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September 2010 (Wednesday) - Ashford Ink
With the
laundry basket seriously overflowing, it was time to do something about it.
It always amazes me how much laundry anyone can generate, and I was out in
the garden at 7.30am pegging out two washloads. It
was a beautiful morning; I was quite comfortable in my jim-jams. Quite a
contrast to a few days ago when at the same time in the morning I was
shivering: fully clothed with several layers of T-shirts and jumpers. Being
on a late start I had some time to kill, so I then spent much of the morning
alternating between washing, drying and NeverWinter. I knew when to stop
washing when the washing line snapped. A bit of a nuisance – I’ll fix it in
the morning.
Realising
how full of grass the car was after several weekends in fields over the
summer, I took it to be valeted. It came out gleaming, but in spite of this
whilst parking in Tescos I was harangued by the
itinerant car washers. I asked them if my sparkling car looked like it needed
to be cleaned, and they just stared at me and asked if I wanted it cleaned or
not.
Work was
the same as ever, and then home to “Ashford Ink”: - “My
Boy TM ” has wanted to
be a tattoo artist for some years, and over the last few weeks he’s bought
all the stuff and has been practising on artificial skin and various citrus
fruits. Bearing in mind how dull some of my tattoos have become I offered him
the chance to gain some experience by colouring them in. Today’s picture
really doesn’t do justice to what he’s done; he’s done an excellent job. I
shall get him to do the rest. It’s a shame how much tattoos hurt otherwise
I’d bee keeping him very busy.
And then
the phone rang - “Daddies Little Angel TM ” was
distraught. Her cat had been hit by a car. So I abandoned my plans for tea
and SpongeBob and set off to see what I could do. When I arrived it seemed
that the cat had (probably) bounced off the car, and the sensible
money (the vet) thought that in cases like this cats hide until they
are over the shock, at which point they come home when they are ready. We
searched the nearby streets for said moggy, but he wasn’t to be found. So I
came home – I might as well await developments here as anywhere. But I expect
I shall lay awake worrying…
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2 September 2010 (Thursday) - Boilers
I was woken by a text message at 6am this
morning. “Daddies Little Angel TM ”’ had spent the night sitting
by an open front door waiting for the cat to come back after his ordeal
yesterday. She must have dozed off at one point as she woke to find the cat
had returned, seemingly none the worse for his mishap. I’m glad the cat is
unharmed; I can now wring its neck for all the upset and heartache the thing
has caused.
Seeing a parking space outside my house, I moved my
car there (from miles away) and put the seats back into it. I now have
a car again, as opposed to a closed-back pick-up truck. Having said that, I’m
still not convinced I wouldn’t be better off with a pick-up truck.
The nice man arrived to service my boiler( Oo-er!) He opened it up, and he
didn’t need to say anything. It had clearly corroded, and it was leaking.
I’ve had the thing for twenty years, and realistically it’s had it. He’s
going to give me a quote for a new one, but in many ways the quote is
academic. It needs to be replaced, and whilst he’s at it, there’s a whatjamacallit in the central heating circuit that’s on
the way out too. From experience I know there are no other plumbers in
Ashford who will get off their backsides, let alone trouble themselves to
give me a competitive quote. My new boiler will feature in a blog entry in the near future.
And so to work. Which was
dull. It never used to be. I found an interesting article
on-line which made me realise it’s not just me
who finds my job dull. In the field of supermarkets
it would seem that traditionally there are two tiers of workers. Those doing
the dull repetitive shelf-filling stuff might not be ecstatic with their lot,
but they knew what their job was when they took it on. However
those on the bakery, butchery and fishmongery
counters took on a job requiring a modicum of skill and expertise. But over
the years all the clever stuff of their job, the food preparation, fish
cleaning, meat carving, etc is being done in central warehouses, and the
skilled staff are now little more than shelf fillers themselves.
Much the same has happened to me. Aged seventeen I
entered a profession which I thought was going to require skill and
expertise. And so I studied for four years to become
State Registered. And then I studied for a further two years to gain
Fellowship of my professional body (a qualification akin to an MSc degree).
A few years later I spent another five years to get a degree in maths, and
then in 2005 - 2006 a year to get a post graduate qualification in teaching.
I’ve built up quite an impressive amount of skills,
knowledge and expertise. And to what use is this (nearly) thirty years
of experience put? Precious little! Pretty much everything
I do in my job is by rote, according to a
pre-ordained written standard operating procedure. And in the rare occasions
when something happens outside the remit of a standard operating procedure,
another standard operating procedure is immediately prepared for next time.
No wonder I’m bored. But I shall keep at it for a little while longer. If
nothing else it will pay for the new boiler
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3 September 2010 (Friday) - Cards
For once I was not wide awake most of the night
struck with insomnia. And so it would be tonight
that work phoned at 4am asking my advice. One of the gizmos we use at work
was playing up, and it’s backup gizmo was being
similarly problematical. I suggested a fix, only to be told my fix had been
tried and had failed. So I admitted defeat, and
suggested that should the gizmo be needed overnight we might smile hopefully
at another hospital, and in the morning I would call an engineer.
Having been woken I was unable to get back to
sleep, and so I came into work early. Said gizmos were both still off-line.
Bearing in mind it would be an hour before the engineers would be available,
I thought I might try the fix I’d suggested some four hours previously. Now
I’m not for one minute suggesting my advice was ignored, but all I can say is
that within a few minutes of my trying my suggestion, both gizmos were up and
running. I get so frustrated sometimes….
And then home to load the car for the weekend, and
then round to Matt’s house for a game of cards. It must be over a year since
I last played a game of poker, and it’s no secret that in the intervening
time I’ve not got any better at the game. Starting with the same amount of
chips as everyone else, within an hour I was reduced to using beer bottle
tops to stay in the game. I need to practice.
Reading the news I see that professor Stephen Hawking has announced that God did not
create the universe. Apparently science can explain
creation without the need for God. Whilst I can hardly claim to be the most
devout believer in the world, I can’t help but feel that science is being
very brave in dismissing the Almighty so flippantly. *He*might
not have created the universe, but I’m not going to take the risk of
telling *Him*that. After all, the French mathematician Blaise
Pascal had words to say on the matter – look up Pascal’s wager on-line
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September 2010 (Saturday) - Sumner's Ponds
Up with
the lark, and once the Folkestone contingent had arrived we set off to deepestWest Sussex. For some time our
kite-flying friends have been organising weekend get-togethers for like
minded people. Regular readers may recall we visited Sumner’s Ponds for
a day about a year ago, and loved what we saw. I’ve been planning to go back
to join in for a camping weekend for some time. However (as regular
readers will attest) my life is a busy one, and this was the first
weekend when I could get along.
Normally
when we camp we take along a lot of stuff with us. It takes forever to set
up. This time we thought we’d try “minimalist” camping; only taking
the bare necessities. We arrived at Sumner’s Ponds shortly before 11am, and
soon set up our tents and our kitchen table. We met a load of old friends,
and one or two new ones, and we sat chatting for a while before six of us set
off on a walk to find some lunch.
Lunch
was lurking a couple of miles away at the Bax Castle – a very good pub with
three ales and a very reasonably priced menu. And ice creams with monkey
blood as well. We had a very enjoyable lunch before wandering back to the
camp site. On the way we found preparations for a wedding celebration. (More
of that later….) To get back to camp we had to go past another pub, so it
seemed only sensible to have a pint of Horsham’s Best and a pint of Doom Bar
in the Queens Head.
We got
back to camp at 4pm, and whilst the girls had a doze I got out the Air-Yo and played “Kite Sabres” with the children. As
is so often the way at kiting events there was precious little wind, but
still we made the most of what we had. I even managed to blag the use of one
of the lifter kites to fly my new windsock. And then, with the evening fast
moving on, we adjourned to the communal barbecue where everyone cooked their
own tea, and a gentleman from north of Ipswich taught me to speak fluent “Faaaaaaakin Laaaaandaaaaan”,
a dialect spoken by the denizens of our capital city (or so I am reliably
informed). The beer flowed, as did the port, and after a firework display
and an impromptu star-spotting session we sat chatting by the camp fire with
friends old and new until midnight. We were in no hurry to go to bed – the
wedding we’d found earlier in the day was still in full flow, and even at
12.30am was rather deafening from over a mile away….
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September 2010 (Sunday) - It Rained
I awoke
at 2am to the sound of Tom Jones bellowing out his classic chart-topper “Delilah”.
I was awake, I had a tiddle whilst I wondered how much longer the wedding
celebration down the road could possible go on for. I eventually dozed off (despite
the noise). Music was quieter, but still clearly audible at 3.30am, and
when I wandered down to the toilet block at 8am I could hear someone on a
loudspeaker wishing the best to the happy couple.
I washed
up, and as the rest of our party awoke, we prepared breakfast. And we had
bacon, sausage and egg sandwiches in the rain. The rain started about 8.30,
and lasted for an hour or so. Long enough to soak us and our kitchen table.
As the rain slackened off we packed away that which we could, and the sun
came out and (mostly) dried our tents, so we got them packed before
the next shower. The original plan for today was to get packed away as
quickly as possible, and then we could play kites as long as we wanted, and
then (having already packed away) make a quick getaway sometime in the
mid afternoon. However with no wind at all, and being soaked from the
intermittent heavy showers, we decided to go home early. We said our
goodbyes, which took some time and then set off home, where we looked on line
for some sort of lightweight awning.
I’d been
looking forward to camping at Sumner’s Ponds for ages; it was a shame that
the weather was against us. But I’d certainly go again. Reflecting on the
camping trips I’ve done this year, I find myself leaning away from the whole
concept of “Kite Festival”. The Kite Festivals are organised with “the
normal people” in mind, but at two of my year’s three “camping”
kite festivals you can’t actually fly a kite because the normal people are in
the way playing football and having picnics. And if you don’t try to fly a
kite in the middle of them, you feel you shouldn’t be at the kite festival.
This weekend was in many ways very similar to last week’s Bat-Camp – a
private camp of like minded friends.
However,
next time I’m not going to go quite so minimalist. Minimalist camping is all
very well provided it doesn’t rain. This year I’ve done five camping trips,
and four of them have been very wet at one stage or another. This
weekend’s camping was in many ways as an experiment, and one of the things we
found is that we need a communal shelter. Usually we have one, and not having
one this weekend, we really missed it. Pretty much everyone else on site had
a caravan or camper, and most of those had awnings. Whilst we had several
offers of the use of awnings, firstly in order to use said awning you need to
be camped nearby, and secondly I don’t like to impose.
Normally
we take a huge frame tent. We hadn’t this time. For future Sumner’s Ponds
weekends we will look to investing in a lightweight cooking shelter, or we
will bring “Brown and Smelly” with us...
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September 2010 (Monday) - To the Wicked City
I
finally got around to editing my Facebook friends list this morning. I’ve cut
out over twenty people with whom I would seem to have only the most tenuous
of connections (i.e. none at all). Whilst there’s no denying that I do
use Facebook a lot, I’m finding it annoying enough to be told that people I
do know have found lost cows in Farmville, and that they have beaten my score
in some lame game or other. I really don’t care if someone I’ve never met nor
communicated with in any way is creating a new mob in Mafia Wars.
I
suppose I’m very fortunate to be able to have friends to throw away. I was
amazed by today’s news – one of the founding members of a favourite band of
mine has been
found dead. Or that is, someone who might possibly be a member of that
band has been found dead. It would seem that there was a road traffic
accident in Devon last Friday, and
police think they’ve identified the deceased from You-Tube videos. They might
have identified him correctly, but they feel they need a formal
identification and so are trying to contact the purported chap’s next of kin.
It would seem the most likely candidate to actually be the deceased had an
ex-girlfriend who is apparently “abroad”, and the police have formed
the idea that the chap has a brother named David who lives somewhere in the
Yorkshire area (that’s narrowed it down!). It always amazes me that
there are people who have absolutely no one else in this world.
And then
work – today was a day out. I had a day in the wicked city. Periodically I
have cause to visit the University for various reasons. Today I was there to
meet two students whose work I am to inspect over the next couple of years.
The idea is that in order to achieve State Registration their work will be
assessed by someone at the University and by someone in their workplace. And
then I go along occasionally (as an impartial assessor) just to check
that all is above board and that there is no shenanigans. So often students
are both dull and dreary, or they so clearly feel the need to suck up to me
as an assessor. It came as a breath of fresh air to meet my two students who
are a lively pair. Once they told me that they were dreading being assigned
to “someone normal” we got on like a house on fire.
I came
home via Maplins (the electronics shop)
where I had hoped to get a new astronomical laser. However the chap in the
shop seemed to be something of a dumbo; he told me that none of his lasers
were quite strong enough to actually reach the stars, but he could get one in
for me, if I was prepared to come back in a few days time. I queried this,
and the chap assured me that he could obtain a laser powerful enough to reach
a star. I was under the impression that creating a laser beam with enough
power not to be dissipated by the dust in several light years of interstellar
space would require the industrial output of most of humanity, but what do I
know?
As it
was on the way to St Pancreas (!), I stopped off for a pint of lunch in the
Bree Louise. I’ve mentioned this pub before. With a dozen ales straight from
the barrel, it’s become one of my favourites. I’ve taken to calling in when
I’m on my way home from the university, and during the late afternoon, it’s a
really peaceful place to be. I sat with a pint of Gruntfuttock’s
“Awld Arsewobbler”
and a bag of crisps whilst quietly reading my book. There were about a dozen
other people in the place, all doing the same. It’s a shame I only visit the
university twice a year (on average).
And on
the train home I remembered a conversation with one of my loyal readers about
meeting up the next time I had cause to be in Central
London. Sorry Terry…
Next time….
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7 September
2010 (Tuesday) - More Skiving
I left
home at 8.30am, and reminded myself why (when I’m not on an 11.30am start)
I get to work so early. The traffic round Ashford is diabolical in the
morning. In my first job at the Royal East Sussex Hospital in Hastings I
was spoiled for choice for routes for getting to work; there are so many
roads you can use in Hastings.
Ashford is different; it’s an example of the total failure of local civic
planning. With five railway lines out of the town and a motorway going
through the middle, the town is effectively chopped up into segments. And it
is very difficult to get from any of these segments to another. Take for
example the motorway; there are about six kilometres of motorway dividing the
town. There are only three places where it is possible to cross the motorway,
and two of these are motorway junctions. Things are busy enough; it only
takes the slightest delay at any of these points for the town to grind to a
halt. I got from my house to being on the motorway in twenty-five minutes
this morning; a journey which would normally take five minutes.
Another
good day at work – another day I didn’t actually go in to the place.
Yesterday I was assessing students at the University; today I got to assess a
student in his workplace. I quite like this part of my job as I get to go and
be nosey where other people work. Being the inspector, people call me “sir”
(!) and give me coffee and biscuits, and I remind myself that much as I might
grumble about my job, it’s really not as black as I (sometimes) paint
it, and that everyone else is in the same boat as me (to coin a phrase).
The
assessment I had to conduct took a couple of hours. I found myself repeatedly
looking out of the window at the torrential rain; I don’t think I’ve ever
seen rain like I saw today. As I drove home although the rain had stopped, in
places the road was actually one big puddle – the entire width of the road
was under water in several places. The rain had been so heavy and so fat that
the drains had been unable to cope. But five miles away were clear blue skies
and bone-dry roads. Had the rain really been that localised?
I made
my way home for a spot of lunch and spent the afternoon making my official
report. I could have gone in to work for the last hour, but instead I was
cheeky and spent some time on a project of mine. It is my contention that the
formal advice that students in my line of work get for the completion of
their professional pre-registration portfolios is somewhat vague. So I have
taken it onto myself to try to offer some guidance
on the subject
. To keep myself on the State Register I have
to update and maintain my professional knowledge and skills, and so I’m
hoping that by producing and keeping this website I’m keeping myself in good
standing with those who might otherwise strike me off. Perhaps I should have
gone into work for the last hour today. I shall find out tomorrow.
And as the afternoon wore on, the “Rear Admiral” phoned. Did I fancy an
evening’s fishing? So we got our tackle out and spent a couple of hours in
the evening sunshine drowning maggots. This new lake certainly isn’t what it
was a couple of months ago…
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8 September 2010 (Wednesday) - New Boiler
The boiler man called last night to say he’d do us today (oo-er!). And so I lay awake most
of the night worrying about all sorts of “what-ifs”, and having
visions of it all going horribly wrong, and us being without water for six months.
The chap arrived promptly this morning and I left him installing our new
boiler and I set off to work perhaps somewhat earlier that I needed to. I
spent most of the day with visions of unforeseen problems and catastrophes in
my mind. I suppose I was worrying because I don’t know the first thing about
plumbing.
I came home to find the new boiler in place and it seems to be quite
happily doing whatever it is that boilers do. (Boil, presumably?) I
suspect it will take me a while until I am confident that it has settled in
and that it won’t go berserk. Admittedly there must be a limit as to how far
amuck a new boiler can run, but I do worry.
Paranoia is something I might manage to ignore. A more tangible concern
is paying for the thing. In retrospect I suppose I could have taken out
boiler insurance. I could also have taken out insurance on the drains, the
household electricals, the fish pond filter, the double glazing… There is
only so much insurance one can take out, and after all is said and done, if
the insurance policy isn’t (eventually) more expensive than a new
boiler anyway, then they wouldn’t be offering it.
I’m
hoping I’ve managed to scare up the cash to pay the boiler man. He hasn’t
actually asked for payment yet, but he will do soon. I did have money
earmarked for car services and road tax, TV licences and gas bills. Not any
more. I’ve also grovelled at the bank to see about overdrafts. But what
bothers me most is the economies I’m going to have to make over the next few
months. The Brick Lane curry festival,
the Eastbourne ice-cream extravaganza and at least one of the
fireworks parades are likely candidates for savings I probably should make.
And although it’s still three months away, I’m already thinking of dropping
out of a couple of planned Xmas parties. I suppose that one of the advantages
of excessive ale consumption as a hobby is that it can double up as a (relatively)
easy economy to make when economies are needed. And wasting whole days in
NeverWinter or at the fishing pond are cheap enough things to do instead.
But I can’t complain really. ‘er
indoors TM assures me that we have had the old
boiler serviced at least once. I can’t remember that. The thing was installed
nearly twenty years ago, and has done its job flawlessly during that time. I
*could* have run it to destruction; it might have had another year in it. It
might have exploded tomorrow. I just need to remember to get the new one
serviced regularly. And if I bung ten quid aside each month, when its time
comes the cost of replacement shouldn’t be anywhere near the shock I had this
time…
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9 September 2010 (Thursday) - Stuff
A rather
restless night. Last night as I got out of my car I nearly fell over – my leg
had gone to sleep. And it remained snoozing all night. This morning it was
functioning as a leg, but still not feeling right. And I’ve been hobbling
about on it all day. I wonder what’s up with it? If
there’s no improvement by the morning I might just go visit the doctor.
This
evening we drove down to Hastings – today was a day of birthdays
and seeing how we are double booked for the birthday party in a few days time
we thought we’d go down for the actual birthday (today). The plan was
to make a flying visit: in the event we stayed for nearly three hours….
(hic!)
And meanwhile in America I see a bunch of crackpots are going
out of their way to offend and upset a minority. Whilst it’s
no secret that the vast majority of Muslims the world over are peace loving
people, it’s also no secret that some of the world’s most wanted terrorists
subscribe to that religion as well. All that burning sacred texts will do is
to upset the innocent and give the crackpots more ammunition for their war of
hate.
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10 September 2010 (Friday) - Stuff
I had an idea that I would be going to see the doctor this morning as
my leg wasn’t getting any better yesterday. But when I got up this morning it
was better. Not perfect; I still have all my aches and pains, but the
sensation of pins and needles certainly seems to have gone. Which is probably
the best I can hope for.
Being on a late start gave me some time to muck about. So instead of
mucking about I did some work. Dull, I know. The trouble is that in order for
me to carry on in my job I have to stay on the State Register. In order for
me to stay on the State Register I have to keep up to date with scientific
and technical and educational developments, with a view to improving both
myself and the service I offer my “service users” (for want of a
better term). And document that I have done so. This is a legal
requirement. Unfortunately there is no legal requirement for my employer to
support me in this, so I just have to suck it up and do it myself.
Yesterday one of the girls at work was trying to sell software to help
with that documentation. She wanted twenty quid (from each person at work)
for some corporate-produced rubbish that was no better than Microsoft Word.
In half an hour with the use of the free blogger software and Google calendar
I came up with something I feel is
much better. Regular readers are welcome to peruse my ramblings on that site,
but I feel it only fair to give the warning that seeing how it’s (probably)
going to be formally inspected at some point, knob jokes will be few and far
between.
And so to
work via Tescos for celebratory doughnuts. Today
marks the twenty sixth anniversary of my starting at the place. Twenty six
years, eh? That’s a lifetime. Whilst at work I overheard an interesting
conversation. Two ladies with rather exaggerated ideas of their own social
standing were discussing a chap of their acquaintance. The chap was obviously
of the lower orders, as they described him as being “the sort of man who
drinks beer in a pub”. Obviously a kindred spirit…
Meanwhile
the bill for my new boiler has arrived. A few days ago I speculated on the
economies I might have to make to pay for it. I wonder how much I might get
for one of my kidneys on eBay? It’s a shame that I
only have one child currently at home that I could sell….
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I went to bed
far too late last night. Having set up another blog elsewhere, I’ve been playing
with the settings. This blog is set up pretty much how I want to it be. But
the other blog isn’t a blog as such, it’s (going to be) more of a
searchable archive. With that in mind, things like being able to search the
blog for text and for specific post labels are going to be the priority. And
I’ve gained a whole new respect for the Blogger software. I already follow
several Blogger blogs (see the list), all of which are very different
in appearance, and now I’ve created another. So far, so good… But having got
that blog just right, I then spent too long fiddling about on another work-related project. It’s amazing what
silly little bits of htm can stuff up alignment of
a web page, and even more amazing how long it can take to put such problems
right. And despite the late night I was (again) up and ironing before
7am.
To work. I’m
not usually that keen on working Saturday mornings, but since management made
the announcement that we don’t have to take time off in lieu of time worked
on Saturdays but we can be paid (at time and a half!) I’ve been
somewhat keener to work Saturday mornings. Normally I take in doughnuts at
the weekend, but I did that yesterday.
I did my bit,
and came home. After a quick sandwich and an episode or two of SpongeBob we
set off and met the Folkestone contingent in Chris’s garden. I say “garden”
– I can clearly remember a day in May 2002 when a gaggle of us gave that
garden what can only be described as a tidying it would never forget. Or so
we thought. Despite the fact that the shock of our combat gardening actually
killed several trees, the garden itself survived, and over the intervening
eight years did learn to forget. So today we went back to tidy that jungle. I
got out my electric hedge shears and didn’t take any nonsense from the
undergrowth. ‘er indoors TM and “Daddies
Little Angel TM ”collected blackberries, and the
“Rear Admiral” chucked the carnage over a fence in a manner very
reminiscent of how he did exactly the same some eight years ago. Pausing only
briefly to rip a tree out of the ground (with my bare hands!), we made
good progress, and in two hours we made the difference that you can see in
today’s blog photo. The garden fence is somewhat dishevelled in places, but
that will be a job for another day.
And then home.
Just as I was about to walk in the door the phone rang. It was work with a
minor catastrophe. Was I free to help out as things had gotten a tad busy in
the three hours since I’d come home. So ten minutes later I was back in
harness. I thought there might be an hour’s work. I stayed for three hours;
the place was that busy this afternoon. I eventually left sometime after
seven o’clock. I don’t mind helping out – I’d rather someone phoned to say
they needed help rather than finding out some time later that they’d been
struggling. And more overtime is always good. Boilers don’t pay for
themselves, you know.
I came home via
a pub to check all is in order for next week’s festivities (which it is)
and then having scoffed a rather decent bit of tea, I fell asleep whilst
watching SpongeBob.
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Amazing! I
went to bed at a sensible hour last night and was woken by ‘er indoors TM at 9.30am. I don’t think I’ve slept
so well for ages. ‘er indoors TM was off to an arky-ologee club dig.
I was toying with the idea of going along, but to be honest, I’m not a fan of
practical arky-ologee. Firstly the scrubbling
around in the dirt leaves me aching for days afterwards. And secondly I can’t
work up much enthusiasm for unearthing dull bits of broken pots. Were they
worth having, some dead Roman wouldn’t have thrown them away in the first
place.
I could have
gone to Challock Goose Fair today. The astro club were putting on a stall
there. But if I’d gone along and helped, then I’d have to talk knowledgably
to the normal people. I can blag my way at astro club meetings; noisily
selling the raffle makes me obviously “a character” in the eyes of the
general public there, and I can cover up my ignorance with blather and get
away with it. But out on show (like at the Goose Fair) is somewhat
different. And I can’t help that it wouldn’t look good on the club when it’s
painfully apparent I don’t know the first thing about telescopes. And being
at the Goose Fair would tempt me to spend money when I’m trying to be frugal
(i.e. downright mean!).
Another
possible activity for today was a day in a beer garden. I had told one of my
students I might call in at her engagement party. But the Fountain in Hythe
isn’t the most accessible of pubs when one is using public transport, and I
can’t afford an afternoon at the pub. I’ve done it before (occasionally!)
and I know what I’m like.
The original
plan for the day was actually for me to be in France; at Dieppe Kite Festival. I
went a couple of years ago and had a really good time. I had intended to go
back this year, but I got my dates mixed up and thought next weekend’s
birthday was this weekend. So having had so many other plans for the day,
what did I actually do…
I read on
Facebook that a fellow Blogger had possibly snapped an ankle bone
following a visit to an osteopath. How appropriate (!) So I made a quick
diversion up to the hospital to deliver the casualty. Rather than having her
hobble across the car park, I went in to ask if they had a spare wheel chair.
They did, so I took it, loudly announcing to all the punters in the casualty
waiting room that I was going to sell it on eBay. Not one cracked a smile.
Miserable bunch. Mind you, I suppose that each and every one of them probably
had better things to be doing with their time rather than sitting around a
hospital on a Sunday morning.
Having deposited Heather to the tender mercies of
the Accident and Emergency department I set for to the Bat-Farm to help with
ducks. Following a swift (leisurely) cup of coffee we rounded up the
ducks, caged them, and took them on a car ride across several fields to their
new pond. We had fun making the pond fox-proof by putting up an electric
fence, and even more fun using the electric fence to electrocute each other.
Then, having trimmed a landing stage where the ducks can get in and out of
the pond easily, we released the ducks into their new home. Well, I say “released”
– we opened the cage door and stood back to see their reaction to their new
environment. There was no reaction; they wouldn’t come out of the cage. We
waited for ten minutes before forcibly chivvying them out, and then we again
sat back to see what they would make of the pond. And again they didn’t make
much of it, merely milling round making quiet quacking noises. There was a
moment’s excitement when one of the ducks fell in the pond by mistake, but he
quickly scrabbled back out of the pond with a very indignant quack. We gave
the ducks another fifteen minutes before we got bored with them, and then we
attempted to chase them into the pond. I wonder if any of my loyal readers
have ever attempted to chase a duck. They are relatively easy things to
chase. But chasing them with a specific destination in mind takes some doing.
They were going absolutely everywhere except into the pond. So we gave up and
left the ducks to it. And as we got to the Land Rover to drive back to the
farm, we heard some splashing; they’d finally found the pond.
We were by now a tad peckish, and so we adjourned
to the Mundy Bois, one of the better local pubs. Clive had offered to treat
us all to a light salad, as the “Rear Admiral” wasn’t very hungry. The
first course of the light salad was pate. Very nice pate. For my main salad
course I was hoping for pork (!), but they’d had a rush on, and had run out
of pork. I could sympathise with that and so I settled for beef. It was a cracking
bit of dinner, and we all struggled to get it down. I would have stopped at
that point, but I was reliably informed that not eating the pudding course of
a light salad is rude, so I had a cheesecake. There were those greedy ones
amongst us who had a fruit crumble; the ingredients of which were shrouded in
mystery. The “Rear Admiral” said it was a very nice apricot crumble.
The waitress and chef said it didn’t have apricot in it. What did he actually
eat? Other than the fact that it was smothered in custard, we shall probably
never know.
Back to the farm where we thought we’d take a
stroll up to see how the ducks were doing; we felt we could do with walking
off the light salad. It transpired that the ducks were doing very well, so we
fed them (some more) and we then took a stroll round the other ponds,
before trying to find a shortcut home. “Trying” being the operative
phrase. I have this theory about short cuts. If they really were shorter,
then they wouldn’t be called a short cut. They would be called “The Way”.
And so home to find that my fellow Blogger had torn
some ligaments (ouch!), and that‘er
indoors TM had
had a wonderful time at the arky-ologee club dig. As well as unearthing
several manky bits of broken crockery, they’d found a subterranean wall, and
Mossop (the arky-ologee club’s resident Riddler)
had found a new friend. Which was nice for Mossop. I think the next time the
arky-ologee bunch do a dig I shall again see how the ducks are doing….
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To Tescos to get some lunch. When I was a lad you got your
food shopping from Tescos, and that was it. But
over the years they have increased their range of products. So much so that
you don’t need to go round a range of shops any more. They’ve done DVDs,
music and clothes for some time. Over the summer they were doing camping
gear. Today I saw they sold windscreen wipers and gloss paint. Is there
anything they don’t do?
And so to work
where I heard an interesting article on the radio. It has been said that
money can’t buy you happiness. Research has shown that this isn’t entirely true. Apparently
one achieves maximum happiness with an annual salary of about fifty thousand
quid. One is miserable with an income less than that, but (apparently) earning more
than fifty thousand quid doesn’t bring extra happiness. I’d be prepared to
try it out, if any potential employers would like to participate in the
experiment. After all, wasn’t it Groucho Marx who commented that in his life
he’d been very rich and very poor, and preferred being very rich.
On the subject
of earnings, Radio Four’s website has an interesting toy at the moment. You get to choose
various professions and guess their wages. Some are paid far more than
others. The others are (on the whole) worth far more than some. And
still the lifeboat men do it for free...
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I had a
wonderful day at work, in a room on my own. I had the radio on (via the
Internet). I love Radio Four. There was an interview with girl
who had been held captive by a madman for eight years. There was a feature on
the problem of increasing promiscuity in the older generation - they catch
manky knob-rot and other such diseases, but because of their age and
sensibilities they are loathe to get antibiotics for it.
We were warned
to check our compost bins for grass snakes. In many parts of the country
these unfortunate reptiles are in decline, but by setting up a compost bin we
can give them somewhere to live and breed.
There was the
tale of the accidental contamination of a batch of beer in 1900 which led to
the poisoning of thousands of people (many of whom croaked) in the Manchesterarea.
There was an
amazing program about the problems that authors face when they feel they want
to kill off their own fictional creations. Apparently Conan Doyle had
terrible problems getting his publisher to allow him to do for Sherlock
Holmes. It transpired that Christie wanted to put the kibosh on Poirot for
years before finally doing so. And more recently the author Colin Dexter got
rather a lot of abuse for killing off his character of Inspector Morse.
And following
the media furore about a schoolchild being expected
to walk twenty yards to a bus stop, there was an article about how children
get to school. In 1971 80% of seven to nine year olds got themselves to
school. By 1990 that figure was down to 9%. The fruits of my loin both walked
to school. As did I. Kids of today…!
Mind you, the
radio wasn’t all good. There was some frankly dire drivel about “Ma Vlast” (some classical
music dirge) which was composed by someone going by the moniker of
Bedrich Smetana. Apparently this racket has become an integral part of Czech
culture. All I can say is that I hope it don’t catch on over here (!) And
having that dull article being followed by “The Archers” was just
adding insult to injury.
And then the news
made me think. For some time I’ve been a roving reporter for a couple of pub
reviewing websites – “Beer in the Evening” and “Pubs Galore”. It’s
something I’ve enjoyed doing and in my (nearly) two hundred
reviews I’ve attempted to be honest. If a pub is good, I’ll say so. Similarly
if a pub is awful, I’ll say so. Over the years I’ve read other peoples
reviews which are clearly not so impartial. Many are singing the praises of a
pub which can only be described as “mediocre” at best. It
doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to spot a landlord who is bigging up his own
pub. There are also reviews which are utterly slating pubs which frankly
don’t deserve the criticism. When you also consider the rate at which pubs
change hands these days, reviews of pubs aren’t always the most reliable
things you’ll find on line anyway.
Pubs aren’t
the only things reviewed on the Internet. Hotels and restaurants also get
reviews: impartial and biased. One of the leading hotel review websites is
facing legal action following allegations of it’s running defamatory reviews. I’ve been
expecting this for some time. I wonder how much longer “Beer in the
Evening” and “Pubs Galore” have got left?
And then on
with the tattooing. It’s only two weeks since “My Boy TM ” started his new hobby. He’s the first
to admit he’s still got a lot to learn, but I’m pleased with his efforts so
far. Even if doing me is like “tattooing a womble” (!) I quite
like what he’s done to my arm, and the angel he did on “Daddies Little Angel TM ” is quite impressive…
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I read something in the news this morning which made me sit up
and take notice. A woman in Devon died two weeks ago. That’s not
remarkable in itself; I suspect it happens all the time. What was unusual (to
me) was the fact that her funeral is being organised by the local council
because it transpires that she was utterly alone in this world. No friends or
family whatsoever. And as I read on through the article I got rather angry.
This woman was a wartime hero. Now leaving aside the indifference of an
ungrateful nation, what annoyed me is the fact that the Royal British Legion
are planning a huge turnout at the funeral because she was a wartime hero. I
can’t help but feel that maybe they should have befriended her while she was
alive.
Perhaps this
has bothered me more than it should: being a naturally gregarious kind of guy
I worry about the lonely. I can remember feeling very awkward at a funeral
some years ago. The chap who had been the secretary of the snake club had
died. When several hundred of us turned up for his funeral we had to wait for
a funeral already in progress to finish. There were only four people at that
funeral. I’ll never forget their faces as they watched us come into the
chapel. What had been deserted for their beloved’s funeral was standing room
only for ours.
When my mother
in law used to run a bed and breakfast, she would occasionally have guests
drop dead. I remember her telling me that a couple of times she attended
funerals of croaked customers. At those funerals she would be accompanied by
one or two other residents of her B&B, but that would be all. These
people would be way past retirement age, but still utterly alone.
As a child
there was the tale of a beloved grandmother going missing from the Sussexvillage of Winchelsea.
When the local river was dragged they didn’t find her body, but they found
the bodies of two men who still remain unidentified.
All the lonely
people….
And so to
NeverWinter where I generated quite a few more ungrieved dead, and then to
work where I generated quite a lot more stuff for my other blog. This other blog’s not
doing bad for all that it’s less than two weeks old. And then home.
Eventually.
I forgot that yesterday (with
help from the Rear Admiral) I took the top box off of my car, and so this
evening I spent a panicked few minutes looking for a silver top box in a car
par devoid of any top boxes whatsoever.
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I was just
settling down for a bit of a snooze last night when “My Boy TM ” started complaining about the smell
in the garden. On lifting the manhole cover we found that the drains had
backed up and so we had a literal case of “getting our own back”. I phoned
the water people who told me that they’d send for a nice man with some rods,
and that he’d be with me soon. They phoned back at 10.30pm and apologized for
phoning so late. Why apologize – surely they realised I’d be sitting up
waiting? They told me that the nice man with the rods was in Deal and would
be with me as soon as possible. He arrived half an hour later which was
rather impressive, as anyone who knows the roads round south Kent would agree.
The nice man
lifted up the manhole cover, saw some dreadnoughts and concurred with my
diagnosis that there was a blockage. So the nice man got some rods and had a
good old heave and strain, but to no avail. Next door must have heard the
commotion and came out to assure us that his drains were fine. He lifted his
manhole cover to prove it, and then changed his tune somewhat. On seeing his
drains were also backed up he did a complete about-face and announced that
his drains haven’t been right for the last three weeks.
By now the
nice man’s sidekick (Baz) had arrived. Without wishing to
appear in any way racist, I couldn’t imagine anyone less likely to be called
Baz. Perhaps there are lots of people of Ghurkha extraction called “Baz”; it’s just
that I’ve never met them. Baz was left rodding whilst the nice man went off
on a mission to wake up all our other neighbours. He then noisily set about a
manhole cover with a hammer and chisel, which went down well with all
concerned seeing as it was now past 11pm. Having hammered to his satisfaction
he then announced he had the wrong manhole cover. He went back to our back
garden, collected Baz, and the two of them went around banging on people’s
front doors again. Half an hour later they came back and announced that they
had failed, but that it would be a P1 job for Paul in the morning. Before
they went they made the observation that the water level in the drain had
subsided enough for us to use the toilet a couple of times. Thank the lord
for small mercies. So I went to bed at 1am with one weight off my mind,
wondering how Paul would fare in the morning.
Needless to
say I didn’t sleep well; finally dropping off a few minutes before “My Boy TM”quietly got up for
work. I tried to get back off to sleep, but failed. I got up and checked the
drains – still blocked. The nice man who came last night said that Paul would
be here at 8.30am. He wasn’t here by 9.30am, so I phoned the water people to
confirm that they were still sending Paul. They said he was on the way. I
asked if they could perhaps chivvy Paul along a little. They said they’d try,
and they assured me all would be done in time for me to leave for work. Paul
rolled up at 9.45am, and seemed somewhat fed up. I got the distinct
impression that they sent him out to clear up the messes made by everyone
else. He got out his map of the drains which showed two manhole covers in
next door’s garden. A shame that his map didn’t coincide with reality –
there’s only one. So he went next door to have a look, and then announced the
manhole he wanted was fifty yards away. And he went on to say that it would
be a two man job and he’d need to send for backup. I left him to it, and
after a few minutes I realised that things were quiet. Too quiet. He’d gone.
He came back at 10.40am and said that he’d sent for his sidekick. However his
sidekick wasn’t as speedy as Baz, and wouldn’t be here for an hour or so. In
the meantime he planned to do another job inCanterbury
Road. I again explained I had to go to work, and (not knowing
what else to do) left him a spare key to sort himself out.
One of the
fruits of my loin phoned me a few hours later to ask if the man bad been and
gone yet. Totally leaving aside the question of which man (said fruit had
the choice of the nice man with the rods, Baz, Paul or the unnamed sidekick) I said I
didn’t know, and said the way to find out was to look inside the manhole
cover. I heard a clattering through the phone, an exclamation about the smell
of it all, and then an admonishment that I had been negligent in my parental
duties in that I had never taught my offspring what a blocked drain looked
like. I asked for a description of what could be seen under the manhole
cover, and on hearing the description lacked any mention of floating turds I
have made the assumption that the thing is now fixed. Thank heavens for small
mercies.
In between all
of this I played around with the blog settings; specifically the “Dates for the
Diary” settings. Rather than having a written list which I would update as
and when I remembered I’ve replaced it with a Google Calendar. If any of my
loyal readers don’t like the look of the thing and prefer it how it was,
clicking the “Agenda” tab at the top right gives that view. Clicking on
any event gives as many details about the event as I’ve got, and it also
gives you the option to add it to your own Google Calendar. If you’ve not got
a Google Calendar of your own, I’d recommend getting one. They are free, and
once you’ve got an event on there, you can customise the thing to email you
reminders so that you don’t forget it. Or if you want, you can send me an
email address and I’ll have the software remind you. Since I had a few
minutes whilst I was waiting for Paul, I’ve added as many bonfire parades as
I can, and also put in some beer festivals and kite festivals for next year.
Have a look, loyal reader, and let me know what dates and events I've missed
off...
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I overheard a
conversation today in which a particularly thick looking young lady was asking
what all the fuss was in the news. Who was this “pope bloke”? What
does he do? When informed that the Holy Father is the leader of the worldwide
Catholic Church, the dumbo thought for a few minutes before dismissing
Catholicism out of hand. She didn’t agree with it because she was a Christian
(!)
I went back to
listening to the radio; there were one of two thickos there as well:
People who
find they have fertility problems can get treatment from the National Health
Service, or from licensed clinics. Sperm donors at such centres are health
screened, and their samples are deep frozen for six months after donation to
ensure that the donors don’t go down with various transmissible viruses in
the meantime. On the other hand you can buy a random bottle of jizz off of the Internet and hope for the
best.
Equally ridiculous was a war story. During the Suez crisis a squadron of bombers took
off to bomb somewhere or other. (Suez, I would imagine). Or that is
most of the squadron took off. One of them didn’t because the pilot, Flying
Officer Derek Kenyon made a mistake and rather than pressing the “take
off” button, he pressed the “retract undercarriage” button. Air
crew staff found Derek crying and cheerfully asked him if he’d pressed the
wrong button. After all, it’s not supposed to be possible to retract the
undercarriage until the plane is in the air. Having twatted
the bomber beyond economical repair, Derek was court martial-ed and went to
prison, suspected of cowardice in the face of the enemy.
Sometimes I despair about the world
we live in.
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I was just
thinking about going to kip last night when the phone rang. ‘er indoors TM had been out at a
mucky undercrackers party and on the way home her trusty vehicle gave up the
ghost. Eventually (at 1am!) she was towed home, with the alternator belt
missing. Which was a nuisance. To be honest the thing hasn’t sounded right
for a while. Regular readers will realise that up until a week ago I had cash
in reserve for such disasters. Oh well. Having a new alternator belt will
just have to be her Xmas pressie this year. I just hope she didn’t spend too
much last night on mucky undercrackers.
In the week (with help from
the Rear Admiral) I took the top box off of my car. It would have been
easier all round to have left it on, I suppose. I’ve heard that taking the
box off improves fuel consumption. But a colleague regularly drives from her
house fifty yards down the road to Dublin. She’s
done exactly the same journey with and without her top box, and she says it
takes exactly the same amount of fuel. But with the box off, I can now get
under the barrier at the council tip. Much as the place can be “R-tard central” at times, my
dustbin of garden waste was full. So full that I had to empty it before I
could generate any more garden waste at all. The tip opened at 8am, so I was
there for opening time, only to find that I was about thirtieth in line to
get in to the place. And who should I meet at the tip but a fellow Blogger. I had one
bin of garden waste to shift: he had a car full. I spent five minutes helping
him shift his rubbish. Well, his car was blocking me in. It was either help
him or beep my hooter at him. Either option suited me…
I then went to work for a
dull morning. Which was probably for the best. Saturday mornings are either
non-stop dead busy, or are just plain dull. I know which I prefer. Home via
the garage to collect ‘er indoors TM who had arranged to have the
fragments of her car delivered there for fixing. Once home with an empty
compost bin I mowed the lawn. It was a tad long – I’d not mowed it for at
least a month. Following a quick jaunt to the fishing tackle shop for some
bait I put the telly on and fell asleep whilst watching “Tron”. A waste of
the afternoon, really.
And then the clans gathered
and we set off to the Queen’s Head in Kingsnorth where we’d planned a
surprise 40th birthday party.
All surprise parties are somewhat dependent of the guest of honour actually
turning up, and during the week things had looked somewhat dodgy on that
score. But eventually he was tricked into going to the pub, and a good time
was had by all. There’s no denying that as the evening wore on things did get
decidedly vague. Did we really play “musical chairs” to Sparks…?
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19 September 2010 (Sunday) - A Very Busy Day...
Last week
the Rear Admiral suggested an early morning fishing session at some point. It
seemed sensible to me that he stayed over after Martin’s birthday party and
we’d go fishing the next morning. When the alarm went at 5.30am I did feel a
bit rough, and it was somewhat discouraging to see it was still dark outside,
but going back to bed would be defeatist. By the time I’d got up and had a
bit of brekky, I was warming to the idea. I had a minor shock whilst getting
the fishing gear out of the shed – there was quite an epic splashing coming
from the garden pond. But because it was still dark, I had no idea what was
going on. By the time I’d found a torch and gone to investigate, whatever the
commotion was had died down, and the fish all seemed rather peaceful, if not
asleep. I can’t help but wonder what all the fuss was about.
I went into
the house to find our house guest had woken and we loaded the car and set off
to the pond. We were fishing by 6.45am, and as the morning wore on and the
sun came out so the day got colder. And colder. With no fish biting and
temperatures falling we very soon lost enthusiasm for the idea,
and were in the Gorge having breakfast by nine o’clock.
Home, and
after a spate of staring at Man vs Food and Fairly Odd Parents on the telly
we set off to Lidl. I love Lidl – pikey central, but with one or two bargains
on the groceries to be had. And then we went for a walk. First of all I
took ‘er indoors TM to see the fishing pond.
I’m not sure how she managed it, but she’d not seen the pond so far. Whilst
walking across the field I saw something that made my heart sink. Not one but
two herons were flying low across the water. I shouted at the things and scared
them away temporarily, but they continued circling the pond. I’ve been saying
to anyone who will listen that the fishing there isn’t what it once was, and
has noticeably tailed off over the last few months. This could well be the
reason – herons can empty a pond of small fish. And then start killing the
big ones. I’ve since spoken with pond management and we’re looking into
plastic herons.
Back to the
car, and we drove on to Orlestone woods for a walk.
A really pleasant place to be, and on a dead log we saw six lizards. Six! I
counted them. The lizards let us get to within a yard of them before the
larger ones ran away. The little ones stayed put so we could photograph them,
and as it became clear we weren’t going to hurt them, the bigger ones came
back. Once home and having put the photo on the computer and zoomed in, we
saw that where I thought there were six lizards there were actually nine. I
didn’t see three of the smaller ones!! And then home, listening to strange
noises emerging from the car. I’m fairly sure I’ve detected a new strange
sound which happens when accelerating. Having said that’ it’s a rather quiet
sound, and normally I have a CD or the radio on, so it’s possibly a “standard
car noise”. Let’s hope so. What with boilers and other cars going west, I
really can’t afford any more expense.
Once home I
tidied the garden. I mowed the lawn yesterday and left the grass cuttings.
Today I raked them up – they did make the place look untidy. And then “My
Boy TM ”appeared
and started whinging. He’d been playing silly beggars with his mates and had
managed to fall from a height onto his shoulder. So I chucked him in the car
and drove him up to the hospital for a quick once-over. We arrived to find
the place heaving with he Great Unwashed, but we were in and out in less than
an hour. He’s just sprained and bruised himself, and the doctor’s given him a
list of painkillers he should take for a few days. He took a few and went to
bed. I can’t criticize - I slept in front of the telly for most of the
remainder of the day. Today had turned out to be surprisingly busy…
Meanwhile it’s National Talk Like A Pirate Day. You
landlubbers should be a-talking like them scurvy sea dogs. Arr! And they be a-having fun events up & down the country,
they be, and raising loads of doubloons for charidee……
And that’s
where I take off the pirate hat and go home.
What
constitutes a charity? There’s several definitions,
but I suppose we all know what it’s about. A “Charitable Institution”
is one that does various good deeds and works. But there’s more to it than
that. It’s not enough just to generally be a do-gooder. The charity needs
money too – donated by the public. And that’s where “International Talk
Like a Pirate Day” falls over. In the UK they’ve nominated the
Marie Curie nurses as the charity. Now I’m in no way knocking the Marie Curie
Cancer Care people, but…. Yes, I am knocking them. What they do, financed by
public donation, is what the district nurses used to do years ago, financed
by the National Health Service. Until one government or another realised that
it was daft spending government tax money on something that charity will
provide.
It’s the
same with schools. How many “bleeding heart” letters home do parents
get about fundraising events? To raise funds for essentials such as books? If
you go to the seaside you get beggars pleading with you to finance the
lifeboats. If you’re unwell, there are volunteers giving up their time to
help run and finance hospitals.
If anyone
is feeling public spirited, there are thousands of good causes that need
cash. The Cat’s Protection League and the Little Dog Rescue are quite hard
up. Guide Dogs receive no public income at all. There’s the John Aspinal foundation, Sight Savers, Action Aid, Oxfam….. In
order to be named a “charity”, the cause should be entirely self financing.
We do ourselves no favours by subsidising that which we are already paying
for in our various taxes. Don’t go to the school’s barn dance or the
hospital’s quiz night. You’ve already paid for those in your income tax and
community charges. By continuing to give, you merely encourage the local and
national governments (of whatever political parties) to carry on
wasting money on the unnecessary rubbish that we read about it the papers.
And instead
you might give your money where it’s needed. I know of several groups that
could do with a bung……
Do any of
my loyal readers feel that rant sounded familiar? It is based on what I
blogged three years ago. In the intervening time I’ve seen nothing to make me
change my opinion…
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20 September 2010 (Monday) - Up North...
I must
admit to a wry smile as I drove to work today. Just as I turned on the
windscreen wipers so that I could see through the rain, the weather
forecaster apologised that it would be dry in the south again, and that it
might be a little while before we again see any rain. It must be wonderful to
be a professional weather forecaster; they can just spout any old rubbish
they so desire. Nobody ever expects their predictions to bear even the
remotest resemblance to reality. I would love that in my line of work. I
could greet the deceased patient’s grieving relatives with “Oh, it wasn’t
wind, it was cancer. Oh silly me!” and we could all have a good laugh
about my incompetence.
Did you
know that civil service meteorologists get paid more than NHS biomedical
scientists?
Meanwhile
north of the border, our kilted cousins are exploiting a loophole in the lawwhich will enable them
to continue making their distinctive traditional attire from its original
source. Or will enable them to carry on making frankly stupid tourist trap
gimmicks from an endangered species; depending on your viewpoint. Apparently
whilst it’s illegal for most people to hunt seals, it’s quite permissible for
native Eskimos to clout seals over the heads. And then flog the carcasses to
the sporran industry. I can’t help but wonder how many people actually do
wear the kilt in this day and age.
Tartan knickers are still de
rigueur though, or so Prince Philip would have us believe…
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September 2010 (Tuesday) - Skint
This
morning I read both the electricity and the gas meters. It’s usually about
this time every year that I read the meters and then phone up the power
company to ask for a refund of a few hundred pounds because their estimated
readings are a little ambitious. But this year I wasn’t so sure. From my
rough and ready calculations, I got confused. The on-line bill seemed to have
far more tariffs than I was actually paying. So I phoned the nice lady at the
power company to see if she would give be a refund. I read out the numbers
from the meters. She seemed confused, and put me on hold. Then she announced
that my electrical day rate reading is exactly the same as it was a year ago.
She said she’d phone me back, and hung up. She phoned back – I’m getting
fifty quid back off of the gas bill, and I’ve got to arrange with them to
have a new leccie meter fitted. It wasn’t that long
ago that they replaced the leccie meter because it
was broken. I suppose fifty quid from the gas bill is better than a kick up
the bum, but there’s no denying that I was hoping for a better result than
that. And then to add insult to injury I received an email telling me that my
gas meter reading had failed validation, and would I ring them back urgently?
I’ll do that in the morning.
And then I
checked my other mail. Four months after selling me a new car, Renault were
trying to sell me another. And also were keen for me to take out anther loan
as well. I suppose that is nice to know. I had a red reminder from the
electoral register. That’s cheeky of them – I sent in their first letter and
I completed the form on-line too. Nice to know their system’s not working.
A letter
from the bank. I’d spoken with them a couple of weeks ago about increasing my
overdraft limit. They agreed and were very clear that the only costs I would
incur would be interest all the time I was overdrawn. Their letter said
they’d charged me twenty five quid for setting up the overdraft. Cheeky
beggars. So I phoned them up and spoke with someone who was helpful but
didn’t actually speak English very well. He put me through to someone in
Edinburgh who said she’d replay the tape recording of the conversation and
would phone me back. She phoned back to say that they would waive the
overdraft set up fee (this time) as a gesture of goodwill. That was
kind of them. She also politely pointed out that I was actually rather more
overdrawn than I thought I was going to be, and politely asked if I had plans
to deal with this situation.
My mobile
phone bill is five pence less this month than it was last time. Thank heavens
for small mercies – every little helps…
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22
September 2010 (Wednesday) - Meters, Blogs...
Being on a
late start I had some time to waste. So I got on to the power company.
Yesterday I mentioned that they’d emailed me to say that my gas meter reading
had failed validation. They sent me more emails overnight to that effect, so
I thought I’d better get back to them. I phoned at 8am and asked what was
going on. “Failed validation” means that the reading I gave them was
less than the previous meter reading. The reason for that was rather obvious.
The last few meter readings have all been estimates, and they have been
over-estimating for years. As evidenced by the annual refunds I’ve been
getting. They grudgingly conceded defeat. Which was just as well, as they
admitted they’d already refunded this year’s overpayment. This refund hasn’t
shown up on my bank account yet. I’ll keep checking.
I also
needed to speak to them to arrange to get a new leccie
meter fitted. Yesterday they said that any day next week would be fine for
them to fit the thing. Today they say they can’t do it with less than two
weeks notice, and the 6th October is the earliest they can
manage. I told them that I’ll come up with a date and that whenever it
is, they need to be in and finished by 11am. They said they could offer a
morning or afternoon appointment. I wasn’t going to argue; if their operative
is not here by 11am I shall bill them for my wasted time (and see what
happens).
Yesterday
was my five hundredth blog entry here on Blogger, and my one thousand five
hundredth since I first started blogging back on Yahoo 360 in September 2006.
Averaging forty hits every day, my daily musings are read by people all over
the world. This morning by 10.30am people from such diverse places
as Halifax, Letchworth, Cheshunt, Guildford, Derby and Stony
Plain had already tuned in. One thousand five hundred entries. That’s quite a
bit – the archive takes up 39Mb of disk space. Back when I started I had no
idea that I would actually turn out to be an avid diarist. I wonder how much
longer the thing will run for…?
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23
September 2010 (Thursday) - Quality Music
Up with the
lark and on with the ironing. And then to Asda to buy some lunch. Whilst I
was at it I treated myself to a new ironing board cover. There’s no denying
that having one of the highlights of your day being the acquisition of a new
ironing board cover is a tad sad.
It has to
be said that sometimes I look back on my life and wonder if things might have
turned out differently.
And so to
work where I was faced with a challenge. It’s been suggested that between us
we devise a CD or two of our favourite music. Each person suggests four of
their favourite tracks aand a compilation will be
made. Also (for Xmas) each person has to suggest a favourite Xmas track and a
second choice. The Xmas one is easy. Roy Wood and the Wombles – “I Wish It
Could Be A Wombling Merry Christmas Every Day” as
first choice, and in second place is Kate Bush with “December Will Be
Magic”. But a favourite four non-Xmas tracks: that’s not so easy.
First off
something by Sparks. But what. And then something by E.L.O. But what?
And something from my mis-spent youth. That would be the Sex Pistols. But
they were rubbish. And then I realised that my favourite Sparks and
E.L.O. tracks aren’t actually by them, but are cover versions. And that
opened up whole new vistas to my indecision. Having spent all day pondering
this one, I’ve come up with a shortlist (in no particular order):
There’s
ten. I’ll concede that Sparks do appear several times. But which
ones will make the final cut. I wonder. In the meantime I’d better fit my new
ironing board cover…
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24
September 2010 (Friday) - Astro Club
One of the
benefits of working in a hospital is that when the worst happens, I am (usually)
on hand to visit people when they are unwell. Or to gloat at their
misfortunes. It has to be said that hospital work can offer unparalleled
opportunities for pointing and laughing. And so I popped up to visit Glenn,
who’d had an emergency appendectomy overnight. He seemed in good spirits: if
it were me in the hospital bed I would have been milking it for all it was
worth…
And then on
to the astro club. Regular readers may recall a blog entry from last Xmas
when I drove down to Brighton to collect presentation boards for
the astro club. We got to use the things this evening. I’m impressed with
them, but to use them to best effect we need some way of storing the club’s
posters which doesn’t involve rolling them up. If any of my loyal readers
have a spare jigsaw puzzle case, do let me know.
Astro club
went very well – we started off with a round-up of current astronomical news,
then young Joshua gave an excellent talk on spacecraft. He illustrated his
talk with models he’d made. And then his father gave a talk on the difficulty
of identifying life on an unknown planet. I had great fun hawking the raffle
(as always), and the evening clouds cleared enough for us to get the
telescopes out.
I missed
the astro club last month. A shame – it was good to get along tonight. The club
was really good, and it’s something I’m proud to be a part of. Can’t wait
till next time…
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25
September 2010 (Saturday) - The Family Reunion
To
Hampshire for the in-laws family reunion. Every year the family would get together
for great-grandma’s birthday, and since she’s been gone the tradition has
continued. This year the venue was in Ringwood; mutually inconvenient for
everyone, but then, probably in the best place it could be, bearing in mind
the distances people have to travel. And there’s a brewery in Ringwood with
which I am not entirely unfamiliar…
Our journey
down was rather uneventful, and we were among the first to arrive at the
hotel. We settled down in the bar with a pint and a half of Ringwood’s Best
and my mobile rang. My brother in law and his entourage were stuck in
traffic. I gloated, and told them I’d keep people talking until they arrived.
And soon people were arriving. So I got off my bum (easier said than done)
and did the “meeting and greeting thing”.
I’m not
sure how they have managed it, but the in-laws have somehow found a whole new
tribe the existence of which everyone has been hitherto unaware. Once upon a
time I had passed “The Test” in which I would have two family members
pointed out to me at random. I would know their familial relationship to each
other, and the common ancestor of said family members (or their partners).
Now however there is an entire new load of collaterals, and no one (least
of all themselves) seems to quite know exactly where they fit into the
great scheme of things. Mind you, they seem pleasant enough, so I’m not
complaining. I expect they will appear on my Facebook list over the next few
weeks: that’s how I get to know most of the in-laws these days.
After a
couple of pints of Ringwood’s Best all the stragglers had arrived and we went
through to the meal. Usually this is the part I dread – being sat next to “normal
people” and having to be on my best behaviour. But this time fate had
smiled on me – I was sat next to a second cousin in law who I’ve known for
years, and we jointly grumbled about how unfair it was that her sister got to
sit on the kiddies table. And we tried (and failed) to throw paper
aeroplanes at the kiddies table.
Dinner was
served. To be fair, the food wasn’t as good as that which I’ve had in a lot
of pubs over the year, but it was hot and tasty, which was a distinct
improvement on last year’s venue. (The many and varied failings of
the Victoria Hotel in Hastings have been ranted
about enough in the past). And once diner was scoffed a laptop PC was
brought around. It was hooked up to Skype and we all waved at Canadian
cousins. And then as most of the family settled down to after dinner coffee
and polite conversation, I settled down to a fifth pint of Ringwood’s Best
and a game of “Smack Smack Bum”; an obscure
party game in which I get as many children as possible to run round as posh
an establishment as possible, whilst screaming as loudly as they possibly
can. A tough job, but if I didn’t do I, who else would?
I slept most
of the way home, and then once home I immediately set off to work. There was
a bit of a backlog, and the opportunity for overtime had arisen. And regular
readers will realise I’m a tad short of readies at the moment…
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26
September 2010 (Sunday) - Sound Mirrors
Brian had
phoned in the week to ask if I’d help him with lifting some furniture about;
he had a nice man coming with a van to collect some bits he no longer needed.
So after a quick bit of brekkie I wandered round the corner to his house. As
always we started with a cuppa, and then we got some wardrobes down the
stairs. There was a dodgy couple of seconds when I was trapped under a
wardrobe, and another dodgy five minutes when it looked like we might be
resorting to our old friend “Mr. Hammer” to encourage a wardrobe to go
round the banister, but eventually all was well. And so we had another cuppa
before taking a cupboard off of the wall. It didn’t want to come, but it soon
changed its mind after a gentle bit of persuasion from our old friend “Mr.
Hammer”. With the cupboard down we put the tumble drier where the
cupboard had been. Moving tumble driers is thirsty work, and so we stopped
for a cuppa.
And then
the nice man arrived (with his van) to collect the furniture. He took
one look at all of it, and then went mental. His ex-wife had asked him to
collect the stuff, and had told him there were only two flat-packed
wardrobes. There were actually three wardrobes, two bedside tables and two chests
of drawers. None of it was flat packed. Whilst he phoned his ex-wife and had
a major domestic, we helped his son load up the van. I did laugh when we
couldn’t get it all in. As they drove off the nice man’s son said they’d be
back soon to collect the rest of it. And so we drank another cuppa as we
waved goodbye to the van. We then spent half an hour moving furniture into
the front room into the space vacated by all the wardrobes and stuff, and
soon enough the van was back. Minus the nice man. His son was driving and
he’d found a friend to help him. I didn’t like to ask what had happened to
his dad in the meantime. By now there were no parking spaces outside for the
van, so they just pulled up in the middle of the road and blocked the traffic
in all directions whilst we wrestled the last of the furniture into place.
With the furniture all gone my work was complete, and so after a final cuppa
I left Brian hoovering up the mess we’d made and I came home for some lunch.
‘er
indoors TM had been mucking
about on the Internet and had found that there was a guided tour around the
Dungeness sound mirrors this afternoon. As we had nothing else planned we
thought we’d give it a go. Dungeness sound mirrors were built some eighty
years ago as an early warning system designed to hear the approach of enemy
aircraft. Within ten years of the instigation of the project, the invention
of radar made the entire concept of sound mirrors redundant. But the
afternoon was an interesting look round “what might have been”.
The weather
was awful, but it was either the sound mirrors or sitting around at home. The
sound mirrors are on an inaccessible island on private land which is fenced
off by barbed wire. The locked gates and swing-bridge to the island are only
opened to the public three times a year, so it would have been a shame not to
have gone along. Something which rather sold me on the idea was that bearing
in mind how awful the weather was, not many people would want to brave the
elements. We thought that there might be maybe half a dozen other brave souls
who wouldn’t mind the rain and would also come along on this walk. The chap
leading the walk did a head count as we crossed the bridge onto the island
where the sound mirrors were. There were one hundred and ninety one of us. Although
we got soaked it was a good day out. At every point along the way we stopped
and listened to experts telling us what we were looking at. My only regret (apart
from the awful weather) was that we didn’t have enough time to let
friends and family know about it, but we only had a couple of hours notice of
the event ourselves. Next time will be different….
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27
September 2010 (Monday) - Little Bit of Politics
A sobering
thought: not only was it “My Boy TM s” twenty
third birthday two days ago, but now that the Labour party have chosen their
new leader, I am officially old. I am older than all of the leaders of the
country’s three biggest political parties. Perhaps that explains the
political disaster that is current UK politics. Perhaps I’m old
fashioned as well, but senior politicians are too young these days. They get
to the top too early because they don’t seem to ever have “proper jobs”
- they go straight into politics.
Compare
this to the politicians of yore. Margaret Thatcher (aged 54 when first
Prime Minister) was a research chemist and a food scientist. James
Callaghan (aged 64 when first Prime Minister) was a tax inspector and
a sailor. Edward Heath (aged 54 when first Prime Minister) was
variously a banker, a journalist and an army officer. John Major was also a
banker, moving to this career from the London Electricity Board.
But look at
today’s senior politicians. For example look at the career of the Prime Minister. No experience of any
non-political work. The new Leader of the Oppositiononly spent a
couple of years in journalism before becoming a professional politician. Of
the three party leaders, only the Deputy Prime Minister has any
experience of the real world. We have a government of professional governors;
qualified to govern, but with no experience of that which they aspire to
govern.
It’s so
ironic that the only one who actually has any experience of the reality that
needs to be managed is the puppet. But that’s a rant that’s been done to
death….
Meanwhile
back in that reality, the word on the street is that there is to be a
new Bill and Ted movie. The first two Bill
and Ted movies are certainly in my list of favourite films; let’s hope this
one is a good ‘un. Mind you, Rufus is now dead, so I’m intrigued to see how
they get round that minor hiccup. For those of my loyal readers to whom this
means nothing, watch the first two Bill and Ted movies: you have a treat in
store. Sixty-nine, dude….
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28 September
2010 (Tuesday) - West Kent Skills Fest
A few months
ago I had an email from the boss asking if any of our staff fancied manning a
stall at the West Kent Skills Festival. I forwarded the email to my immediate
colleagues. No one seemed keen on the idea, so I volunteered myself. A day
sitting around talking to students about what I do for a living seemed a
somewhat more attractive proposition than a day spent actually doing that
living. Funnily enough, as I collected posters and exhibits for our stall
during the preceding week, people seemed to be somewhat jealous about my
forthcoming day out. All I can say is that maybe this is God’s way of saying
read your emails next time (!)
I met up with
a colleague from the Margate hospital, and we soon arrived in
Tonbridge. Finding the Angel Centre was tricky, but we eventually found our
reserved place. The idea of the day was to provide career choice information
to local schools and colleges, and we were putting on one of seventy five
stalls. We were next to a stall manned by staff from a nursery school on one
side. On the other side we had an engineering firm who were offering students
the chance to make and float Lego boats. Opposite us was a stall from
Charlton Athletic football club (!) and nearby were stalls from LeicesterUniversity’s science
department, Kent University’s maths department, Kent Highways,Kent police, the
Army, and one featuring some rather foxy sailors (woof!). Also present
were several other engineering firms, the Royal Air Force, my leccie provider (who gave me a free key-ring), and
pretty much everybody and anybody. I don’t think the day could have been
bettered for careers ideas
We set up our
stall rather quickly, and we soon found ourselves faced with hoards of
schoolchildren. At first I wondered if we would be able to hold our own
against the competition, but in retrospect I think we gave a fair accounting
of our profession. My colleague spoke very knowledgeably about the
intricacies of blood groups and the excitement of urgent emergency blood
transfusions. I spoke rather loudly, noisily and grossly about the
fascinating subject that is human parasitology. (Students like that!)
To illustrate my witterings we had a microscope
rigged up to show microfilaria (the small blood-borne worms that cause
sleeping sickness) and a foot-long dead round worm in a sealed pot (actually
retrieved from a real patient’s bum). Between us we also touched on the
automated analysis of blood, haemophilia, clinical (and other) uses of
warfarin, antibiotics and bacteriology, cervical cytology, and histological
examinations. I think we did ourselves proud – before long the students were
telling their mates about us. Newcomers to the exhibition were asking the
centre management where they could find the “Extreme Biology” stall. I
quite liked being regarded as an “Extreme Biologist”.
We were told
that there were over two thousand students who came to the exhibition. I
don’t think we saw them all, but those that we did meet left our stall
actually knowing what a biomedical scientist does and (I’d like to think)
with some respect for the hospital biomedical scientist.
Or perhaps
it’s fairer to say that most of them did. There was a small minority who
flatly refused to even come near the stall because of the inherent
squeamishness provoked by the subject matter. There was one young lady who
was rather disparaging about the entire concept of biomedical science. She
announced (rather patronisingly) that she intends to study at
University to find out why people die.
And there was
another blossom who asked (in a very shy voice) if she could be an air
hostess. Bless….
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29 September
2010 (Wednesday) - Lydden Spout
Regular
readers may recall an entry from four years ago when I complained bitterly
that the British Kite Flying Association was in serious danger of losing its
way. Today’s haul of emails has brought proof that they have lost their way
so much as to now actually be on another planet.
BKFA news
update #14 runs to twelve sides of A4, and touches on such diverse subjects
as the Civil Aviation Authority and the government’s scheme to use schools
sports facilities when the schools aren’t using them. There was a lot of hot
air about child protection legislation which showed a complete
misunderstanding of the whole concept of child protection legislation on the
part of the BKFA. There was another apology for the lack of progress; this
time on their website. And there was loads about the
procedural affairs concerning their forthcoming AGM. On the plus side, after
five years they’ve finally sorted out their kite flying insurance policy.
I also see
that they have got two more kite flying clubs to affiliate with them. With a
total of seven constituent clubs, they have now re-written their
constitution. It originally said the BKFA needed to have a minimum of eight
member clubs. It’s interesting that the first part of their constitution says
that the BKFA is “To be a representative, elected body to unify all
aspects of British kiteflying…” With only
fourteen per cent of UK kite clubs being represented after some six
years of effort by the BKFA, perhaps it’s time the BKFA gave up. It was a
good idea that simply hasn’t worked.
Mind you, they
did tell me (in October 2006) that “my opinions are irrelevant”,
“my questions are not important” and that “I have no status”,
so I must be utterly mistaken to feel that BKFA news update #14 might
actually have had some news about kite flying in Britain.
(Rant
over…..)
Regular
readers may also recall an entry on Sunday August 15th when I
went underground exploring the fortifications at Lydden Spout. At the time we
got to crawl round the gun emplacements left over from the war, often in
pitch darkness, and I was as excited as a kiddie playing “Smack Smack Bum”. So excited in fact that I didn’t actually
listen to what Stevey was telling me about the history of the
places we were crawling into.
This
evening Stevey came to the arky-ologee club and gave a lecture on
the history of the British coastal defences during the Second World War, with
particular reference to where we’d been underground. Absolutely fascinating.
And it’s criminal that these historical monuments are being left to rot.
Stevey has
plans for us to go underground again. Can’t wait…..
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30 September
2010 (Thursday) - More Ranting
Yesterday I
ranted about the British Kite Flying Association. Having very rudely told me
to get knotted some four years ago, they keep emailing me personally, and
asking for my input. (Even though they told me to get stuffed.) I know
I should just let it go, but even after all this time, they still wind me up.
Why do I let them get to me? Because I still believe in the idea of the BKFA.
In theory it’s a brilliant idea that anyone who likes kites should band
together to stop councils (who don’t know any better) from banning
kites for mistaken Health and Safety reasons. In practice it’s a load of very
well-meaning people who’ve utterly lost their way.
To illustrate
my frustration with them, this morning’s flurry of emails brought a message
from their secretary. He is now working on a collaborative project with the
Central Council for Physical Recreation. He asked if I would I tell the BKFA
of any examples of “Sports clubs who have approached schools to use their
facilities out of hours and been turned down by the school”, “Schools
I know of that have good sporting facilities which are not being utilised to
their full potential” or “Examples where sports clubs using out of
hours school facilities works well for both the school and the club”.
Whilst this is
probably a laudable enough endeavour, it has nothing to do with kite flying.
Most schools don’t have premises that lend themselves to kite-flying. Why on
Earth are the BKFA getting involved with this? Especially as yesterday’s
email apologised for the fact that they’d done nothing with their website as
no one has time for it.
Yesterday I
also mentioned about going to the arky-ologee club. As the chairlady arrived
last night she actually stopped dead in the doorway, amazed by what she saw.
We were setting up a laptop and projector to illustrate the evening’s talk.
High-tech indeed for a club whose speakers often employ no visual aids
whatsoever; and the use of a slide projector is seen as new-fangled. With a
membership of mostly retired gentlefolk, most of whom would seem to be quite
content with such a low-tech environment, I was amazed by today’s news.
I can’t help
but wonder if the club’s latest venture is doomed to failure. The arky-ologee
club has joined Facebook. I could be wrong. Time
will tell...
Meanwhile in
outer space, science has found another exo-planet. Exo planets are
planets which orbit stars other than our own. When I was a lad the entire
concept of an exo-planet was firmly in the realms of science fiction. But now
they are an established reality. At the last count there were nearly five
hundred of the things known. Whilst many are huge, comparable in size with
the planet Jupiter, more and more smaller ones are being found. This most
recent discovery is only twenty light years away, and is perhaps the most
Earth-like so far found.
It’s such a
shame that those touting the news don’t take this seriously. Take for example
the United Nations decision to start legislating in outer space. At first
sight it’s maybe a daft idea. But at the moment, space is anarchy. Who owns
the moon? What’s to stop some nation sending up rockets and annexing the
entire moon for themselves? What’s to stop anyone and everyone beaming
messages into the ether? Who represents humanity should First Contact be
made?
The radio
today gave this news story thirty seconds. They spent longer laughing about
it than listening to it. It’s a shame that the news media choose to ridicule
such questions whilst exerting so much effort on bringing us the “news”
(for example today was the delegates at the Labour party conference);
most of which will be wrapping chips tomorrow and all of which will be
totally forgotten in less than a month…
A bit of a
rant today, I know. My opinions are always in a minority…
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