1 November 2010 (Monday) - Speeling Mistayks
For the last umpteen years I have lived in Doctor Marten’s shoes; they are great, comfortable and long lasting. Yesterday I noticed that my current pair (which I bought in December 2008) had developed a split on the side of the sole. It’s been my experience that about two months before you wear the soles away to nothing, they develop a characteristic split in the sole. This split is Gods way of telling you to get a new pair. Or Blind Chance’s way of telling you to get a new pair, depending on your personal religious persuasion.
Doctor Marten’s shoes are reliable, hard wearing but aren’t very cheap. Doctor Martin’s shoes (note carefully the spelling) are equally reliable and hard wearing, but don’t come up in the same eBay searches that Doctor Marten’s shoes come up in. The difference between an “e” and an “i” is trivial to you and me, dear reader, but to an eBay search the difference is about thirty pounds.
It pays to try mis-spellings when searching on eBay. I did exactly that this morning. Including postage costs, a pair of these shoes (spelt correctly) was going for an average of fifty quid. However a pair identical in all ways (except for the spelling) could be (and was) bought for twenty quid. Admittedly when buying DMs (of whatever spelling) from eBay, they are usually postman’s shoes. And they come complete with the Royal Mail insignia, but personally I quite like that on the side of a shoe.
Whilst I’m on the subject of trivial spelling mistakes, for the last two years this month for me hasn’t been November, but Mo-vember. In 2008 I grew a rather dreadful moustache which hovered somewhere between Oliver Hardy and Adolf Hitler. Last year I went for the full mutton-chops. This year I’m giving the whole moustache thing a miss. My fellow moutacher isn’t keen to do it for a third year, I don’t actually like the “facial hair experience” and bearing in mind the whole thing is sponsored-for-charity, last year only two thirds of the people who pledged money to us actually stumped up.
I might have another go next year, but for those of my loyal readers who feel they might like to sponsor a moustache, might I suggest you click here to do so.
2 November 2010 (Tuesday) – Efficiency
Yesterday I thought I might possibly be eligible to upgrade my mobile phone, so I phoned the nice people at the G.P.O. I was indeed eligible for an upgrade, and they suggested I might consider the new Satsuma Castanet ZV5 phone. The thing comes with a 12 megadoodah camera and an HDMI output that I can plug into my telly. It has WiFi (must learn about that), GPS, free windows messenger and Skype. Every month I get 500 free minutes to other people on the same network, 300 minutes or texts to people on any other network, and 500 Mb worth of Internet. And my monthly payments will be only two thirds of what they used to be. They posted the phone last night and this morning I received a text telling me it would arrive between 1.30pm and 2.30pm. It arrived at 2.05pm. If only every other delivery service could be so prompt. I had a minor hiccup in that the mains plug didn’t fit into the mains socket, and had some fun lashing the phone into my PC, but I’ve eventually wrestled the thing into sounding like the old one did. Now to spend three weeks learning to use it. Especially the internet bits. I’ve never had a phone that does Internet before. Well, I have, but I’ve never done Internet on the phone before. I wonder if it is the same Internet as this one…?
On the other end of the efficiency scale is HM Customs and Excise. Two weeks ago (20 October to be precise) I phoned the tax office. I’d forgotten that I can claim tax relief on my professional subscriptions, and they told me that I’d not actually claimed since 2004. They said if I wrote to them they’d see about sorting out my tax codes. So I wrote to them the same day. I phoned them today to ask if they’d received my letter, and to ask if and when I might expect to hear back from them. The chap at the other end of the phone laughed and explained that because of their backlog, as post arrives it is being stockpiled in order of arrival at their office. They currently have a backlog of two months, and said they probably won’t open the letter I sent until Xmas Eve at the earliest…
3 November 2010 (Wednesday) - New Phone (Still...)
On Monday I mentioned I’d bought some new shoes. They arrived this morning, but I had a minor whinge about them. If you look at the picture for Monday’s blog entry you’ll notice that there is a cushioned rim round the bit where the foot goes in. This is so you don’t get sore ankles. The shoes that arrived didn’t have that cushioned edge and clearly aren’t that which was advertised. I decided to keep the shoes, as it’s too much trouble to send them back, but I emailed a complaint to the seller. I wondered if anything would come of it – and I got a reply almost right away. She had no idea that DMs come with or without cushioned edges, and she’s given me a partial refund. That was a result.
I’ve also emailed in my meter readings to the power company – the first leccie meter reading on the new meter, and the first gas meter reading since I got the new boiler. I wonder if this will make any difference to my bill. I suppose it doesn’t help that I have absolutely no idea what my usage has been up till now. I’ve decided to keep a record of meter readings and see how they go.
And then I carried on fiddling around with my new phone. During the course of the swap-over from the old phone I lost quite a lot of people’s numbers, and somehow or other the SIM card seemed to remember a lot of very old (and very wrong) numbers. I have mentioned this elsewhere on the Internet, but could I ask that if anyone wants me to be able to contact them by phone, could you please send me your phone number, Preferably with a few words saying who you are. I got three anonymous texts this morning. Each with a comment along the lines of “here’s my number you asked for”.
A minor disappointment – the quality of the photos the phone’s camera produced wasn’t very good. After a lot of fiddling round with the settings I realised I’d left the protective film over the camera lens. Woops!
I’ve tried to get the phone to connect to the house’s wireless network. It seems to connect, but when I try to do web surfing I get an “Invalid sever name” message. I wonder if that is anything I can fix easily? If not, it’s no great problem – I get quite a bit of free Internet usage anyway. I wasted some of that free usage on connecting my phone to Facebook and Twitter. In retrospect it was probably for no better reason than because I could.
Trying to do internetty things from my phone is a lot like fiddling about. I doubt I shall actually use it very much. I also don’t like the way that you have to fiddle about to be sure if I’ve actually logged off of the internet. I’m sure I’m going to forget to do that…..
4 November 2010 (Thursday) - BA – BSc
A few months ago one of the leaders of one of the political parties went on record as saying that should his party achieve power, then they would not increase university tuition fees. Yesterday the coalition government announced that those same tuition feesare set to increase by up to 300%. One can possibly make a case for not ranting too much about the Con-servatives for this – after all they made no commitment about these fees, and (to be fair to Con-servatives) this is really the sort of thing that they feel that shouldn’t be subsidised by the public purse.
But shall we take as read the rant about the lies of the Dribbling Democraps?
Although there are moves afoot to shorten the length of time students are spending doing degrees, the actual cost involved must mean that a degree level education is once again only available to the rich. (A traditional three-year degree will cost slkightly more than my first house did.)
Let me rephrase that. A traditional university education is once again only available to the rich. There are other ways of getting one. I paid for my own whilst both my children were toddlers and ‘er indoors TM wasn’t working (but was being a full time mother). And there are degrees which can be done as part of your employment. For no apparent reason, one such degree springs to mind.
Personally I’ve never been a fan of the traditional style of university education. As a schoolboy at the Hastings Academy for Budding Geniuses , it was made crystal clear to me that the only reason for my being at a grammar school was to go on to a university, and I think that is what put me off of the idea. Why on earth go to a university for three (or more) years only to run up debts whilst putting off getting employment? Surely it’s better to do some work, find out what you want to do for a living, then see about securing any relevant qualifications? Perhaps that is why apprenticeships are on the increase again….
Last week at work
we had a rant about how rubbish
It would seem I’m not alone in finding the place wonderful - the county is listed in the world’s top twelve holiday destinations. I was impressed – mind you, I’ve holidayed there several times myself.
Another reason why my home county is so brilliant is that it hosts (at least) two of the best breweries in creation. One of them is currently brewing thirty two firkins of black nectar which should be in the pubs in a month’s time. Mind you with only (slightly more than) two thousand pints of the porter being brewed this year, I imagine it will sell out quickly. The brewery has promised to email me a list of pubs who are selling the stuff when the time comes. I predict an outing to a pub in early December…
5 November 2010 (Friday) - Fireworks Night
Up at the crack of dawn and on with the ironing. Shirts don’t iron themselves, you know. And then after work we set off to Folkestone. The local school was having a fireworks display. The weather wasn’t good, but it would have been a shame to have missed the fireworks. We arrived in the rain, but the rain didn’t last long. I’m not a religious blogger but it did strike me more than co-incidental that with such a congregation of left-footers, as the fireworks started so the clouds parted and the rain stopped. And it was equally odd that as the fireworks finished and the audience dispersed that the clouds came back and the rain started. Divine intervention? Perhaps – I’m not ruling it out.
I’ve been to this school’s quiz nights in the past. For a church school, the bar at their quiz nights is second to none. When my time comes I may well turn left-footer myself.
And then back to the Hoseys for a smashing bit of tea, and to star in a home made video “Dave annoys Tina” which will be appearing on You-Tube very soon. In fact it will appear as soon as I can figure out how to get the video (that was bluetoothed to me) out of my sexy new phone.
Talking of sexy new phones, I see that one
of my loyal readers in
Might I ask how you are getting on with the iPhone and the Internet? I must admit I’m on the point of giving up with phone based Internet-ing – the keys are fiddly, the screen is so small…it’s not really practical, is it?
Among the hundreds of emails I received this morning was one from the leccie company. On Wednesday I emailed them my meter readings. They didn’t like them and had sent me a notification of reject. And they asked me to phone them at my earliest convenience. So I did. The nice man there read back to me the meter readings I’d sent them on Wednesday and told me all was well with them, and asked what my query was. He was amazed that I’d been emailed because there was no problem at all with my meter reading.
Another nonsense email was from Google, who reminded me that the clocks go back one hour this evening. Didn’t we do that last weekend?
And seeing how I wasn’t working this morning, we went into town. First of all to the post office to collect a parcel. The highly intelligent operative behind the counter wanted som I.D. before he’s give me my parcel so I showed him (from a distance of some six feet) an out of date credit card. He seemed happy with this and gave me my package. Then on to the Gorge for a fry-up. Martin joined us just as we were leaving, and we then wandered round the rest of the town. Wilco’s had a bargain – home brew kits. I’m seriously tempted to have a go at home brewing. Once I’ve forked out thirty quid for the fermentation tub and the pressure barrel I can brew up beer at less than three quid pre gallon.
To CEX where I got a load of cheap DVDs, and then to the toy shop followed closely by a visit to Cheesey Computers. At this point we’d been in town for nearly three hours and I was shopped out. My nerves could take no more. But seeing how it was on our way we had a look in “Hopeless” (anyone who’s heard their advert on local radio will know the place!) where I was intending to pick up some fireworks, but instead came out with a sledge. I *know* there’s no snow, but it’s been my experience that if you wait for snow, then sledges will have sold out, and those that are available are vastly overpriced. So I’ve got my sledge. All I need now is the snow.
Home, where I put on one of my new DVDs and slept in front of it for an hour or so. And then to Folkestone to collect people, and on to the evening’s fireworks session. Steve and Sarah had invited us to a fireworks party, and it was great!! We met up with old and new friends, and chatted over some beers, and as people arrived, so the pile of fireworks grew and grew. And then we wandered into the garden for the start of the pyrotechnics. The first rocket was spectacular – it reached a height of about six feet before it exploded with an earth-shattering ka-boom. I was impressed, but was desperately hoping it wasn’t one of the rockets I’d bought. Most of the other fireworks behaved themselves though. Apart from one errant Roman candle which escaped and did its thing from inside a shrubbery.
After an hour we adjourned for food – hot dogs, soup and chilli jacket potatoes were enjoyed by all, and then back for more fireworks and sparklers. Oh, it was great fun, and the weather was good too. I do like a good firework display. Same time next year…?
7 November 2010 (Sunday) - Bit Dull, Really...
Last week we had the draw for work’s secret Santa for Xmas. When I saw who I’d got in the draw I knew exactly what gift to get for him, and so I had a look on eBay, found what I wanted and ordered it. I came home from work on Friday to find a note saying that the parcel was at the post office, and I collected it yesterday, but what with one thing and another I didn’t open the package until today. With packaging from Amazon and an invoice from Amazon, I find I’ve been cheated.
The seller is advertising products on eBay, and when people buy them he posts the buyer what they’ve ordered. But he doesn’t have them in stock. He just orders them from Amazon for five pounds cheaper than what he’s selling them for on eBay. He tells Amazon to deliver the goods to whoever’s ordered it and he pockets the profit.
I suppose I should have looked on Amazon first. This bloke’s not technically done anything illegal, or even wrong, but I feel as though I’ve been swindled. For what it’s worth he’ll get negative feedback, but because he’s a Power Seller on eBay, I can’t leave him negative feedback until a week after I received the thing. I shall bide my time.
Talking of eBay….. Yesterday I mentioned that I’m thinking “Home Brew” (again). I quite like the idea of knocking up five gallons of stout for Xmas. But I was amazed to find that I can buy the home brew kits in the town centre shops for about twenty quid cheaper that I can get them on eBay (or on Amazon!). Internet shopping isn’t the bargain it once was. Browsing the net I’ve found that there’s a home brew shop which as opened less than four miles from home. I shall have a look in there tomorrow.
And talking of beer, regular readers may recall a blog entry from June when I whinged about a pub in Warehorne. The Woolpack used to be a very good pub, but in June we found it to be pretentious and serving vastly overpriced tat in place of reasonably priced food. Since then we’ve heard all sorts of rumours about the place from all sorts of sources. Whilst gossip is hardly the most reliable means of communication, I heard so many stories about the place from so many people I soon came to the conclusion that my bad experience in June was in keeping with what most other customers had found about the place.
Today I received a message about this pub through a website I used to use a lot. The message read “You may be interwsted to know that there is a new tenant in the Woolpack, Warehorne, Give it a try, its much better and the new guy is great.” I was very “interwsted” to know this, and I may well pop back to see if things have improved.
Even though it was Sunday I was up with the lark today, and I spent the morning helping with the last bits of house moving. Fridge freezers don’t move themselves. In a better plane of reality, they probably do move themselves. But not in mine. In my world they are dependent on the likes of me to elevate them to the second storey. As are tumble driers. But it’s all good exercise.
After moving stuff to and fro and up and down we came home via Lidls (it was Sunday after all) and I spent the afternoon doing what is fast becoming my standard Sunday afternoon ritual: dozing in front of a rubbish film. Tea was good – home made soup then roast dinner. And then back to NeverWinter where my character (a particularly foxy elf) has lost her girlfriend in the sewer. Which was careless of her…
‘er indoors TM had the day off work today, so I took a day’s holiday as well. As I’m a supporter of the Aspinall Foundation, periodically I get free tickets to the local zoos, and so we’d planned to go to Port Lympne today.
I plan a lot of things, and mostly things go according to plan. So I shouldn’t be *that* miffed when occasionally things go wrong. The weather was against us today. With torrential rain and winds gusting up to 50mph, we decided that we didn’t much fancy walking round a zoo in a monsoon.
Having said that, we weren’t going
to waste a day off, so we went to
The first floor was rubbish. To be
The second floor featured an
impressive stuffed Polar bear, and there were two main displays here. One was
Lunch time: as we came out of the museum we found KFC. The rain was still torrential, so we popped in, if only to shelter from the elements. But KFC always makes for a good lunch. And on the way back to the car we made time for a crafty half. Two years ago I visited Blakes of Dover and wasn’t impressed. I would so dearly love to have this place in my top ten list of pubs. It has everything I rate in a pub. It’s off the beaten track. It’s downstairs in an obscure basement. It has decent ale from the best breweries – and some of the ale is poured from the barrel. It even has pickled eggs.
However it also has bar staff who know how marvellous their pub is. And rather than clientele or regulars, it has an “in-crowd” who make a point of staring at the newcomer. On my last visit I rather slated the place on a certain pub reviewing website, and today’s visit gave me no reason to change my opinion of the place.
On the way home we stopped off at another seaside town where a branch of Maplins has recently opened. I thought it might be worth a visit: I was wrong – it was dull. But whilst we were in the area we thought we’d go visit the most recent fruit of my loin. Unfortunately she wasn’t in, but “Thing Two” from Doctor Seuss was there in her pyjamas to welcome us. Or that was my initial reaction. I am told that they are very nice pyjamas, and who am I to argue.
Over the last few days I’ve been mentioning making my own beer. We called in to the local home brew shop today. Getting all the kit and caboodle looked a bit pricey, so I got a starter set which in only fifteen days will give me twenty litres of stout. If it works I will have managed to knock out the stuff for seventy pence a pint (which is even cheaper than Lidl). And if it doesn’t work I will console myself with the thought of how much money I could have wasted if I had bought the bigger kit. Loyal readers are very welcome to point and laugh at my box of “Stout Fellow” as it bubbles away in my kitchen. And loyal readers who respect the stout are very welcome to try some when I open the box in a couple of week’s time...
ago (1985), as part of my studies at
None of that stopped me getting up at hourly intervals during the night, getting more and more worried that my home brew wasn’t doing anything. Fortunately for my nerves, when I got up (properly) this morning it was bubbling away quite happily. A regular “blopping” followed by periodic more extreme releases of gas. A bit like my stomach, really.
call: “My Boy TM ” had
gone beach fishing this morning. I heard him going. I expect my loyal readers
And with the weather being against us again, we again decided against going to the zoo. Instead we settled for second best by having a look round the snake shop in Bethersden. They had some nice beasts, but I wasn’t tempted to get any. I’m not keen on doing the whole “reptile thing” again. (Been there, done that!). Whilst we were in the area, we’d heard that Tenterden garden centre had their Xmas decorations out, so we went to have a look at those. They weren’t overly impressive. But whilst there we had a look at their reptiles and Koi too. For me, seeing the reptiles and the Koi at a pet shop is every bit as good as a zoo. I get to see the animals I’m interested in, and I see them much closer up too.
reports of a pub that was under new management that I wanted to check out
before this coming weekend. The Queens Head is probably now in my
top twenty pubs, if not my top ten (must actually write that list!).
In the past
I would suggest changing our plans
for the weekend to relocate to this pub, but it is right on the bonfire route
and will be heaving. Our usual haunt for
And talking of our usual haunt, whilst in
And then home to find that in my absence my box of stout had had an episode. Presumably there had been a rather excessive build up of fermentation gases; water from the air lock was sprayed everywhere, and one of the corners of the box was rather soggy. I’ve given the thing a larger air lock, and am hoping that over the next two weeks the box will dry out somewhat. If it don’t I shall boss it together with packing tape.
I’ve just had two days off work: it rained constantly. Today I went back to work as the sun came out. I was so tempted to ask for today off as well, but I thought better of the idea. In retrospect I wish I had asked for the day off.
Enough of work: yesterday I mentioned that my box of stout was somewhat damp. I came home this evening to find that it has completely dried out. That was a relief. The thing is still bubbling away nicely, and despite the fact I’ve not tasted the first lot yet, I’m having ideas about what to brew up next. The idea of a barrel of porter for Xmas is appealing.
I had an email from Svetlana this evening. I’ve had several emails from her recently. Apparently she is nineteen years old, is “a man’s dream” and she is “looking for man to have a strong family”. She asked if I was too. Funnily enough I’m not “looking for man to have a strong family”. Not with my back (!)
She even sent me a picture of herself. She looked cold; it has to be said that when I pose for photographs I wear more than just a smile. She told me she was on-line and suggested we chatted, but I thought it best not to encourage her sort.
have had Chinese for tea tonight. A gentleman of oriental persuasion turned
up on the doorstep and proudly announced he’d got my meal. I was quite happy
with that until he wanted paying. I’d eat it if he was giving it away. He
wasn’t. He claimed we’d ordered it over the phone. We hadn’t. He started a
rant about how we had ordered from his restaurant, and when he eventually
paused for breath I explained to him the difference between where he was (Beaver
Road) and where he needed to be (Beaver Lane). For those not
familiar with the area, the difference is just under a mile. He wasn’t happy
with my explanation, and asked if I was sure I was in the right place myself.
I thought I was being helpful by giving him directions to
And then we settled down to watch the last episode of Downton Abbey. I love costume dramas and stories set in grand houses. Where the nobs upstairs have more money than sense, and the serfs downstairs are equally dumb for putting up with the nobs upstairs. Electricity, telephones and the war came to Downton Abbey this evening. It was a brilliant series. A shame it’s over, but I understand there is to be a second series next year. That will give me something to look forward to.
Regular readers of this drivel may recall I had a new leccie meter fitted a month ago. Today I received a leccie bill. It would seem that in one month I’ve got myself £112.27 in credit with the leccie people. I phoned them up and asked for one hundred of it back. They seemed quite happy with that idea. I’ve blogged in the past about how I’m financially stuffed at the moment, and that hundred quid would be very much appreciated. The fact that I’m probably going to spend it on home brew gear to make my Xmas porter is neither here nor there.
tried another way to recoup my fortunes today. One of my trainees at work is
football mad. But not in the way that most football fans are. Instead he
intently studies each team’s form and scoring records, and regularly predicts
the outcome of matches with uncanny accuracy. By “investing”
relatively small amounts, this chap often wins over a hundred pounds at the
bookies with his skill. I asked if he’d “invest” a (relatively)
small amount for me. Tonight’s prediction was that Everton would beat Bolton
and thatSwansea would beat
My mind has been on home brewing rather a lot lately. I can’t help but suspect that in years gone by, my home made wine was rather variable in quality because contaminating bacteria got in to the stuff. Maintaining sterility can be tricky, and errant microbes can be problematical; as anyone who’s ever eaten a dodgy kebab can testify.
Making wine was a very “open” process. The stout I am currently brewing is more “closed” in that you sterilise the inside of your container, chuck in all the ingredients, close the whole thing up, and that’s it. Once fermentation has finished you just tilt the box and start drinking the stuff. With a closed system it is far easier to maintain sterility.
So investing in fermentation vessels and plastic kegs and trying to perform aseptic siphoning isn’t the way forward. Obviously the trick is to make beer is the way I’m doing it at the moment; brewing it in it’s own polypin. The drawback to this is cost – a twenty litre polypin costs about fifteen quid. It can be re-used a few times, but it has a finite life. But re-using the thing runs the risk of contamination. And once you’ve bought the second polypin it’s already cost more than all the fermentation vessels and plastic kegs would have cost.
And then I had a stroke of inspiration. I know someone who uses saline (salt water) which is delivered in polypin-like boxes, and the boxes, once used, are thrown away. With a rinse out, such a box would be ideal for home brew – the only expense would be the beer making ingredients. And since the boxes are made to be disposable, I’d not even have to clean the thing out afterwards. I’d just chuck it away and get a new one.
‘er indoors TM went out flogging candles tonight, leaving me to forage for my
dinner. From experience I’ve found that foraging in the general direction of
the KFC is usually successful. With the house to myself I watched a
movie. “Bronson” wouldn’t be everyone’s cup of
tea: it’s in the same vein as “I.D.”, “Scum” and “Clockwork
As a child I can remember my uncle once grumbling that a friend of his had left work. Because of this chap’s various personal circumstances the bloke was five pound per week better off on unemployment benefits, housing benefits, family allowance, etc than he was if he stayed in employment.
Today the government has announced radical changes to the welfare system so that it pays to work. I’m not pretending the new system will be perfect, but I quite like the idea that long term unemployed people will be asked to do voluntary work, if only to get them back into the “working” frame of mind. There are no end of local charities who could benefit from such people’s efforts. Our local scout hall needs a lick of paint.
There are those who feel the measures are a tad harsh. But I can’t help but think of the leader of our local scout group who can run one of the most successful scout groups inKent whilst being paralysed down the entire left hand side of her body. Or the leader of the Beaver Scouts who runs the most successful Beaver group for miles around, even though she is blind. Perhaps under these new measures they might actually be rewarded for their efforts?
In previous blog entries I have regaled my loyal readership with tales of woe regarding my ailing computer. The poor thing is (nearly) four years old, and over the last few months it has rather began to struggle to do its job. Having installed Windows Defender and C-Cleaner I’ve attempted to sort the poor thing out. I’ve defragmented my drive and deleted my orphaned files. I’ve salvaged something from the tattered remains that was once my Windows registry file, and I’ve bunged out all manner of conflicting software that I neither needed nor wanted. I’ve scanned and scanned, but still the poor thing sounded like a helicopter trying to take off. Time and again the computer would freeze; the only option being for me to pull out the mains plug and start again.
Desperate times called for desperate measures. So I opened up the computer, blew all the dust out, and then put it back together again. I won’t pretend the thing is fixed, but it certainly seems a lot better than it once was.
I heard something of arky-ological interest on the radio today. It would seem that whilst hunting for dull bits of broken pots, an arky-ologist stumbled upon King Herod’s tomb. And whilst investigating this tomb, said arky-ologist stumbled over a railing and fell to his death. Destroying various artefacts on the way. I did laugh when I heard.
astronomical interest is
I’m going to start off today with a rant. I am sick and tired of people knocking the NHS. Take today’s news – one quarter of all cases of cancer are only diagnosed when the condition finally becomes so severe that the patients are so ill that they are admitted to hospital as an emergency. And this rate is far higher in leukaemia cases. Over half the brain tumours are found at such a late state. This is (apparently) shocking and disgusting and typical of the failing NHS. Or is it? Consider a specific form of cancer – skin cancer. Only 3% of skin cancers go undetected. Why is the NHS so better at detecting skin cancer as opposed to (say) tumours of the pancreas?
Do I really have to spell this out? Skin cancer gets detected early because people with this condition can see their skin going manky. It’s not so easy to see small lumps deep inside your body. Or take leukaemia (a condition with which I have a passing knowledge). This can only be diagnosed from a blood test – there are no lumps in leukaemia. Unless someone makes arrangements for their blood to be scrutinised, then it will go undetected until it is so far advanced that the lack of functioning white cells and platelets gives rise to the symptoms.
Aren’t we supposed to be in a time of austerity? Cutbacks all round? A mass physical screening of the population is going to cost a fortune. Whilst at college (in the early 1980s) I can remember being told of such a pilot scheme that was done in Orpington. Tremendous public expense, and no new cases of cancers found at all. And surely the general public must bear some of the blame. If they feel unwell, or have an odd lump, then they should go see the doctor, and not put it off whilst the lump gets bigger. Or am I missing something?
I went to work for the morning where I did a wonderful job which is utterly undervalued by the media (sulk, sulk!) and then popped in to the home brew shop to have a chat. They seemed to think that my plan to brew beer in closed containers is a winning scheme. I bought a hydrometer whilst I was there. It would be nice to know how strong the beer I’m brewing will be.
And then to
the railway station to meet up with the Ashford based contingent of our
party. “Daddies Little Angel TM ”’s
mate was back from
everyone was together and I shepherded thirteen of us onto the train, and
then we had a crafty half. I’d brought a back-pack full of beer, and it was
rather heavy so I thought I might lighten the load. And with the first bottle
drunk I could see the lights ofRye out of the
train window. Having been emailing and messaging people about the event for a
couple of weeks I thought I should take some responsibility. So I diligently
ensured that all of the Ashfordians got to
Having checked out the pubs mid-week we then made our way to the Union Inn. Or that is some of us did. As is always the case, trying to organise people is somewhat akin to herding cats. And I must admit to wandering off myself when I saw the stall selling flashing rabbit ears. But the advance party of half a dozen of us found the pub and made a start on the ale, whilst the stragglers and chip-eaters eventually found us later.
After five pints we decided we ought to take up position to watch the procession come past. As fish and chips was passed round we met up with more of our group and exchanged insults. This year our group was perhaps the smallest it has ever been, with only twenty three of us. But we had a great time. It was at this point that we started making serious headway into the bottles of beer we’d brought along, but having drunk a gallon of ale from the pub meant we could use their facilities with a clear conscience. The best part of using their facilities was smuggling the ladies in our group into the cubicle in the pub’s gents to avoid the queue for the ladies. Great fun!
procession came past – burning torches, everyone in costume, floats and noisy
drum bands. I loved it. And then with the procession over, we made our way up
And then we
made our way back down the hill as fast as the crowds would allow us, and
having said our goodbyes to friends who’d driven up from deepest Sussex, half
a dozen (or so) of us made our way to the railway station. As is
always the way at
There was some minor unpleasantness whilst trying to get to the railway platform. The place was very crowded, but the police didn’t need to be quite so disagreeable. We’ve been going to Rye Bonfire Parade since 2004, and in those six years the only bad experiences I’ve had have been from the arrogant attitude of the police there. Would it have caused the silly constable physical pain to have given me a straight answer to a straight question? I am considering making a formal complaint about the attitude of the police at the station, but it wouldn’t achieve anything.
The train ride home was fun, and I passed round the remains of the bottle of port I’d bought, and we eventually staggered to be some time after midnight (I think – it was all rather vague by that time).
Today was (in a very small way) one of life’s milestones: over time I’ve developed something of a routine to my life. Certain annual events are great fun and so I make a point of putting them into my calendar – kite festivals and beer festivals spring to mind. And from October to November it’s the bonfire season. I love the torchlight parades and fireworks. And I especially like the bit where we get to meet up with friends and family who we rarely see because we all live so far apart. And now with Rye Bonfire Parade but a happy memory and my hangover fading, this year’s bonfire season is over.
I rather wasted the day today – we had vague plans to go for a walk round the Brabourne estate and look for deer. But the rain didn’t stop, and so I alternated between sleeping in front of the telly and sleeping in front of playing NeverWinter Nights.
When I have been to remembrance services in the past there has been representation from pretty much the entire town. Wreaths were laid by all armed forces, scouting, guides, all three cadet forces, St John's, the council, the police, fire brigade, ambulance brigade, chamber of commerce, rotary club... anyone who wanted to take part would seem to be welcome. Whilst standing there shivering I would look at all the old servicemen with their medals. We would remember those who weren’t there. And I would reflect on the fact that I’ve never been in the armed forces. It’s because of what the old soldiers did in the past that I have never had to be.
Or that is I would try to reflect. But I never felt comfortable at those services. Whilst I am in no way whatsoever undermining the idea of remembrance services, it annoys me that they have been hijacked by organised religion; specifically the Christian Church. Am I alone in seeing the Church as being hypocritical here?
I can’t (in all conscience) go to a service in which I (and everyone else) intend to remember the sacrifices of heroes, but instead we are forced to put up with a vicar contradicting himself whilst spouting religious gibbering. Gibbering to which (quite frankly) the vast majority of the audience are not listening and do not believe.
“I wasn’t happy when I arrived at the store – I had to navigate my car through the trolleys that were strewn around the car park. In years gone by I would have been met by a smiling member of staff. Today I was met with a surly grunt from a surly grunt who was openly watching me to check I didn’t steal anything. The staff filling the shelves made it crystal clear that I was in their way. And when I came to use the self-service tills I had my goods snatched from my hands by a member of staff who clearly didn’t’ think I was using the checkout fast enough. Even though no one else was queuing. “How did we do?”: 0/10. Must try harder.
On my way home I was listening to the Justice Secretary on the radio. He was outlining the government’s plans to shake up the legal aid system. The tax payer will no longer have to foot the bill for legal squabbles arising from relationship break-ups, school admissions and expulsions quibbles, and clinical negligence. Apparently these can mostly be dealt with outside of the court system, and if they can’t then the public are referred to the “no win – no fee” scheme. The Justice Secretary said "it cannot be right that the taxpayer is footing the bill for unnecessary court cases which would never have even reached the courtroom door, were it not for the fact that somebody else was paying". He went on to say that the government is unhappy with the fact that we have a very litigious society, and that the government isn’t going to subsidise it any more.
I might invite my loyal readers to consider the point of view that rather than subsidising a very expensive process, the government might like to address the question of why is it that only the extremely rich can afford to use the justice system…?
When I was
a lad we didn’t have mobile phones. In fact most people didn’t even have a
phone in the house. And those that did had a phone with a dial on the thing.
Not buttons, but a dial. Not that the dial actually did anything.
Today everyone has a mobile phone in their pocket. A device which is a phone, a camera, a satellite navigation system and a games console all in one. And less than a quarter of the size of the phone which I had as a child.
For many of us the TV programs we watched as children were in black and white – colour telly was for the elite. Breakfast television programmes did not exist. We had three channels of TV. Schools programmes ran in the morning; there were kids programmes, the news and Crown Court at mid day, then the telly closed down for the afternoon. It came back at 4pm, and closed down (playing the National Anthem) round about midnight.
And calculators. My first calculator cost my father a week’s wages. Kids today don’t have calculators as such. They use the calculator function on their mobile phones, which are far superior to what I had in the mid-1970s.
And the Internet – a world of information at my fingertips. I have instant contact with friends all over the world. Teenage boys will never need to attempt to illegally buy or steal jazz mags because of the smut on the Internet.
The world today isn’t at all what I imagined when I was young. Technologically we are (in many ways) streets ahead of where we thought we’d be. Look at the science fiction of the time. I’ve recently been re-reading sci-fi from the fifties and sixties. The novels of Asimov and Clarke now seem rather outdated. Or look at Captain Kirk’s communicator. A rather pathetic device compared to my Nokia N8.
As a teenager I was so impressed with having a colour telly and a calculator. And I had several friends who were jealous of me because of that. And now I look back in a rather condescending sort of way. I wonder what my blog entry in November 2050 will make of today’s technology….
But then again, look at what we haven’t achieved. As a child I watched the moon landings. I remember the Apollo 13 disaster: I was there. And it was common knowledge that men would be walking on Mars by the mid 1980s. Didn’t happen. It doesn’t look like humanity will even have the ability to get back to the moon for at least another ten years (at the soonest). I’m sadly coming to the conclusion that I will not live long enough to see people land on Mars.
I have actually been able to do this for some time. The other day I realised I’d not heard from my Church for a while. It turned out they’d had a major I.T. failure and lost all the clergy’s details. But now I’ve re-registered, I am raring to once again take up my ministry.
As a minister of the Universal Church Triumphant of the Apathetic Agnostic, I am available to do pretty much everything and anything that your average vicar gets called on to do. I have formal guidelines on a wide range of duties I might perform, including visiting the sick and housebound, conducting weddings and civil partnership celebrations, ceremonies for the naming of children, funerals, the saying of grace before a meal, and even on taking confessions.
I would suggest that most of my critics couldn’t express their religious views so succinctly. And I would also ask that if this is a ridiculous viewpoint, then how would one describe the banning of pigs from kiddies farmyard toy sets for fear of offending the religious…?
This morning I received a very complimentary comment on yesterday’s blog post. “Good work! Your post is an excellent example of why I keep comming back to read your excellent quality content that is forever updated. Thank you! armani watches for men”. And the chap then went on to add a link to a web site where he is selling watches. They could be good watches; they could be rubbish. I neither know nor care. All I know is that I’m not going to advertise his tat for him.
You’d think he’d get the message; after all he’s posted the same comment (complete with spelling mistake) to several of my blog posts over the last week and followed each one up with a link to websites selling either watches or handbags.
It’s a shame that the software doesn’t seem to have a “report spammer” option. Oh well, if the nuisance posts continue I’ll just tweak up the settings on exactly who can make comments. Or specifically who can’t.
A letter about an ISA. I’ve absolutely no idea what that is all about, but it says about large sums of money. I shall keep that letter. The mortgage endowment is finishing within the next year, and far from being the moneyspinner that our financial advisor (father in law!) claimed it would be, it’s actually been money down the toilet. This ISA might help cover the shortfall.
BT again offered me their Broadband cheaply and Aviva again offered to insure my motorbike (eight years after I last rode one). WyeVale wrote to apologize to me that I’ve not spent enough with them recently (i.e. anything at all) to warrant getting any money-off vouchers this quarter. Bovvered?
The mobile phone people wrote to confirm the agreement under which I’ve got my new mobile with them. Apparently part of the package is something called “top shelf”. No one mentioned that before. “Top shelf” sounds a bit dubious. Free smut? I phoned them up to find out about this. Apparently I can use my phone to download filth. That’s nice (!)
readers based in the
And I found an invitation to take part in the KM charity walk which took place on Sunday June 13 this year. I couldn’t have gone anyway (I was in Teston), but where had that letter been all these months?
I was on a late start this morning, so with the house to myself I watched a DVD. A couple of weeks ago I went to the CEX shop in town and bought some DVDs. One of them was the first season of “Gavin and Stacey”. Over the last few months various people had commented that they thought I’d like it - I can’t believe I’d never seen it before. I finished watching the DVD today. It was brilliant. I actually blubbed when they got married. I think I might just put the complete DVD set onto my Xmas list. You never know your luck.
And then I
had what I can only describe as a “Brown Trousers” moment. Having
watched all the devastation in
And I’ll end with a little bit of politics. In my thirty years in the NHS I’ve seen some changes. The way the NHS is run changes all the time. The latest plan is to re-organise so that the entire NHS is commanded by the GPs. But this isn’t a new idea - am I the only one who can remember that this has already been tried. Does the phrase “GP Fundholders” ring any bells?
I don’t know. It’s been shown that there was absolutely no evidence as to whether it might have worked or not. Instead the decisions to implement the scheme and the decision (under a different government seven years later) to abolish it were taken purely on political and ideological grounds.
It’s rather strange that if I want to make the slightest change to how I perform my professional duties I have to fulfil a myriad of regulations to prove beyond any doubt that the proposed change is for the better. If researchers have ideas for new treatments, these must be radically tested to destruction before they can even reach the clinical trials stage. But the entire structure of the NHS can be reformed on the whim of current political opinion with no evidence whatsoever as to whether or not the idea is good, bad or just plain stupid…
How many other decisions in government are made this way? How are the police, the armed forces, schools, the nation’s transport infrastructure organised? Are they subject to sensible management? Are they run on sound financial principals? Or are they run at the whim of political ideology too…?
I don’t watch much telly these days. Instead I prefer to find out what other people have watched. And then on other people’s recommendations I beg, borrow or steal entire seasons of shows on DVD. Thereby watching the entire lot in one go, and missing out all the dull adverts. The drawback with this scheme is that one is rather dependent on other people actually telling me what’s on the telly.
Zaphod Beeblebrox once said “See what you miss if you don't stay alert”. Clearly I’ve not been alert. Did you know they’ve re-made Reggie Perrin? Yes? So did everyone else except me. And to add insult to injury I’ve been watching the originals on UK Gold at silly o’clock in the morning recently.
As for the remake, I’ve only seen a couple of episodes so far (on the BBC i-player), but I like what I’ve seen. Martin Clunes makes a good Reggie, and it’s got the bloke from “Game On” as C.J., and (in an improvement on the original) Reggie has a fit bird to fantasize over.
Also on my “want list” for Xmas is (realistically) a new PC. My current one is now four years old, and is beginning to creak. It keeps freezing and it currently sounds like a helicopter trying to take off. I can’t help but wonder what’s hot and what’s not in the world of new desktop PCs. Any advice from loyal readers would be welcomed.
And amid the excitement of Prince William’s forthcoming nuptials, Prince Charles has intimated that when he becomes King he would like his wife to be crowned Queen. Even though he’d bowed to perceived public pressure in the past and said she’d be a Princess Consort.
It strikes me that this move signifies either one of two things. Either Charles won’t become King at all and when the time comes he will pass the monarchy on to William, making a show of taking offence rather like Edward VIII did when he couldn’t have Mrs Simpson as Queen.
“My Boy TM ” was doing overtime this morning. I expect most of my loyal readers heard him getting up quietly at 6am, then silently coming downstairs before making his breakfast (as quietly as a mouse). I breathed a sigh of relief as he finally thundered out of the house at 6.30am.
To work – I too was doing overtime, and after a (thankfully) quiet morning and a quick sandwich I popped round to the home brew shop. They were having a demonstration of how to brew and bottle and generally “make the stuff”. I thought I’d better put all my beer-making on hold until I’d seen today’s demo, and I got there with quarter of an hour to spare, just in case there were loads of people. In the event there was a rather disappointing turn out. There were a pair of mates, one of whom had bought the other a beer-making kit last Xmas and they thought they’d better use the thing. There were a pair of hippies, one of whom claimed to make marmalade beer, and there was a rather quiet chap who seemed to be a friend of the bloke giving the demonstration.
The chap giving the demonstration was very good; knowledgeable but without being condescending in any way. He showed us how to sterilise all the gear and make up a kit of beer. Then we had a “Blue Peter” moment when he produced a barrel of beer he’d made earlier; two weeks earlier. That brew was ready to be bottled, and he showed us how to bottle the stuff. This bit was very “hands on” and I got to have a go. He also showed us (me) the ins and outs of keeping beer in pressure barrels, which I found useful, and a bit of a though-provoker.
I’d been told that the session would probably last for about half an hour: it actually went on for an hour and a half. It was really good. Everyone joined in and chatted, the chap running the show involved everyone, I learned loads. I’ve decided against my original idea of brewing beer in recycled saline boxes. Since they were offering 10% off of purchases for people who’d been to the demonstration I got a fermenter and a pressure barrel.
The only reservation I had about the demonstration at the home brew shop was the turn out. I was there because I’m keen on my new-found hobby. I got the impression that the hippies and the friend of the demonstrator were also keen beer brewers. But I don’t think that that the two mates were really going to spend a lot in the brew shop. And in retrospect it was somewhat disconcerting that during the course of the demonstration, not a single customer called in. It has to be said that the shop is more than a little off the beaten track. I hope they stay in business, but they can’t really be described as doing a roaring trade.
Friends were organising an Xmas fete to raise funds for their scout group, and ‘er indoors TM was running a candle-flogging stall. I thought I’d wander along to add my (im)moral support. If nothing else, fetes are good places to get cake which is both cheap and of good quality.
was running from 4-7pm. My initial reaction was that that was an odd time to
have a fete, but then none of the fetes I’d been involved with when I was a
scout leader had been especially lucrative. Perhaps the 1st Park
Farm scout group knew something I didn’t. I arrived to find the fete pretty
much set up. In fact all that was missing were punters. There seemed to be
quite a few people milling round, but most of them seemed to be like me – “hangers-on”
of the various stalls. Of the few customers we had, few were remarkable.
There was a rather aggressive looking lady who refused to part with any money
on any stall because “it would be a waste of money as I don’t live in
Ashford” (!) I laughed as her child started eating the make-up products
on the Body Shop stall. And there was a visiting child who was a dead ringer
for Draco Malfoy (of Harry Potter fame). Unfortunately
There was a respectable turn-out from the astro club, and I had a good chat with friends. I had a go on the badge making stall, and then I made myself rather ill from eating too many cakes. And then with someone else calling the raffle (makes a change!) we packed up early and came home.
Was the event profitable for the scouts? I don’t know. Talking to stallholders I got the impression the thing wasn’t a washout. I hope they made enough. If anyone deserves cash, it’s the scout association.
And then home. I’ve got my fermenter filled with sterilising solution ready for tomorrow (when I intend to get my beer for Xmas started). And I’ve lifted my barrel of stout into position for dispensing. The formal launch of the produce of “The Manky Brewery” will be on Tuesday evening, but I have to admit I’ve had a crafty sip of the stuff.
to find consternation. It turned out that
“George” showed us where we could set up our stall. We were squeezed in between someone selling really hideous tat on one side, and a fit bird flogging silver jewellery on the other. The tat was truly awful. It was home made papier mache vases and jugs (starting at fiufteen quid each). The only conceivable use these might have would be that when the charity collectors call, you might have something that you can give away. The fit bird had jewellery for sale which wasn’t too shabby, but she wasn’t giving it away. Mind you, no one was giving anything away. There was some woman knocking out stuff from “My Secret Kitchen” – the ingredients to make (most of) a loaf of bread cost a tenner. Another stall was flogging home made linen hobby horses for twenty quid. And there were some truly terrible floral arrangements to be had for thirty quid.
And again this place summed up what is wrong with the entire concept of running a stall at a village fete. The idea is to get cash from the general public. But the general public don’t come to these things to spend money. The general public (by and large) stay at home. Those that do venture to a show such as today’s come along, grumble how much it all costs, and then go home again.
Most (all) of the punters who were parting with their hard-earned cash today were spending it on stalls run by their friends; having arranged in advance to come along to support their friends’ stall(s). I couldn’t work that one out at all. If you’re going to be selling to your mates, why bother paying for a stall in a draughty village hall? Why not just invite your mates round and flog your stuff to them from the comfort of your own living room?
It was very obvious that those stalls making money were those run by people who had got all their mates to come along. Every sale made on any stall was accompanied by a ten minute chat about old times and mutual friends and relatives. Those of us (and there were quite a few of us) who had travelled a long distance didn’t get a sniff.
We packed up and on the way home we stopped at Biddenden Vineyard where I got a tray of Blues. If my home-made Stout fails, I’ll have a back-up plan for Xmas day. And then to Lidls. Lidls were knocking out bottles of MasterBrew at a pound each. It’s not my favourite beer, but I’ve had much worse in my time.
A strange story – a colleague was off to a meeting. It turned out that she’s a school governor, and there was a meeting at the school to go over the details of the second round of redundancies being made at that school. Apparently it was going to be terrible and heartbreaking (I imagine it would be!), but there was nothing anyone could do about it. I naively suggested that there might be something she could do; namely not vote for the redundancies. But that wasn’t possible. You weren’t allowed to be a governor unless you voted for what “they” wanted to do. I asked who “they” were, but was met with a confused stare. “They” would seem to be the people who run the school. I thought that was the governors…?
One of the chaps at work was relating his worries; his girlfriend wants them to get engaged. This couple have been together for ten years, have bought a house together, have had two children together, but he absolutely refuses to get engaged to the girl. What’s that all about?
And then on
the way home I heard something on the radio which put my sad life into
perspective. Wei Jinpeng was
until recently a fisherman on the
To work, which was the same as ever, and then home again. With a dozen shirts ironed and the tribes gathered I formally announced the opening of the first batch of home brew. “Stout Fellow” turned out reasonably well, all things considered. Certainly better than first attempts at other hobbies have gone in the past. I’d made twenty pints of the stuff, and this evening we probably shifted half of that lot.
Up with the
lark, remarkably chipper bearing in mind the amount of stout that I saw off
last night. I watched another episode of Star Trek:
There was an interesting article on the radio today about the place of sport in schools. Again I find myself in the embarrassing position of agreeing with the government. They want to do away with money specifically earmarked for school sports, and let individual schools decide where to spend the cash. I’d go further. I’d do away with sport in schools (in its current format) altogether. Instead let “sport” be something that kids formally study. They can do this over the course of one year. The schools could invite experts and/or local sports teams, and the kids might have a go at badminton, lacrosse, basketball, hockey, karate, archery, all sorts of sports. All the children would get to learn about the sport and all would get a go. Rather than the traditional way of only encouraging the half-dozen who excel at sport. And then all the kids would have an idea about a whole range of sports, and may be more inclined to pursue something they otherwise might not have.
I have some small
experience of this – for my third year at secondary school there was no P.E.
teacher available for our forty minute P.E. lesson. So the biology teacher
stepped in. In his past he had played for the
Home for a bit of tea and then the doorbell rang. Chip was there saying something about “Bonus knockers” (!), and then we were off to the arky-ologee club. We started with mild consternation in that the club has been infiltrated by metal-detectorists. Last month a couple of blokes turned up and said that they were into arky-ologee and they owned metal detectors.
Apparently (in arky-ological circles) metal-detectorists are akin to Satan. They would seem to infiltrate arky-ologee clubs to suss out where to go detectoring and then get rich on their profits. Now I think that his conspiracy is somewhat over-exaggerated. Firstly because I can’t see anyone getting rich on the dull bits of broken pot that our bunch finds. And secondly if any malignant metal-detectorists were to attempt to infiltrate the club, I doubt they’d be dumb enough to admit to being a malignant metal-detectorist in the first place.
Tonight’s talk was surprisingly interesting. It was about the Roman villa on the east cliff at Folkestone. Did you know there was a Roman villa there? No? Neither did I. I’ve actually walked over the top of it a few times over the last few years. I shall have to go back with my dowsing rods and see if I can find it.
And following my suggestion of how successful the constellation game is at the astro club, something similar was tried tonight as a fundraiser. Rather than selling constellations, they sold names of towns of historical interest. I asked for a rude sounding one. The chap selling the thing was bemused by that. He had no idea what a rude town sounded like. I went for “Ribchester” because (as I explained) it’s got rib and chest in it, and that’s where you find tits. The logic was unassailable because I won the tenner.
And then the post arrived. Waitrose have sent us an Xmas card with a money off voucher. If I spend forty quid with them, they will give me a fiver off the bill. That’s nice. If I use the voucher and spend forty quid with them, then they will be only “rather more” expensive than Tesco.
I then had a go on-line for a bit. My poor old PC is seriously struggling. The anti virus updater was having “General Errors”. After a bit (a lot) of fiddling around I eventually uninstalled the anti-virus and the re-installed it. I would like to say “successfully re-installed it”, but that would be tempting fate. Let’s just say that the thing managed to update itself, which it hadn’t before, and I’m hoping for the best. Mind you, it still sounds like a helicopter trying to lift an extremely heavy load.
To work, so as it was on my way I stopped off at Comet and PC world to look at their new computers. A few months ago I was keen on the idea of a “micro” computer: a tablet or a laptop. Having tried the Internet on my phone and found it to be impractical, I think I am looking to replace my PC on a “like for like” basis with another deskyop style PC.
The problem is that when I got my current PC four years ago, it was the cat’s cock as far as PCs go. And in the intervening four years I’ve rather lost the language of PCs. Looking at what was on the shelves in the shop, the specifications of the various machines might as well have been written in Greek for all the sense they made to me.
And for the
second day running I found myself in agreement with the government. As I
drove home this evening there was an article on Radio Four about how the
government have decided to put a cap on how much housing benefit people can
claim. The radio program featured an interview with Manni.
Manni is twenty eight years old, has six children
and rents a five bedroomed house in central
The radio program then went on to interview a local community leader where Manni lives. Abraham Pinter (who runs many nearby schools) said how the government’s plans to restrict the amount of housing benefit people can claim will force people out of areas where housing costs are high. People will have to move away to areas where housing is affordable.
He wasn’t keen on the possibility of this because if this happened he wouldn’t be able to see so much of his grandchildren. I could understand that, and I sympathised. Until the interviewer asked Abraham how many grandchildren he had. Go on – guess. I nearly crashed my car when I heard. This bloke has twenty eight grandchildren. Twenty eight !!!
The entire radio program can be downloaded and listened to as a podcast here. Please could someone listen to it and explain to me how it can be fair that as a taxpayer I subsidise everyone else to breed like rabbits, whist having made a conscious decision myself to only have two children because (much as I wanted more children) I knew that I couldn’t afford a third.
And having had a rant, I’ll end on a lighter note. Over on Twitter there is another tweeter. He has yet to do his first tweet (or “twit” as he prefers to call it), but I’m reliably informed he’s enjoying the whole “twitting experience”. Why not send him a “twit”?...
I had a wonderful sleep last night, and awoke feeling really refreshed and raring to go. As I rolled over I checked the time. It was five past two – I’d only slept for three hours. I then dozed intermittently for the rest of the night, seeing every hour as it passed. At half past five I gave up laying awake, got up and did the ironing whilst watching Star Trek.
And then to the astro club. Again I was proud to be a part of the astro club – despite a shaky start three years ago, the thing is now really good. We started off with a talk about the sun from one of our youngest members. Katie is seven (I think), but her talk was excellent. I learned something. Twice each year the sun lines up with household satellite dishes, and using the Sky Plus box’s diagnostics you can see how the signal to noise ratio changes for fifteen minutes as the sun comes across.
There was then a five minute interlude on the so-called “Goldilocks Zone” – with extra solar planets being found so rapidly, science is now looking for planets in the “Goldilocks Zone” – that area round a star where a planet will be neither too cold or too warm to support life. The hypothesis was ventured that life is so tenacious that it can occur pretty much anywhere, and various “extremophile” animals were quoted as examples. It was suggested that the idea of a “Goldilocks Zone” is perhaps wrong. There then followed a discussion on the issue. I agreed with some of the ideas being proposed, and not with others. Realistically until the concept of “life” can be defined to the agreement of all, such discussions will be somewhat open-ended.
The main talk of the evening was something that (in all honesty) I didn’t think was going to interest me. But in the event, “The Trials and Tribulations of an Amateur Astronomer” was a fascinating insight into the speaker’s hobby and life.
We then had
the raffle – arguably the best part of the evening. Most people seem to join
in when I get hawking the thing, and we took over thirty quid for the club.
I’m always pleased with the success of the raffle and constellation game. A
silly bit of fun pays to keep the club going. And then with raffle hawked and
coffee drunk we went outside for some stargazing. The night was very clear,
and we saw Andromeda, the nebula in Orion, and Jupiter’s moons. We
even used the club’s very own wobblyprop to hold
the binoculars still. I spent a little while watching
As the evening went on, I was approached by a couple of people who wondered if I would go back to scouting. It would seem that the leader of a local cub pack is giving up, and a leader is needed. Would I take up the reins once again? For a moment I was tempted. But realistically I’m not keen. I originally went along because the local group needed help, and my son was a cub in that pack. I originally went along with my eight year old. He’s now twenty three. I was a leader there for thirteen years. I’ve done my bit….
According to the NHS website, gout affects 1% of the male population. Just my luck. My right foot has been swollen up like a balloon for two days now. I really shouldn’t have gone to work today, but I either have a sense of duty or a sense of stupidity.
On the way home I drove past the G.P.’s surgery in case they were open. They weren’t. I tried the pharmacy next door. I asked if they had anything for gout. They asked how I knew I had gout; had I had it before? I explained that I wouldn’t normally self-diagnose, but with the G.P. being closed, the Internet seemed to make me think that gout was my most likely (immediate) problem. The nice lady sold me some ibuprofen to relieve the swelling, and suggested I went back to the Internet to get some ideas about how I might control my gout through changing my diet.
So I went back on line. Guess what causes gout? I nearly cried, but I expect my loyal readership with laugh. Stout !! I’ve spent quite a bit of money on making stout over the last few weeks. I’ve got another five gallons of the stuff brewing for Xmas. And it turns out that I shouldn’t really touch a drop of it.
So if any of my loyal readers should happen to pop in over the festive period, feel free to help me empty out the barrel of stout. It’s a good job ‘er indoors TM likes the stuff. For myself, I’ve visited the brew shop and have some light coloured wheat beer to make up.
Other than cutting out the stout, I wondered if there was anything else I could change about my lifestyle to sort out this gout. I don’t really eat a lot of red meat, and I have poxy salads quite a bit already. I could lose some weight. Well, I could in theory. In practice that is easier said than done. The internet says that celery and cherries and drinking loads of water are supposed to help. The internet however doesn’t say where you can buy cherries in late November. Tesco’s didn’t have any when we went there this afternoon. They had celery, though. They didn’t have much in the way of canvas shoes, which was a shame.
I slept for much of the remainder of the afternoon, and then whilst Miss Blue got ready I assumed my alter ego of the Reverend Rose. Andy had organised a murder mystery evening, and I’d been looking forward to this for some time.
Once Miss Grey and Colonel Mustard had arrived I drove us all round to Blackwater Manor. The vicar drove, because the vicar wasn’t drinking that night. Because of the tablets he was taking for his gout.
We arrived to be greeted by the butler, who soon disappeared never to been seen again. Professor Plums and Lady Blackwater were in residence, and very soon we were joined by Mr Green, Major Strangely-Brown (he was!), Miss Scarlett and a shifty looking Russian. After a welcoming cocktail, everyone wandered off and the lights went out. There was a scream from “Latrine” (the French maid); the shifty looking Russian was dead. Despite having a lump on the back of his head and stab wounds in the chest, as our investigations proceeded we speculated on the possibilities that the deceased had been variously shot, smothered, hung, garrotted and poisoned. To begin with we were rather hampered in our investigations by the fact that Mr Green seemed to have an unholy fascination with what Major Strangely-Brown had been doing in the lavatory. And then we found that the hallway was filled with feathers. Bird feathers (as opposed to cow feathers!). But with the help of some rather cryptic clues we eventually got past that stage.
Eventually we found the closed circuit TV. In the hour before he was murdered, everyone had had dealings with the shifty looking Russian. He was a nasty piece of work, that shifty looking Russian. He was trying to bribe and blackmail everyone there. Miss Blue was secretly running an escort agency featuring ladies of loose morals and even looser knicker elastic. Colonel Mustard was in the fiddle; selling arms to Chechen rebels. Professor Plums had been guilty of research malpractice. The vicar turned out to be still in the closet. In fact the only one who wasn’t being blackmailed was the environmentalist Mr Green, who wasn’t happy that the shifty looking Russian was going to bulldoze the ducks and stuff.
Eventually we figured out what had happened. As the lights went out Professor Plums had tried to shoot the shifty looking Russian, but had missed. As the shifty looking Russian ran away, Miss Blue smacked him over the head with the candlestick, and he staggered into the kitchen. This was where Miss Scarlett did for him with the glass shards from the broken poison bottle so that he wouldn’t reveal the fact that she was a secret MI6 agent.
A brilliant evening. Great fun, and we had to think too! Andy did wonderfully with the plot. I can’t wait until the next one. But next time I’ll spend the evening sitting down. Because standing up played up my gout….
I suppose that I had a reasonable night’s sleep. Certainly better than some I’ve had recently. I would have liked a bit more of a lie-in, but the foot was throbbing. Seeing how you can’t take ibuprofen on an empty stomach meant I needed to have brekkie before taking anything to ease the throbbing. So I got up. I tried sitting with my leg up, but I’m not sure that actually helps. Having sat with my leg up for any length of time just means that when I go to stand my foot *really* hurts. If I just sit, then the throbbing is bearable.
Some time ago I’d offered to give another talk to the astro club; I’ve been working on a presentation about comets for a little while. At last Friday’s meeting I found that I’ve been pencilled in to do this talk next October. So I spent a little while this morning doing some more work on my presentation. Comets have always been a fascination of mine. If any loyal readers would like to know why, then I suggest they book a date in their diary for next October…
I spent some time in NeverWinter, and then we went to Tesco to get some Xmas pressies. What with double clubcard voucher points refund offers we went to the checkout with nearly a hundred quid’s worth of stuff, and only handed over thirty five quid. I shall start taking my clubcard a bit more seriously.
Mind you I have it on good authority that the BOGOF offer in B&Q needs careful scruting if you don’t want to get ripped off. The Rear Admiral phoned to have a grumble. H’ed bought a dozen items on “buy one, get one free”. It doesn’t work like you’d think: buy one of something, get something identical free. It works that for everything you buy, you get something free. But not just any something. Specifically the cheapest something. So if you buy two Xmas trees and two bags of crisps thinking they are “buy one, get one free”, you pay for both Xmas trees and get the crisps free. I thought that was a con.
The way round this is to pair up your purchases, and do loads and loads of transactions with the store; each transaction being of only two similarly priced items. Each transaction also costs the store eight pence (or so I am reliably informed). If any of my loyal readers hear that B&Q have changed their policy, do let me know….
Sundays for me seem to have got into a rut. Following a really good Saturday, Sunday just seems to be a day to waste before I go back to work. I had hoped to have done more with today. But a combination of sub-zero temperatures and an inability to walk more than ten yards without needing a break made today somewhat dull. Perhaps I’ll do more next weekend…
In theory burglar alarms on cars and houses are a good idea. In practice I honestly think they should be outlawed. Surely it would be better to have a silent alarm which goes off at the police station to alert them that something’s going on, rather than having something making a god-awful racket in the street where no one is going to do anything and which everyone ignores.
Several people along our road have them, and when they go off at 4.30am (like one did today), they ring and scream for over an hour. No one comes along to see what the noise is about; the police certainly don’t. All that happens is that everyone suffers the noise until the battery finally goes flat and the noise stops. It was just as well that I was on a late start today – I got a bit of a lie-in to catch up on some missed sleep.
I had planned to be at the doctor’s for opening time for them to have a look at my gout-ridden foot. But over the weekend a combination of no beer, celery and ibuprofen had reduced the pain somewhat. The foot was still rather red this morning, but I could move it about better than I could yesterday. And from what I can gather, I didn’t think there’s an awful lot the doc can do other than prescribe ibuprofen and tell me to avoid the stout. And it had snowed a bit overnight and I didn’t want to drive in the snow.
So rather than waiting on their doorstep I thought I’d give them a ring to ask their opinion. I started phoning at the surgery’s opening time. After over two hours of chasing round their automated switchboard I gave up and drove down to the surgery. I hobbled in and explained that I’d been phoning for over two hours, and asked if I could see a doctor. The old bat on the desk clearly hadn’t listened to what I said; she told me there were no appointments available, and that I should have phoned earlier. I asked her if she’d ever tried phoning the surgery herself, and re-iterated that I’d been trying to get through for two hours. She merely stared at me, and repeated that there were no appointments. She suggested that I might like to try again tomorrow. “Try” being the operative phrase, as they could offer no guarantee of an appointment tomorrow either.
I got to work, and just out of curiosity I phoned the G.P. surgery just down the road from my house. The phone was answered on the second ring by a nice lady who told me that they are taking on patients, and suggested that I popped in tomorrow morning to talk to them. I might just do that: I’ve not been happy with my current surgery for some time. They weren’t overly helpful with my creaky knee, and they couldn’t have been less helpful with my (possibly) broken arse bone.
Normally when it snows I walk to work, but being on a late start (and finish) meant I’d be walking home at 8pm, which is a bit late for that. Also my foot’s still sore, and probably not up to walking the four miles to work. Mind you, my foot’s a lot better than it was, now that I’ve squeezed a pint of pus out of it (yuk!). I’m now wondering (hoping) that my recent problems wasn’t gout at all, but was actually an infection. That would suit me – an infection would just be one of those random occurrences, rather than something which is directly related to my home-brew (which gout would be). If only I had access to a G.P. to find out.
After a morning wasted in NeverWinter I extracted my car from the snow, and set off to work. I spent a little while in the car park taking some photos, and then it was on with the work where I was amazed to find that this time no one had phoned in trying for “snow-leave”.
This winds me
up a bit. I blame the schools entirely for this. The schools close down at
the mere mention of the word “snow”, and children have come to expect
it. We have brought up a generation here in the
shifts at work are dull, but this evening “Daddies Little Angel TM ” rang for a chat. She was on
I was in that
Boys Brigade for nearly ten years – I was one of the first four of its
members to get the Queens Badge. I’ve still got my Queen’s Badge. Although I
left the B.B. in 1984, I went back every year to help with the hiking-camping
contest, up until the last one in 1990. I was one of the guests at the
retirement of the Company’s founder in 1995. Ten people on my Facebook list
are from the halcyon days of the B.B. I even met ‘er
indoors TM because of the B.B. And once we’d left