to Dean and Nigel) is full of people with no dress sense.
That would account for Sara's new poncho then...
We went to see the glorious Beth Orton at the Royal Albert Hall the week before last: As Beth may well end up reading this, I must let her know that she was excellent.
For someone with so much talent, it amazes me how nervous she is on stage. We saw her a few years back at Shepherds Bush Empire, and between the magnificent music, she appeared to find it difficult to engage with her audience -- she was timid and like a little lost lamb in the lions den.
She was still nervous at the RBH for the first couple of tracks, but soon got into it, putting on a great show and managing to generate an intimate atmosphere (no mean feat considering the vastness of the hall's globe).
We were treated to the usual 9:00pm to 10:30pm main show, with Beth missing out a few crowd favourites so that she could come on for the standard first encore and play them.
Some foolish people left just before the end of this first encore, so missed the best section of the night: the second encore.
Whether it was because it was the last night of the Daydreamer tour, or because it was the Royal Albert Hall, Beth came on for a second, acoustic encore, which thrilled the audience and was worth the admission price on its own. Beautifully sung.
Add in our free parking, easy drive in and out of the city, and smashing dinner at Wagamama's in Kensington, and we had a great night out.
Nobby's recommendation: If you don't own a Beth Orton CD, you can get hold of both of her first albums for less than a crisp five pound note. You have no excuse not to treat yourself to some sublime tunes from the best female singer-songwriter in the UK.
Norwich
Beth is from Norwich. Sara used to live there during her Anglia TV days.
Dean and Nigel live there too. They were in the Times magazine last Saturday. Their brand of comedy consists of dressing up in props and impersonating ordinary people in the street. They call it "blending".
I love that sort of thing. Check out their website. The later galleries are the best -- the early ones are a bit crap.
Apparently Norwich offers them a wealth of blending opportunities, as the town (according to Dean and Nigel) is full of people with no dress sense.
That would account for Sara's new poncho then...
Wednesday, April 09, 2003
A Little Flutter 1
My horse came second in our work Grand National sweepstake. The £14 winnings offset the loses from my proper bets on the race: those nags finished 5th and fell five fences from home.
I do like the Grand National. As a pure horse race it's not very good -- it's more like a cavalry charge than a race -- but it has enough grandeur and English eccentricity to make it a marvellous spectacle. With over 500 million people watching it live worldwide, it ranks as one of the world's great annual sporting occasions.
Aintree ignored this fact for many years, but I've noticed over the last couple of outings that the race course organisers have been making more of an effort to promote the race and make it feel more "British" for the 400m Chinese madly gambling on it: They have employed some awful opera singers to sing God Save the Queen and a miltary brass band -- full monty red uniforms with white feathers in their caps -- to trumpet the start of the race.
There's also the glamour factor: this year the Celebrity Tent included the cast of Hollyoaks and John Parrot.
A Little Flutter 2
Far more exciting was what happened last night.
Let's try an experiment:
Put your right hand flat -- and palm face-down -- onto the table.
Place your left hand over the right, so that the middle joint of your right index finger sits beneath the centre of your left hand palm.
Now try to flex your right index finger.
The slight pressure and movement is remarkably similar to what I experienced last night when Louis squirmed and wriggled about in Vics tummy.
It was the first time (externally) that we could feel him moving around.
Very cool and very exciting!
My horse came second in our work Grand National sweepstake. The £14 winnings offset the loses from my proper bets on the race: those nags finished 5th and fell five fences from home.
I do like the Grand National. As a pure horse race it's not very good -- it's more like a cavalry charge than a race -- but it has enough grandeur and English eccentricity to make it a marvellous spectacle. With over 500 million people watching it live worldwide, it ranks as one of the world's great annual sporting occasions.
Aintree ignored this fact for many years, but I've noticed over the last couple of outings that the race course organisers have been making more of an effort to promote the race and make it feel more "British" for the 400m Chinese madly gambling on it: They have employed some awful opera singers to sing God Save the Queen and a miltary brass band -- full monty red uniforms with white feathers in their caps -- to trumpet the start of the race.
There's also the glamour factor: this year the Celebrity Tent included the cast of Hollyoaks and John Parrot.
A Little Flutter 2
Far more exciting was what happened last night.
Let's try an experiment:
Put your right hand flat -- and palm face-down -- onto the table.
Place your left hand over the right, so that the middle joint of your right index finger sits beneath the centre of your left hand palm.
Now try to flex your right index finger.
The slight pressure and movement is remarkably similar to what I experienced last night when Louis squirmed and wriggled about in Vics tummy.
It was the first time (externally) that we could feel him moving around.
Very cool and very exciting!
Wednesday, April 02, 2003
Freedom Fries
Lynn's just got back from her Florida and the Bahamas wedding & honeymoon. She reported that the Americans are so disappointed with the stance of the French on their Iraq campaign, that they are not only boycotting French products, but have also renamed "French Fries"...
..."Freedom Fries".
Good for the Yanks, that what I say. It's about time the pesky French had a taste of their own medicine, having illegally boycotted perfectly good (and safe) British beef for years.
Perhaps the good old Yanks would like some of our prime BSE-free beef-burgers to go with their Freedom Fries?
Lynn's just got back from her Florida and the Bahamas wedding & honeymoon. She reported that the Americans are so disappointed with the stance of the French on their Iraq campaign, that they are not only boycotting French products, but have also renamed "French Fries"...
..."Freedom Fries".
Good for the Yanks, that what I say. It's about time the pesky French had a taste of their own medicine, having illegally boycotted perfectly good (and safe) British beef for years.
Perhaps the good old Yanks would like some of our prime BSE-free beef-burgers to go with their Freedom Fries?
Monday, March 31, 2003
Shrink-wrapped Choppers
Replacement Black Hawk helicopters were shipped into Umm Qasr yesterday. They were shrink-wrapped in transit to protect them from the elements.
It's a good thing they weren't bubble-wrapped as the air crew engineers would have take ages to get them assembled...
Ikea Snake Update
It clicked for the first time last night that with Louis on his way in September, I have a valid excuse to finally purchase an Ikea Snake.
Pregnancy Diary
Vicster has been worried that her bump isn't as big as it should be at this stage (16 weeks) of the pregnancy. She's been getting freaked out by the number of people telling her she's "not putting much weight on", etc.
She got it into her head that something might be wrong with Louis.
I've been very cool about it: no worries as everyone develops and shows at a different pace.
Thankfully a quick chat to my brother and his wife -- who have been through the whole thing twice now -- managed to allay Vic's fears.
It's all perfectly normal.
Replacement Black Hawk helicopters were shipped into Umm Qasr yesterday. They were shrink-wrapped in transit to protect them from the elements.
It's a good thing they weren't bubble-wrapped as the air crew engineers would have take ages to get them assembled...
Ikea Snake Update
It clicked for the first time last night that with Louis on his way in September, I have a valid excuse to finally purchase an Ikea Snake.
Pregnancy Diary
Vicster has been worried that her bump isn't as big as it should be at this stage (16 weeks) of the pregnancy. She's been getting freaked out by the number of people telling her she's "not putting much weight on", etc.
She got it into her head that something might be wrong with Louis.
I've been very cool about it: no worries as everyone develops and shows at a different pace.
Thankfully a quick chat to my brother and his wife -- who have been through the whole thing twice now -- managed to allay Vic's fears.
It's all perfectly normal.
Wednesday, March 26, 2003
Blue-On-Blue
The general public here in the UK seem to have no idea about what war is really like. Listeners to BBC Radio 5 Live keep phoning / texting in to voice their dismay over the "friendly fire" incidents that seen to strike British troops every day in Iraq.
Blue-on-blue fire is not a new phenomenon. Desert Storm, The Falklands, Korea and Vietnam, WWII... every modern conflict has had its share of accidents.
If you go back further -- to the Napoleanonic Wars or American Civil War -- there are records of whole infantry units being cut down by their own artillery or fellow infantry. The literal fog of war in these conflicts contributed to the tragedies.
When the men who pull the trigger are in combat, they are pumped on adrenaline, full of fear and excitement, scared of death and acting on instinct and programmed responses from repetitive training. When the thunder and confusion of battle arrives and they are forced to make split-second decisions on matters of life and death -- to ensure their own, and their comrades, survival -- mistakes in target indentification are impossible to prevent.
Modern warfare has its own fog of war. In Iraq our troops do not distinguish themselves from the enemy by wearing redcoats -- friend and foe look alike. The blood and thunder of artillery and gunfire is still present. The dust, smoke and black of night, concealing the people in the field, are still there. Adrenaline and fear still pump through the veins.
The people who have contacted Radio 5 Live, insinuating that the MoD and the US military are gung-ho, negligent idiots, who should be brought to account for the disgraceful "avoidable" blue-on-blue casualities, need to get themselves a reality check.
I recommend a few games of paintball, where you will soon discover that you are just as likely to be tagged by your own side as by the enemy.
It is a testament to the training, bravery, responsibility and restraint of both UK and US forces, that more "friendly-fire" incidents haven't happened.
The general public here in the UK seem to have no idea about what war is really like. Listeners to BBC Radio 5 Live keep phoning / texting in to voice their dismay over the "friendly fire" incidents that seen to strike British troops every day in Iraq.
Blue-on-blue fire is not a new phenomenon. Desert Storm, The Falklands, Korea and Vietnam, WWII... every modern conflict has had its share of accidents.
If you go back further -- to the Napoleanonic Wars or American Civil War -- there are records of whole infantry units being cut down by their own artillery or fellow infantry. The literal fog of war in these conflicts contributed to the tragedies.
When the men who pull the trigger are in combat, they are pumped on adrenaline, full of fear and excitement, scared of death and acting on instinct and programmed responses from repetitive training. When the thunder and confusion of battle arrives and they are forced to make split-second decisions on matters of life and death -- to ensure their own, and their comrades, survival -- mistakes in target indentification are impossible to prevent.
Modern warfare has its own fog of war. In Iraq our troops do not distinguish themselves from the enemy by wearing redcoats -- friend and foe look alike. The blood and thunder of artillery and gunfire is still present. The dust, smoke and black of night, concealing the people in the field, are still there. Adrenaline and fear still pump through the veins.
The people who have contacted Radio 5 Live, insinuating that the MoD and the US military are gung-ho, negligent idiots, who should be brought to account for the disgraceful "avoidable" blue-on-blue casualities, need to get themselves a reality check.
I recommend a few games of paintball, where you will soon discover that you are just as likely to be tagged by your own side as by the enemy.
It is a testament to the training, bravery, responsibility and restraint of both UK and US forces, that more "friendly-fire" incidents haven't happened.
Tuesday, March 25, 2003
Going Loco In Blackheath
We had a great weekend. On the Friday I caught up with my old workmates in Marvellous Maidenhead. On Saturday we travelled into London... and then straight out again -- with Sara and Stasher -- down to the beautiful Bodiam Castle.
Draw a picture of a medieval castle with a moat. That's what Bodiam looks like.
On Saturday night we headed out to "BBC TV Celebrity Chef" Tony Allan's new restaurant in Blackheath called Loco. Amateur review time:
Food: Italian. Good value (£4 starter, £10 main course). I had goats cheese encrusted in walnut, pan-fried and served on a bed of baby spinach, followed by a pumpkin, leek and fontina cheese risotto. The goats cheese was excellent, the risotta a little cold.
Service: Poor. Our waitress forgot to give us any cutlery for the main course and over-charged us for two beers. The service staff were clearly getting used to the whole set-up. Early days and all that. Worse though was the fact that they had managed to "lose" our table booking and the place was packed. Some discreet prodding from Stasher ensured we got seated after a half hour wait. Not impressed by it though.
Atmosphere: Intimate decor, lounge bar, rich colours and dark wood. Busy, noisy and smoky. Open kitchen area and moody lighting. Pretty good on the whole.
We had a great weekend. On the Friday I caught up with my old workmates in Marvellous Maidenhead. On Saturday we travelled into London... and then straight out again -- with Sara and Stasher -- down to the beautiful Bodiam Castle.
Draw a picture of a medieval castle with a moat. That's what Bodiam looks like.
On Saturday night we headed out to "BBC TV Celebrity Chef" Tony Allan's new restaurant in Blackheath called Loco. Amateur review time:
Food: Italian. Good value (£4 starter, £10 main course). I had goats cheese encrusted in walnut, pan-fried and served on a bed of baby spinach, followed by a pumpkin, leek and fontina cheese risotto. The goats cheese was excellent, the risotta a little cold.
Service: Poor. Our waitress forgot to give us any cutlery for the main course and over-charged us for two beers. The service staff were clearly getting used to the whole set-up. Early days and all that. Worse though was the fact that they had managed to "lose" our table booking and the place was packed. Some discreet prodding from Stasher ensured we got seated after a half hour wait. Not impressed by it though.
Atmosphere: Intimate decor, lounge bar, rich colours and dark wood. Busy, noisy and smoky. Open kitchen area and moody lighting. Pretty good on the whole.
Friday, March 21, 2003
Quick Round Up
Vic and I are both Pro-War. As this is a quick round up, I'll keep it at that for now: go read the 100,000 new "The Madness of [King] George" blogs that will have undoubtably appeared over the last two weeks if you want war coverage.
We've bought a digital camera so (a) Vic can use it in her web design projects and (b) I can take some "flick-book" style photos of her growing bump. A visual diary of our pregnancy.
Vic wants to take up knitting.
We've ripped the kitchen out. Back to the brickwork. I managed to saw through a pipe whilst the mains water was still on. It was pressurised and a HOT water pipe. You don't know how much fun it is sticking your hand over the end of a hot pipe, feeling the water get hotter and hotter and watching the bucket below filling rapidly. I confess that I did indeed shout at Vic to go and turn the stop-cock off...
The plasterers have made good. I need to damp-proof the floor, level it with compound and fit some sort of flooring -- either quarry tiles or lino -- before the fitters arrive in two weeks time. That's two weeks of salads, one-pot meals and take-aways.
In the meantime we're off to Sara and Stashers for the weekend: to catch up, give them their Christmas present (!) and escape the dust.
Vic and I are both Pro-War. As this is a quick round up, I'll keep it at that for now: go read the 100,000 new "The Madness of [King] George" blogs that will have undoubtably appeared over the last two weeks if you want war coverage.
We've bought a digital camera so (a) Vic can use it in her web design projects and (b) I can take some "flick-book" style photos of her growing bump. A visual diary of our pregnancy.
Vic wants to take up knitting.
We've ripped the kitchen out. Back to the brickwork. I managed to saw through a pipe whilst the mains water was still on. It was pressurised and a HOT water pipe. You don't know how much fun it is sticking your hand over the end of a hot pipe, feeling the water get hotter and hotter and watching the bucket below filling rapidly. I confess that I did indeed shout at Vic to go and turn the stop-cock off...
The plasterers have made good. I need to damp-proof the floor, level it with compound and fit some sort of flooring -- either quarry tiles or lino -- before the fitters arrive in two weeks time. That's two weeks of salads, one-pot meals and take-aways.
In the meantime we're off to Sara and Stashers for the weekend: to catch up, give them their Christmas present (!) and escape the dust.
Thursday, March 13, 2003
Prang Goes The Membership
The dent in the Rover's boot was entirely my fault. It was caused by a scaffold pole sticking out the back of a van. The rear window of the car doesn't have a wiper. It was wet and the sun was shining on it, meaning I couldn't see a thing out the back of the car. I used the wing mirror to reverse out of my parking space at the garage and saw the van but not the pole.
Result: A good sized dent in the boot and my membership of the Rover Club revoked. The Club's Grand Master has written to me in disgust.
"You have been found guilty of willfully neglecting your beautiful luxury motor. By the power invested in me by The Walnut Trim, I hereby black-ball you from our secret society."
And I don't wear a tie to work either.
Nostrildamus
I still have sinusitis. The antibiotics I had a few weeks back were weak and only cleared the problem up for a few days. Last week I was worse than ever. A return trip to the doctors has provided me with a second course of antibiotics, this time much stronger. I am also inhaling Olbas oil through a £50 note.
The medicine seems to be working though. After three days of treatment, my nostrils are finally seeing some movement. Rather disturbingly I found what looked like a black watermelon pip in the usual yellow mucus after this mornings "first blow". A bead of ancient blood, from the depths of my infected sinuses. Sweet.
Red Nose Day
What with the sinusitis its been red nose day for me for the last 12 weeks, but tomorrow is the big comedy charity day. As a taste of what might happen here at work, three of the ladies from Customer Service today dressed up as:
A cow - with rubber udder
A pumpkin - with scary Halloween face
A tomato
For this they expected some sponsorship. It took me a little while to get the joke.
Meat and two veg.
The dent in the Rover's boot was entirely my fault. It was caused by a scaffold pole sticking out the back of a van. The rear window of the car doesn't have a wiper. It was wet and the sun was shining on it, meaning I couldn't see a thing out the back of the car. I used the wing mirror to reverse out of my parking space at the garage and saw the van but not the pole.
Result: A good sized dent in the boot and my membership of the Rover Club revoked. The Club's Grand Master has written to me in disgust.
"You have been found guilty of willfully neglecting your beautiful luxury motor. By the power invested in me by The Walnut Trim, I hereby black-ball you from our secret society."
And I don't wear a tie to work either.
Nostrildamus
I still have sinusitis. The antibiotics I had a few weeks back were weak and only cleared the problem up for a few days. Last week I was worse than ever. A return trip to the doctors has provided me with a second course of antibiotics, this time much stronger. I am also inhaling Olbas oil through a £50 note.
The medicine seems to be working though. After three days of treatment, my nostrils are finally seeing some movement. Rather disturbingly I found what looked like a black watermelon pip in the usual yellow mucus after this mornings "first blow". A bead of ancient blood, from the depths of my infected sinuses. Sweet.
Red Nose Day
What with the sinusitis its been red nose day for me for the last 12 weeks, but tomorrow is the big comedy charity day. As a taste of what might happen here at work, three of the ladies from Customer Service today dressed up as:
A cow - with rubber udder
A pumpkin - with scary Halloween face
A tomato
For this they expected some sponsorship. It took me a little while to get the joke.
Meat and two veg.
Wednesday, March 12, 2003
We're Having A Baby
Vic's 13 weeks pregnant. How cool is that... I'm going to be a daddy!
She saw the midwife last week and everything seems OK - Vic heard the baby's heartbeat.
We get our scan in 7 weeks time: I can't wait.
Vic's been feeling very tired and a little queasy, but hasn't been chucking up the morning sickness.
Current names are Louis (but not in recognition of Jefferson Louis) and India.
Possible middle names include Ryan, David, Paul, Sebastian, Nicky, Michael, Gary, Phil, Wes, Roy, Rio, Ruud and Fabian.
The reason for my silence over the last few weeks should now be apparent: This has been the only thing on my mind. I didn't have anything else to think or write about. Its all consuming in an exciting way. There was no way I was going to announce it on this blog before the danger 12 week period was up, so my silence has literally been golden.
The clues have been there of course: the new big car (already dented btw) for example.
Join us in a celebratory toast.
Vic's 13 weeks pregnant. How cool is that... I'm going to be a daddy!
She saw the midwife last week and everything seems OK - Vic heard the baby's heartbeat.
We get our scan in 7 weeks time: I can't wait.
Vic's been feeling very tired and a little queasy, but hasn't been chucking up the morning sickness.
Current names are Louis (but not in recognition of Jefferson Louis) and India.
Possible middle names include Ryan, David, Paul, Sebastian, Nicky, Michael, Gary, Phil, Wes, Roy, Rio, Ruud and Fabian.
The reason for my silence over the last few weeks should now be apparent: This has been the only thing on my mind. I didn't have anything else to think or write about. Its all consuming in an exciting way. There was no way I was going to announce it on this blog before the danger 12 week period was up, so my silence has literally been golden.
The clues have been there of course: the new big car (already dented btw) for example.
Join us in a celebratory toast.
Wednesday, February 26, 2003
Not So Disenfranchised After All
Watched the Brits - a tepid and manufactured affair. Thank goodness I'm not a teenager anymore: I'd have to pretend to like Bovril Lasagne and her fake rock chick performances. However, I'm not as disenfranchised as I thought: of the ten CDs we took up to Carlisle with us for the weekend, seven were nominated awards.
Still don't get the Urban category though, nor the reason why it had double the nominees of any other award...
Postmans Graveyard
Nelson The Dog loves his animal bones. They tend to end up sucked dried of all edible matter in Mop & Bob's front garden. He also loves visitors: he'll chase his tail, retrieve a cushion, jump up, salivate and bash his tail against you.
Ann was telling us the story of a recent visitor (we'll pretend he was a postman) coming to the door. Ann asked him to hold on a minute so she could put the dog away in the kitchen - so Nelson wouldn't go for the postman (i.e. lick him to death). When she opened the door to the postman, he motioned to the piles of bones in the garden and said:
"Are these the remains of people who you didn't put the dog away for?!"
Colditz
Started reading the definitive history of Colditz, 14 months after Daz & Tine bought me it: At last I'm starting to catch up with some outstanding reading. The book's a blast and really captures the spirit of the "game of escape". It reads like a work of fiction and it is therefore easy to forget that the death-defying feats and escape attempts of the prisoners really did happen.
The first Brit to escape was smuggled out in a straw mattress. He dressed up as a Hitler Youth, and via the train and a 50 km lift from two Gestapo officers, he managed, over the course of 23 days, to get to the American Consulate in Vienna. With no money, food, clothes or papers he asked the Americans not for a safe-haven or safe-passage back to England, but for a 20 mark note.
The generous Americans gave him nothing and turfed him out into the cold. He was picked up a few hours later by the Germans and returned to Colditz for a 28 day stay in solitary.
Footballing Lessons
It's not often that an Italian club is given a lesson in football, but Juve were on the end of one last night. Lippi described Man Utd as "world class". He wasn't wrong. Although Utd rode their luck in the first half, they were so impressive and in control, that the result didn't flatter them one bit. Veron and Butt gave Davids a masterclass in controlling the midfield. A 3-nil loss at home is about the biggest beating an Italian side has ever suffered in Europe. Roll on the quarterfinals.
Watched the Brits - a tepid and manufactured affair. Thank goodness I'm not a teenager anymore: I'd have to pretend to like Bovril Lasagne and her fake rock chick performances. However, I'm not as disenfranchised as I thought: of the ten CDs we took up to Carlisle with us for the weekend, seven were nominated awards.
Still don't get the Urban category though, nor the reason why it had double the nominees of any other award...
Postmans Graveyard
Nelson The Dog loves his animal bones. They tend to end up sucked dried of all edible matter in Mop & Bob's front garden. He also loves visitors: he'll chase his tail, retrieve a cushion, jump up, salivate and bash his tail against you.
Ann was telling us the story of a recent visitor (we'll pretend he was a postman) coming to the door. Ann asked him to hold on a minute so she could put the dog away in the kitchen - so Nelson wouldn't go for the postman (i.e. lick him to death). When she opened the door to the postman, he motioned to the piles of bones in the garden and said:
"Are these the remains of people who you didn't put the dog away for?!"
Colditz
Started reading the definitive history of Colditz, 14 months after Daz & Tine bought me it: At last I'm starting to catch up with some outstanding reading. The book's a blast and really captures the spirit of the "game of escape". It reads like a work of fiction and it is therefore easy to forget that the death-defying feats and escape attempts of the prisoners really did happen.
The first Brit to escape was smuggled out in a straw mattress. He dressed up as a Hitler Youth, and via the train and a 50 km lift from two Gestapo officers, he managed, over the course of 23 days, to get to the American Consulate in Vienna. With no money, food, clothes or papers he asked the Americans not for a safe-haven or safe-passage back to England, but for a 20 mark note.
The generous Americans gave him nothing and turfed him out into the cold. He was picked up a few hours later by the Germans and returned to Colditz for a 28 day stay in solitary.
Footballing Lessons
It's not often that an Italian club is given a lesson in football, but Juve were on the end of one last night. Lippi described Man Utd as "world class". He wasn't wrong. Although Utd rode their luck in the first half, they were so impressive and in control, that the result didn't flatter them one bit. Veron and Butt gave Davids a masterclass in controlling the midfield. A 3-nil loss at home is about the biggest beating an Italian side has ever suffered in Europe. Roll on the quarterfinals.
Thursday, February 20, 2003
The Dirge Awards
The Brits used to be an important date in the music calendar for me, but not anymore: I no longer work in the industry, am old and disenfranchised with pop music, and listen to Radios 2 and 5.
There was a great article in the Sunday Times at the weekend (copying one in the Observer from the week before) about the death of the British music industry. Our new "big UK acts" are actually small-fry and increasingly localised in popularity within the UK, let alone with any international appeal. Ms Dynamite, for example, has sold virtually all her records in the SE & London. She has zero appeal in Scotland, Wales and parts of the north of England.
Imagine the members of The Who - inflated to a giant size by a mad scientist's experiment - stood over the British music industry and wielding electric guitars like axes.
"Napster and free pirated MP3 downloads!" CHOP! - a giant Pete Townsend smashes his guitar onto the heads of the EMI, BMG and Sony CEOs...
"CD-Burners on home PCs!" CHOP!
"Illegal blackmarket, made in China, CD copies flooding the international markets!" CHOP!
"Supermarkets discounting CDs to £9.99 reducing record company margins, devaluing the product, killing independent retailers and ultimately limiting consumer choice" CHOP!
This year's Brits is alcohol-free: they can't afford the champagne and have nothing to celebrate anyhow...
Badly Drawn Darren [Kerr] will be there though.
The Brits used to be an important date in the music calendar for me, but not anymore: I no longer work in the industry, am old and disenfranchised with pop music, and listen to Radios 2 and 5.
There was a great article in the Sunday Times at the weekend (copying one in the Observer from the week before) about the death of the British music industry. Our new "big UK acts" are actually small-fry and increasingly localised in popularity within the UK, let alone with any international appeal. Ms Dynamite, for example, has sold virtually all her records in the SE & London. She has zero appeal in Scotland, Wales and parts of the north of England.
Imagine the members of The Who - inflated to a giant size by a mad scientist's experiment - stood over the British music industry and wielding electric guitars like axes.
"Napster and free pirated MP3 downloads!" CHOP! - a giant Pete Townsend smashes his guitar onto the heads of the EMI, BMG and Sony CEOs...
"CD-Burners on home PCs!" CHOP!
"Illegal blackmarket, made in China, CD copies flooding the international markets!" CHOP!
"Supermarkets discounting CDs to £9.99 reducing record company margins, devaluing the product, killing independent retailers and ultimately limiting consumer choice" CHOP!
This year's Brits is alcohol-free: they can't afford the champagne and have nothing to celebrate anyhow...
Badly Drawn Darren [Kerr] will be there though.
Wednesday, February 19, 2003
Emma's Lovely Big Chest
Scott and Em have new bedroom furniture: a hulking great standalone wardrobe which takes over their bedroom in a "man-eating plant in a dentists surgery" kind of way (I assume - I haven't seen it yet). As we need the storage space, we have gratefully accepted secondhand ownership of their old fixtures and fittings: one large chest of drawers. Scott dropped them off before footie.
At last I can get my mucky hands on Emma's chest without fear of reprisals from Gareth!
Badly Drawn Darren
If you know Darren and have a copy of Badly Drawn Boy's new "Have you fed the fish?" CD, take a look at the bloke in the nun outfit on the front cover and tell me it isn't him.
If you don't know Darren, at least you now know what he looks like...
Going Loco
Vicster went a little crazy last night: She totally freaked out at 16 year old boy next door playing his records past 9 pm. She was seriously threatening to kill him by ten. At bedtime she had us transferred downstairs to bedroom 2, and then an hour later at 11:45 back upstairs to bedroom 1. This was just after Hell froze over. Her complaints might seem slightly irrational to outsiders, but are completely understandable to me after our "adventures" with the noisy ****s upstairs at our old flat.
Normally I would be going out to Weds Night Magic tonight, but I have decided to cancel: I'm worried that I'll get home to find Vic on the doorstep wearing a hockey mask and holding a butchers knife and severed teenagers head.
Hopefully she managed to get hold of some ear plugs at lunch time.
Scott and Em have new bedroom furniture: a hulking great standalone wardrobe which takes over their bedroom in a "man-eating plant in a dentists surgery" kind of way (I assume - I haven't seen it yet). As we need the storage space, we have gratefully accepted secondhand ownership of their old fixtures and fittings: one large chest of drawers. Scott dropped them off before footie.
At last I can get my mucky hands on Emma's chest without fear of reprisals from Gareth!
Badly Drawn Darren
If you know Darren and have a copy of Badly Drawn Boy's new "Have you fed the fish?" CD, take a look at the bloke in the nun outfit on the front cover and tell me it isn't him.
If you don't know Darren, at least you now know what he looks like...
Going Loco
Vicster went a little crazy last night: She totally freaked out at 16 year old boy next door playing his records past 9 pm. She was seriously threatening to kill him by ten. At bedtime she had us transferred downstairs to bedroom 2, and then an hour later at 11:45 back upstairs to bedroom 1. This was just after Hell froze over. Her complaints might seem slightly irrational to outsiders, but are completely understandable to me after our "adventures" with the noisy ****s upstairs at our old flat.
Normally I would be going out to Weds Night Magic tonight, but I have decided to cancel: I'm worried that I'll get home to find Vic on the doorstep wearing a hockey mask and holding a butchers knife and severed teenagers head.
Hopefully she managed to get hold of some ear plugs at lunch time.
Tuesday, February 18, 2003
And The Ripper Was...
It took me a few more days to finish the book than originally expected.
Of the 140 suspects listed by Mr. Eddleston, he narrows the candidates -- who he believes have a "strong possibility" of being Jack the Ripper -- down to just two:
An unknown individual - i.e. the killer has yet to be identified by a writer.
George Hutchinson - a man who fits the numerous physical descriptions of Jack, who lived at the epicentre of the murder locations, who was spotted loitering outside the property where Mary Jane Kelly was butchered, came forward as a witness to this murder only after reading that he had been spotted by the other witness, whose witness statement was ludicrously detailed, and who disappeared from London at the time the murders stopped.
With the detail, John Eddleston puts forward a well-researched, convincing and non-sensationalist case for George Hutchinson. No crazy Masonic Conspiracy, no tenuous royal connections, no occult rituals, just one plain and simple serial killer. Well done Mr. Eddleston!
College Starts Again
They seem to start earlier and earlier each time: my final set of CIMA courses began last Thursday. It was Business Strategy. Surprisingly it wasn't half as tough as I'd expected it to be. The step up from stage 2 to stage 3 was pretty steep, and I was expecting the same from stage 3 to 4, but it was linear. The material itself was all stuff we had seen before. From what I could tell, it is only our application of that material -- in a far more strategic manner than before -- that has changed. I have nothing to fear.
Bumperty Bump Bump Bump
Went over to Windsor on Sunday. The idea was to have a pleasant stroll around town and scoot down to the river for a walk. It was bloody freezing, so we managed all of half an hour. The sun was out making Windsor Castle look fantastic, but it was just too frosty to enjoy it. Best time of the year to visit the town though: no hordes of tourists to get under your feet.
Everytime a jumbo jet flew overhead I found myself fighting an urge to hoist a pretend S2A missile launcher onto my shoulder. Bizarrre and disturbing, but true.
On the way back home we stopped in at the Sainsburys in Taplow. It's about 1/2 from Larry's house and I had the sneaking suspicion that we might bump into the Big Fella in the supermarket.
When we turned into the soap powder aisle I spied Larry's better-half, Carole, selecting her bleach (the toilet cleaning variety as opposed to hair / collar and cuffs), and got rather excited that Larry himself was hiding round the corner. Poor Carole - who was confused by my new glasses disguise and a weird answer to a straight-forward question - explained that Lazza was at home with his feet up: He had bullied Carole into doing the shopping whilst he watched the rugby on the telly and listening to a looped repeat of some Radio 4 comedy show...
Disgusted at Larry's behaviour, we decided not to pop round for a nice cuppa tea after the shopping.
Nobby Cheese
I forgot to mention that someone found this blog through a google search of "nobby cheese". It had to happen at some point I suppose [sigh].
Rip-Off Britain
I'm also shocked to discover a rip-off writer who has not only stolen my name but also ripped my blog title. Tosser.
Of course it could be an infinite monkey coincidence, but nobody would call themselves "Knobby" AND title their page "Wonderful..." would they?!
It took me a few more days to finish the book than originally expected.
Of the 140 suspects listed by Mr. Eddleston, he narrows the candidates -- who he believes have a "strong possibility" of being Jack the Ripper -- down to just two:
An unknown individual - i.e. the killer has yet to be identified by a writer.
George Hutchinson - a man who fits the numerous physical descriptions of Jack, who lived at the epicentre of the murder locations, who was spotted loitering outside the property where Mary Jane Kelly was butchered, came forward as a witness to this murder only after reading that he had been spotted by the other witness, whose witness statement was ludicrously detailed, and who disappeared from London at the time the murders stopped.
With the detail, John Eddleston puts forward a well-researched, convincing and non-sensationalist case for George Hutchinson. No crazy Masonic Conspiracy, no tenuous royal connections, no occult rituals, just one plain and simple serial killer. Well done Mr. Eddleston!
College Starts Again
They seem to start earlier and earlier each time: my final set of CIMA courses began last Thursday. It was Business Strategy. Surprisingly it wasn't half as tough as I'd expected it to be. The step up from stage 2 to stage 3 was pretty steep, and I was expecting the same from stage 3 to 4, but it was linear. The material itself was all stuff we had seen before. From what I could tell, it is only our application of that material -- in a far more strategic manner than before -- that has changed. I have nothing to fear.
Bumperty Bump Bump Bump
Went over to Windsor on Sunday. The idea was to have a pleasant stroll around town and scoot down to the river for a walk. It was bloody freezing, so we managed all of half an hour. The sun was out making Windsor Castle look fantastic, but it was just too frosty to enjoy it. Best time of the year to visit the town though: no hordes of tourists to get under your feet.
Everytime a jumbo jet flew overhead I found myself fighting an urge to hoist a pretend S2A missile launcher onto my shoulder. Bizarrre and disturbing, but true.
On the way back home we stopped in at the Sainsburys in Taplow. It's about 1/2 from Larry's house and I had the sneaking suspicion that we might bump into the Big Fella in the supermarket.
When we turned into the soap powder aisle I spied Larry's better-half, Carole, selecting her bleach (the toilet cleaning variety as opposed to hair / collar and cuffs), and got rather excited that Larry himself was hiding round the corner. Poor Carole - who was confused by my new glasses disguise and a weird answer to a straight-forward question - explained that Lazza was at home with his feet up: He had bullied Carole into doing the shopping whilst he watched the rugby on the telly and listening to a looped repeat of some Radio 4 comedy show...
Disgusted at Larry's behaviour, we decided not to pop round for a nice cuppa tea after the shopping.
Nobby Cheese
I forgot to mention that someone found this blog through a google search of "nobby cheese". It had to happen at some point I suppose [sigh].
Rip-Off Britain
I'm also shocked to discover a rip-off writer who has not only stolen my name but also ripped my blog title. Tosser.
Of course it could be an infinite monkey coincidence, but nobody would call themselves "Knobby" AND title their page "Wonderful..." would they?!
Tuesday, February 11, 2003
I Know Who Didn't Do It
You may remember me getting in a grump over Vic walking the Jack the Ripper tour with Sara and Stasher, whilst I had to stay at home revising.
In order to answer some of the questions posed by the tour, I bought her John J. Eddleston's Jack the Ripper An Encyclopaedia for Christmas.
True Crime is not a genre I'm really interested in, and thought this Ripper book would be -- like most media on the subject -- rather sensationalist and tabloid.
I was wrong. I've been reading the book for the last couple of weeks (it's the sort of book you can pick up and put down, rather than having to blitz read it in one session), and have been really impressed by it. The author has gone back to the original source material -- much of which is reproduced in the book -- and structured the analysis as a critical case review of the kind that is now used to scrutinise unsolved crimes. His aim is to clear up a century of misinformation and myth surrounding the subject, and he's very successful, pouring scorn on the majority of the half-baked theories out there.
From a "historian" point-of-view, I acknowledge that the author has summarised the facts, conjectures and eyewitness reports -- subjective intrepretation on his part - but as he keeps his own views on whodunnit to a minimum, he comes over as a credible writer.
A favourite passage from the book (with my scene setting):
Elizabeth Stride was murdered on Sunday the 30th of September 1888 at around 12.58 a.m. Her throat was cut, but Jack was disturbed before he could mutilate the body. Elizabeth was discovered at 1.00 am, but in that time had bled to death. An Inspector Edmund Reid arrives on the scene much later at 1.45 a.m.
At 4.30 a.m. Elizabeth's body was moved to the mortuary in Cable Street, and Reid followed it there to take down a description. According to his notes, the dead woman was about 42 years old, 5 feet 2 inches tall with curly dark-brown hair. Her complexion was pale.
She had bled to death Inspector - of course she looked pale!
Tomorrow I shall reveal who Mr. Eddleston believes was Jack the Ripper (I'm just getting to his conclusion).
And don't ever bother watching the Jonny Depp Ripper movie From Hell on DVD: The plot is complete fantasy and the Hollywood depiction of Victorian London is woeful. As is Depp's english accent.
You may remember me getting in a grump over Vic walking the Jack the Ripper tour with Sara and Stasher, whilst I had to stay at home revising.
In order to answer some of the questions posed by the tour, I bought her John J. Eddleston's Jack the Ripper An Encyclopaedia for Christmas.
True Crime is not a genre I'm really interested in, and thought this Ripper book would be -- like most media on the subject -- rather sensationalist and tabloid.
I was wrong. I've been reading the book for the last couple of weeks (it's the sort of book you can pick up and put down, rather than having to blitz read it in one session), and have been really impressed by it. The author has gone back to the original source material -- much of which is reproduced in the book -- and structured the analysis as a critical case review of the kind that is now used to scrutinise unsolved crimes. His aim is to clear up a century of misinformation and myth surrounding the subject, and he's very successful, pouring scorn on the majority of the half-baked theories out there.
From a "historian" point-of-view, I acknowledge that the author has summarised the facts, conjectures and eyewitness reports -- subjective intrepretation on his part - but as he keeps his own views on whodunnit to a minimum, he comes over as a credible writer.
A favourite passage from the book (with my scene setting):
Elizabeth Stride was murdered on Sunday the 30th of September 1888 at around 12.58 a.m. Her throat was cut, but Jack was disturbed before he could mutilate the body. Elizabeth was discovered at 1.00 am, but in that time had bled to death. An Inspector Edmund Reid arrives on the scene much later at 1.45 a.m.
At 4.30 a.m. Elizabeth's body was moved to the mortuary in Cable Street, and Reid followed it there to take down a description. According to his notes, the dead woman was about 42 years old, 5 feet 2 inches tall with curly dark-brown hair. Her complexion was pale.
She had bled to death Inspector - of course she looked pale!
Tomorrow I shall reveal who Mr. Eddleston believes was Jack the Ripper (I'm just getting to his conclusion).
And don't ever bother watching the Jonny Depp Ripper movie From Hell on DVD: The plot is complete fantasy and the Hollywood depiction of Victorian London is woeful. As is Depp's english accent.
Monday, February 10, 2003
Another Clue For Simon
The second-hand car market is quiet at the moment. I guess it's like the housing market: nobody is interested in buying a car in January and February because there are Christmas credit card bills to pay, and life in general troughs at this time of the year.
Two weeks ago I put my Clio -- a "nice little runner" [said in my best Mockney accent] -- in the local paper at a very reasonable price. I got the grand total of three phone calls from prospective punters who all asked me for more information and then, when I asked them if they would like to view the vehicle, hung up after saying that they would get back to me. Predictably, none of them did get back to me, and my Clio sat unsold outside my house.
You could see in her headlamps that she felt unloved and unwanted.
Determined to sell the pretty motor, I placed a new advert in the Thames Valley Autotrader magazine -- a 200 page booklet of classifieds for serious used car hunters -- and renewed the ad in the Thame Gazette, this time dropping the price by a hundred quid.
Thankfully I got a fish biting on the bait immediately, and seeing what a class motor my Clio was, she paid in cash for a price satisfactory to us both. I got my money, she got a nice little runner at a bargain price.
As I waved Clio off, I hoped she would forgive me for selling her. I loved that car, but a good home and a fresh new start await her.
Today I invest the cash from the Clio deal in my new car: a Rover 620 Sli Auto bought from work. It's an ex-company car. It's a "luxury" motor. It's twice the size of the Clio and will drink twice the petrol, but the comfort factor -- and the difference it will make driving up the M6 to Carlisle -- make up for that.
In an effort to undermine the Rover's image of an old man car, I will be donning my driving gloves, flat cap and walnut pipe at lunch time.
It p*sses on Simon's Lotus.
The second-hand car market is quiet at the moment. I guess it's like the housing market: nobody is interested in buying a car in January and February because there are Christmas credit card bills to pay, and life in general troughs at this time of the year.
Two weeks ago I put my Clio -- a "nice little runner" [said in my best Mockney accent] -- in the local paper at a very reasonable price. I got the grand total of three phone calls from prospective punters who all asked me for more information and then, when I asked them if they would like to view the vehicle, hung up after saying that they would get back to me. Predictably, none of them did get back to me, and my Clio sat unsold outside my house.
You could see in her headlamps that she felt unloved and unwanted.
Determined to sell the pretty motor, I placed a new advert in the Thames Valley Autotrader magazine -- a 200 page booklet of classifieds for serious used car hunters -- and renewed the ad in the Thame Gazette, this time dropping the price by a hundred quid.
Thankfully I got a fish biting on the bait immediately, and seeing what a class motor my Clio was, she paid in cash for a price satisfactory to us both. I got my money, she got a nice little runner at a bargain price.
As I waved Clio off, I hoped she would forgive me for selling her. I loved that car, but a good home and a fresh new start await her.
Today I invest the cash from the Clio deal in my new car: a Rover 620 Sli Auto bought from work. It's an ex-company car. It's a "luxury" motor. It's twice the size of the Clio and will drink twice the petrol, but the comfort factor -- and the difference it will make driving up the M6 to Carlisle -- make up for that.
In an effort to undermine the Rover's image of an old man car, I will be donning my driving gloves, flat cap and walnut pipe at lunch time.
It p*sses on Simon's Lotus.
