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!

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?!

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.

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.

My MJ Story 2

I used to enjoy working at Sony Music. Apart from the VP of Finance, Martin Blaksted (a buffoon who managed to wring the life blood out of the department and destroy a few peoples lives in the process), it was a nice place to work.

I was therefore upset to be made redundant.

It wasn't just the act itself, it was the manner of how I was told that bit deep.

Michael Jackson was on the UK leg of his History tour. It was the one where he left the stage at the end of the gig in a rocket-powered jumpsuit. Everyone at Sony Music had been told that they were getting a pair of free tickets to the Wembley performance. It was to be a company day out.

A month before the gig the envelopes containing the tickets were deposited on employees desks. I came back from lunch to discover that I didn't have an envelope. Aggitated, I went to see my boss, to query the ticket oversight.

His had been caught out: he hadn't expected the tickets to be delivered so early. There an envelope of tickets for me. There was an envelope with my P45 in it instead.

"I'm sorry, the industry recession has meant we are closing the video production facility with the loss of 60 jobs. Some support staff are being made redundant too... You're one of them."

Blaksted - the c*nt - was behind my selection. I saw him two years ago in Maidenhead town centre looking lost. He didn't see me and I had the opportunity to kick him from behind. I should have given him a good slap, but resisted the urge. After all, I'm not bitter. Much.

Anyway, through my tears, I managed to throw away my last ounce of honour and pride by asking my boss...

"Will I still get the Michael Jackson tickets?"

And the b*stard said "Yes"... but never sent them.

[Sometimes I dream that at the end of the gig, the rocket-powered jumpsuit develops a sudden fault and the Michael Jackson double -- it wasn't really MJ (imagine the insurance!) -- goes spiralling out of control, crashing into the evil Sony Music Finance Dept Bosses. I then step into the management breach, and like a modern-day Sir Francis Drake, steer the good record company ship through the seas of cut-throat pirates. "Haha! Hoist the Jolly Napster!"]

My Michael Jackson Stories

As the fallout from the Living with MJ documentary continues to rain down, I thought I'd share my two MJ stories with you.

Wacko Story 1

I used to work at Sony Music, MJ's record company. In our UK finance office we had a life-sized poster of MJ, on which our Financial Controller had scrawled a fake Michael Jackson signature in permanent black marker pen. He included a little smiley face as the dot of the i of Michael -- a clever artistic touch that gave the work an aura of authenticity. It may or may not have resembled MJ's true signature, but as we never managed to get hold of a copy of his Recording Contract (to check it against), we will never know.

What was cool was how when anyone new came into the office, they would spy the framed MJ poster and remark "Wow! Was Michael here?! Did he sign that for you?". We'd always respond with a smile and a knowing wink and nod. Of course, with the host of Wombles gold disks and signed Bros photographs also adorning the walls, visitors would have had no reason not to believe it wasn't genuine.

George Bush probably has a framed Map of the World on his White House office wall, with "X marks the spot" crosses and comments like "I must have this oil" and "evil commies" written on it in black marker pen. No doubt fools -- such as visiting German and French foreign ministers -- think its the genuine article too.

Colin Powell's UN presentation was a Wombles gold disc.

Freak Like Me

Last night's documentary on Michael Jackson was a paradox. Nothing that we saw was a shock. Comedy and tragedy.I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. A broken man and lost soul. Is he harmless and child-like, or dangerous and deluded? Naive and seemingly ignorant of the real world, Michael is cocooned not just by his Neverland, but also by the minders and assistants around him. Clearly traumatised by abuse suffered at the hands of his father in childhood and adolescence, he now seems to believe his own concocted stories that his face has been disfigured not through plastic surgery, but through disease, and that it is perfectly natural for a 44 year old man to share his bedroom with 12 year old boys.

You have to fear for his children -- who he insists go out in public wearing masks -- as they are dragged through the media rugby scrums, dangled over balconies, and prevented from seeing their natural mother.

It was a freak show that will be turned into a media circus.

He needs help.

Cleric My Arse

Despite the fact that NASA irresponsibly sent them up in a twenty year old death trap, I have nothing but sympathy for the brave pilots of Columbia and their friends and families.

The Muslim "cleric" Sheikh Abu Hamza today described the loss of the space shuttle and all seven astronauts as a "sign from God". According to Hamza, the crew had been punished with death by Allah for being a "trinity of evil" -- there was an Israeli, Ilan Ramon, a Hindu Indian-born Kalpana Chawla, and Americans onboard.

I'm all for free speech and religious diversity, but Hamza is a terrorist supporter and hate-monger, and his brand of extremism has no place in British society. His recent activities at the Finsbury Park mosque unfortunately means he now gets media coverage. Thankfully most other British Muslim leaders have rallied against his comments. If I was in charge at the Home Office, Hamza would be on the next plane back to Yemen.

With his hook firmly shoved up his arse.

Its people like Hamza who make decent, law-abiding, citizens vote Conservative.

You and me, me and you, lots and lots for us to do

Apologies -- I've not been writing recently. I'll explain fully next week. I've had lots to do and plenty to think about, and just haven't had the urge or inspiration to write. After having written virtually every day for three months, the wheels have apparently fallen off my blogwagon. I'll check it into Kwik Fit over the weekend.

Exam Result

My CIMA exam result for Business Taxation came through the post this morning. I much prefer getting an envelope than an email - you are in control of when you open it and the piece of paper in your hand makes the result more tangible. Coming out of the exam hall, I thought I'd just done enough to scrape a pass (50% pass mark). I've become increasingly better at accurately predicting my CIMA results and the spread bet in my head was 50-55%.

I passed and it was within the spread.

I'm relieved more than happy. The amount of time and emotional energy that we invest in these trials is a drain on my karma. To fail is to waste a good six months of your social life. Vic and I really needed me to pass. It sets me up for my Finals this May, hopefully after which I'll be a fully qualified management accountant. From a purely monetary point-of-view it is very important for our future.

I think we'll celebrate today with a nice quiet night on the sofa.

No Sausages

You can imagine our intense disgust at being told that the Rising Sun's new menu didn't start until next Friday. Sausages hot out of the pan, no. Toys tossed out of the pram, yes.


No Bulbs

The garden is my domain, as Vic is too scared of bugs and creepy crawlies to venture into it. I was therefore amazed last autumn when she planted a host of tulip and daffodil bulbs without my supervision. She planted bucket loads. I've been looking forward to the carpet of flowers that should shoot up in the spring.

On our Sunday walk with Dazza and Tina we noticed many wild flowers and bulbs were already shooting, and Vic was disappointed that our bulbs show no signs of activity.

Dazza -- knowing his sisters gardening talents -- innocently asked if Vic had "put them in the right way up?".

"Eh? Bulbs have a right way up?!"

It looks as if our carpet of flowers is going to be a threadbare rug....


No Original Content

Picked up the latest issue of Total Film magazine in You Can't Beat yesterday. The Hollywood production and release schedules for this year and next seem to be dominated by sequels and nothing else.

We all know about LotR, Star Wars episode 3, and the third instalment of Harry Potter, but we can also look forward to:

X Men 2
Final Destination 2
Spiderman 2
Batman
Superman
Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines (and possibly T4)
Die Hard 4 (Bruce has agreed to do it - he had his arm twisted by Fox)
Mad Max 4 (Mel has decided the time is right to return to the dark future)
Indiana Jones 4 (Both Harrison Ford AND Sean Connery have signed up!)

However, Alien 5 is still in the balance.

Take out Final Destination from those and do you notice the pattern? Action. Heroes. A reaction to September 11th and the Gulf War 2?

I've got to say that I'm excited at the prospect of MM4 and IJ4... Cool!

[Indiana slides the stone slab to one side. His sidekick Ali peers down into the darkness.]

Ali: "Indy! There's something down there!"
Indy: "Please, not snakes... anything but snakes. I hate snakes!"

[Indy throws a torch down into the gloom, and there beneath them -- writhing and hissing in their thousands -- is a host of bright, lime green, soft toy snakes]

Ali: "Oh no Indy! They are the deadly Ikea! You go first..."

As I said, no original content.