What a weekend

It was a very good, if busy, weekend.  Maggot 1's birthday party went well, if it was rather "high energy".  It started with LaserQuest at an tatty industrial estate just opposite Starfleet Portsmouth actually, in an area that one of Maggot 1's friends described delightfully as "a bit gangster".

This involved running round a dark "play zone" (you know, slides and climbs and rope walks all framed by oodles of padding) trying to shoot people with laser guns.  As you can imagine, the primeval aspect of living and dying plus the general hysteria of a darkened room, flashing lights and very loud music made them very excitable.  And when I say very, I say that only because the English language has not yet found a work that means more than very, other than very very, or very very very.

 Then it was back to ours for Skyfall and food, consisting of every food group; fat, sugar and crap.  Having wound them up giving them guns to shoot people, this was an unruly affair, with one of the friends in particular being very disruptive.  It got to 9.30pm and they were just starting to apply SAS hand-to-hand combat techniques to each other when we finally called time, split them in to two groups and took them home.

Having spent all evening without a beer* I had imagined returning home and cracking open a tinnie, but to be honest even I had had enough by then, so instead it was get the kids to bed and retire ourselves to watch about  2 minutes of Jonathan Ross before we fell asleep.

The following day we went up to Newbury to visit Brad and Angelina.  We had a great day there, culminating, after a very cold and very short walk, with "high tea", a delectable mix of crumpets, scones and Victoria sponge, with lashings of tea.  Lovely.

Brad and I also had plenty of time to discuss our fishing trip tomorrow, culminating in the (very sensible) decision to postpone for another 3 weeks when the weather will, surely, be slightly warmer and more amenable to sitting on the side of a lake catching lots of fish**.

Now it is Monday, and I am back to a 4 day week, rather than a 1 day week followed by a 2 day week.  Friday morning we are off in the 'van to Kent, goodness knows where but Tom Tom does, for a week of fun in the sun** and general 'vannin' escapades.


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* I know, Saturday night, no beer, what is the world coming to
** optimism being preferable to realism at times like this

And . . . relax

After a weekend like we have just had, this is the mode for the day.

Well, what a fantastic time we had.  With no specific plans, Saturday was as follows:

• 0830 - get up
• 0835 - walk over to A&E's 'van to partake in the ritual of breakfast, which consists of:
• cup of tea
• chat
• cup of tea
• egg sandwich with lashings of Red and Black" and a ketchup with a smattering of salt
• cup of tea
• slice of home-made shortbread
• chat
• finally agree we should really do something, so go do the washing up from last night, which being a curry (home-made by A as always) was messy, but the sort of mess that, with the heads we had, could have made a pretty decent cold starter for the egg main course
• 1145 - stroll down to the shop to get a long aerial cable
• 1243 - start lunch - one cheese and pickle roll "to be going on with"
• 1245 - in to local villiage, Fordingbridge, for the men, to find TV mounting screws, came back with bulbs for lava lamps and fine tales of a magnificent reclaim yard
• 1345 - finish lunch
• 1445 - down to pool for a swim
• 1600 - return for tea and kip
• 1720 - Santa's Grotto, mainly for the kids
• 1800 - visit the Pizza in the Piazza (get it?)
• 1930 - Bingo
• 2100 - home for bed (youngest four) and Canasta, drinks and nibbles (eldest four)

I appreciate such detail opens a chap up to ridicule, however we started that on Friday and I doubt it can get much worse.

I also got an education this morning from Golfy:

• I now understand the "Fenton" references on a recent comedy show
• I love the "I want to jump off a bridge" "I found 4 bridges a little way from you" ditty
• I had not realised quite how mighty I could be until I visited scobi.willbemighty.com, although I do harbour a tiny suspicion that he says that to all the boys.

'vannin'

For those of you who have yet to experience the healing forces of my lucky heather, I do a bit of 'vannin' in my spare time.  Once all the abuse has abated, I can then inform you that I am going 'vannin' this weekend, to Sandy Balls.  Now I am the first to admit, this is a daft name for a site.  The most amazing thing is, not one person that works there has even the smallest of twinkles in their eye when they say it, like some kind of in joke that only you don't get, or more precisely an out joke that they don't get.

Anyway, this is a site with plenty of facilities, the like of which would normally have us running for the nearest road-side verge, however in Winter this place is cheap, pretty empty but still providing an excellent play park, a swimming pool, a pizza parlour and a take-away hatch for fi & chi, burgers etc.  We would normally obviously not like the burger van competition, but in this instance we are prepared to let it lie, although they can expect us to case a hex on them as we reach for the vinegar.

Even the weather has decided to be kind.  The long range five-day forecast said rain, right up until yesterday, when it dropped from two to one drop of rain.  Today, it is predicting white cloud and a bit of sunshine perhaps. Result.

I hope your weekend is as fun as ours will be.

Regency Furniture

We had a fantastic weekend away 'vannin'.  The weather was, for the most part, better than the forecast, although we did get a bit of rain, on and off.  This was most inconvenient on Saturday night when we were trying to have a BBQ, however a bit of ingenuity, string, spare poles and the flap from the awning made a perfect roof for the BBQ area, and a very nice meal was had by all.  The awning was severely smoked in the process, and is now hanging up in the shed, drying and airing, so the shed itself now smells like I imagine one of those kipper-smoking huts smells.

The only other slight fly in the ointment, but not one that caused grief for long, was the fact that the Maggots and their maggoty friends made a camp, as you do when camping in amongst the trees.  Unfortunately, this contravenes Rule 4, subsection iii of the woodland code*, and so our friendly ranger, whilst doing his rounds with snake hook** in hand, did drop by to inform us of our transgression.  Needless to say that we have now tutored the maggots in the perils of Ranger Danger.

On other news, I am half way through replacing white plastic sockets and switches with brushed stainless versions in the rest of the house, to match the newer part of the house.  By so doing, I have been and gotten myself a bit of an education on two way switches, being totally floored by an issue with the hallway light for an hour or more, before Uncle Google came to the rescue.  I am currently learning about three way switches, for the landing light, and realise that you need a special "intermediate" switch in the middle that has four, not three, connections.  A quick trip back to the electrical wholesaler will hopefully sort that one out.
I have realised however that, were events to take a turn for the worse on the employment front, "Electrician" is not one of the out-of-the-box jobs I will be considering.  It is just too damn fiddly.  Maybe it is my chubbly little fingers (the same chubby fingers that stops me playing even a passable rendition of any Hendrix riff***), but those little screws and the short wires and all that messing about just does nothing for me.  The switches and sockets so far converted do, though, really look the business, and have finished off their host rooms nicely.

This weekend, LO is in London on Saturday with Samantha, so undoubtedly David and myself will be doing something together with the Maggots.  Probably Pizza Hut like every other saddo daddo.  I am also planning for Sunday to be the floor re-varnish day.  Now we have the patina of oil-based varnish as a base, I plan to use water-based Diamond Hard Varnish from Ronseal, and being water-based means that it does dry quicker.  I can re-coat after 2 hours, and it should be dried sufficiently to tiptoe in 8 hours, and fully dry in 24, although experience tells me it will be fully hard in a week or so.  This will mean clearing the room of furniture, made somewhat easier from the recent painting, which means that the room is only a skeleton room anyway.  The plan I think is to move it all to the extension, and set that up as the day room proper with sofa, chairs and TV setup.  We will then be confined to downstairs until late afternoon.
David does not know it yet, but I hope to lure him back from Pizza Hut on Saturday to help with the lifting, assuming his back can take it, which is not a given.


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* Nothing may be tied or attached to any tree within the site.
** Well, it was either a snake hook or a litter spike.
*** I am all for artistic licence, but really, Hendrix?  Are you sure?  Ed.

So sorry for not writing

I have been very remiss in not writing.  My only excuse is that things are very busy right now.  The extension is continuing to roll, with the last bits of plastering inside being done this week.  Tail end of this week to finish off the plumbing which is going under the floor, then early the next week the insulation and floor screed will be laid, just before we go to the Isle of Wight in the 'van, a perfect time for everything to dry out, ready for painting when I get back.

We then need to lay the floor, something that has been the subject of much discussion, most of it at cross-purposes, with the builder.  We have now resolved our differences, are on the same page and are just doing a bit of shopping round for the right price for the inside stuff, a multi-coloured slate, which will match pretty well the corresponding external stuff, also multi-coloured slate, but twice the thickness (and from a different source) to withstand all that mother nature will throw at it during the year.

Finances have been stretched, and dreams of sofa and TV coming out the building budget are fading right now, but time will tell, since we still have the hope that we have over-estimated one or other of the remaining costs.

Other news sees Maggot 1 part of the Cub Box-Cart team that took first place at the recent district championships.  Now, this may not reach the front page of the national press, but I can say with some confidence that in these parts that is just about as good as it gets.  The main leader who drives this activity was actually on holiday, and when he is tracked down by The Sun will undoubtedly say that he is "Gutted not to be with the lads", but this is the third attempt to beat another pack who are, if not our arch enemies, at least the pack over which we like to gain the advantage, so not only did we achieve that, but we only also went and blinkin' well took the shield for first place as well.  Result.

We are really starting to feel the pain of the building now.  We have a tarpaulin across the kitchen again, to keep out the nasty fine dust from the plastering, and in preparation for a skim coat where our kitchen tiles and coving used to be, we also have a couple of kitchen cupboards off the wall, and one floor cupboard unhitched from its fittings and pulled out for the final bit of stud work behind the breakfast bar.  This has lest our dining room table full of cereal, tea and sugar.  The sense that the house is slowly closing in on us is very acute right now.  I am not sure we can take much more of this, and the thought of returning from the Isle of Wight to start putting it all back again is, for me at least, something to which I am clinging with two hands and knuckles-a-white.

That's better

I have just returned from three days holiday, or vacation if you are American.  We went to near Stratford in the 'van and visited The Cadbury factory one day, and Warwick Castle the following day.  There was a slight generational split in the scores for each, with the older members of the group marking Cadbury low, whilst the children marked it high.  They gave away free chocolate.  Say no more.

As for Warwick Castle, we were unanimous in our ten out of ten score.  It is a magnificent structure in its own right, but also brings a lot of character actors together to provide a full and enjoyable experience.  We were all booked on the Dungeon tour, however had not read the small print and missed the fact that it was not suitable for under tens.  We therefore split in to two groups, the first being men and eldest child, for whom the tour lasted just under two minutes, with the first dark and scary "set piece" scaring the children to the point that we had to retrace our steps and leave the tour.  The women went afterwards, and found it a fantastic, if scary, experience.

Next we watched the birds of prey in the main arena, and they were truly magnificent.  The final eagle taking a long flight from the top of the highest tower down to the arena, skimming low over the heads of the audience in doing so.

We also say a demonstration of weapons by three men whose delivery style was the spit of Top Gear.  It was telling us the myth, and then the reality, of a number of aspects of fighting in those days.  Facts such as shields being wood and leather, not metal, to absorb blows, and also that most fights lasted under ten seconds, not five minutes like the table-jumping and candle-snuffing stuff of your average Errol Flynn film.  Favourite comment of de-bunk was "For instance, I am not really a knight, I am a fifty year old diabetic".

We then toured the restaurant, the main house and the Weekend Party tour, which covered the Twentieth Century aspects regarding the parties, and the hanky panky in which they apparently indulged quite regularly.  The devils.

Combined with Canasta every evening, we have a very enjoyable three days in the 'van.

Now I am back at work, and the few days off and the busy nature of the workplace means that I don't really know where to start.  I am currently on a conference call in listen-only mode, hence the blog.

Hopefully catch up tomorrow.

And . . . relax

Having just read Bad Man's blog, where he describes giving Golfy a birthday present of Blackberry Vodka, a drink Golfy sampled at 9.15am, reminded me of the graph I was shown the other day, which I wanted to share with you.  Made me laugh.  Oh, and I really must give Golfy a ring to see how his new work life is shaping up.

This weekend, I will mostly be painting.  A first coat of exterior masonry paint on the recently rendered bit round the outside of the new front door.  Then a lick of primer/undercoat on the door frame itself to make it finally weather-proof, albeit the frame that sits inside an open porch, so not so exposed to the elements.  Regardless, it will be good to get it knocked in to shape.

We will also be entertaining A&E on Saturday, which will be a fine evening of red wine, good food and the arrangement of a couple of late winter/early spring 'vannin' breaks, likely a trip to the Forest and a trip to the Isle (of Wight).  The Forest trip will be to a pretty big site that benefits in Winter from having all the facilities open, and no-one at the site to annoy us.  The Isle of Wight trip is an offer from one of the local ferry companies for a ferry trip and five nights for one hundred and forty-five of your finest English pounds.  This is, I can assure you, a fantastic offer, not least because the Portsmouth to Isle of Wight crossing is, mile for mile, the most expensive crossing in the world.  Having just Googled that fact, I can report that whether it is actually true or not, a lot of people think the same.  It could be an urban myth, of course, but it will do for me.

Another urban myth, one I confident to call such because I Googled it a while back, is the one about the fact that the population of the world can fit on the Isle of Wight.  Unfortunately, the answer is no, the details of which are, and I quote:

The Isle of Wight is 380 km squared. A kilometer is 1000 m X 1000 m or a million square meters. so the area would be 380 million square meters. The Earth's population is about 6,500 billion people. You would need 17.1 people on each square meter to fit the world's population on the island.
So it might have been true in 2002 or so, but not now.

I hope you are able to sleep better in your beds now those two have been put to bed.

Crossroads

Not the wobbly-setted soap, but rather the direction I take this blog.  Now that we have started a new calendar year, do I go the "bah humbug" or the "joyous new beginnings" route.

I guess those that know me know that I am by nature an optimist.  Naive at times, a bit woo woo and a bit la la given half a chance, or half a pint, and definitely sometimes a little bit annoying with my "Confucius says..." moments.  You may have also noticed I have a tendency for self-analysis*.  Put this all together, throw in the charm, good looks, attraction to women and natural modesty and you start to get a picture of the Scobi**.

So I intend to take the "joyous new beginnings" route.  I am aware of all the well-made arguments about arbitrary dates etc as espoused by Bad Man, however I would also say that if you are going to have a "from this moment onwards I am going to do something different" then that moment may just as well be the first of January as the twenty first of June, or indeed the first or fourth*** of April when my holiday year starts anew.

So as for my own personal "joyous new beginnings", my year is currently shaping up nicely.  We are in to the detailed drawings phase of our extension, with a view to going out for quotes by the end of the month, so we can then look to start the work, builder schedules permitting, as early in Spring as we can start and miss the bad weather.  After all, who wants to be digging holes with snow or rain filling the pit every night.  We also have an April trip to Center Parcs with Brad and Angelina, to which I am very much looking forward****.  We are also visiting Glastonbury with Brad and Angelina, a trip that will be planned with meticulous attention to detail, all of which could be undone by a single black rain cloud.  Add in a 'vannin' trip at least once a month (really fancy Warwick castle, and Crystal Palace for a day in Londinium, and the New Forest of course, and somewhere down the West Country and a mystery place, yet to be determined, somewhere completely new).

Oh, I do sort of have some resolutions also, but they are basically just getting back to the good habits to which I had become accustomed prior to Christmas.  Eat well, exercise, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

Quick comment on holiday booking before I sign off.  For many years, I used to hold on to my holiday like a baby clutches its safety blanket, fearing they would run out too quickly.  This led to the natural consequence that for the final quarter, usually Jan to April, I had too much holiday to take, and nothing to take it on.  Over a couple of paradigm-shifting years, I let go my holiday booking phobia, and now am never happier than when I have all but a couple of days booked by the middle of April.  The spare days are emergency days in case I need to look after the maggots when LO is working.  Even they usually end up being spent on a long weekend sometime in March.  This year, I even intend to buy 3 days to take me up to a whopping six weeks, and I cannot wait until the online holiday booking system is open for business in April, so I can bang out all the bookings.

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* insert comment about analysing whether I spend too much time self-analysing 
** There is also the tendency to talk about oneself in the third person when one is trying to make a point.

*** Still not sussed out which date it is.

**** I know all this "to which I am very much looking forward" stuff is correct grammar, but it don't harf sound a bit pretentious like.

So, what was it I wanted to say?

Having read yesterday's blog, I noticed a sentence starting with "so", and was reminded of one of my previous blogs where I committed to try, if not succeed, in avoiding the use of the word "so", particularly at the start of a sentence.

So, I have done some data analysis of my last 94 posts, and have found the following (and remember that 83.4% of statistics are made up on the spot):

• I started a sentence with the word "so" 26 times, including once when I actually started a sentence with two so's
• Of the blogs that contained a sentence that started with "so", the word count was 24% higher than average
• there were twice as many mentions of the words Golfy and 'vannin' in blogs that contained the word "so"
• every blog that did not include the word "so" was rubbish.

So, what conclusions can we draw from these findings?  What insight can we glean from the data presented to us?  What new thinking can I bring to my writing as a result of this information?

Well, obviously, keep using the word "so".  Write it as many times as possible in as many sentences as possible, and maybe even write it twice if I can get away with it (that idea is so so.  Ed.  ha ha).

So, I am now needing one other idea to finish this blog with a bit of pzazz.  As you may be able to tell, I am in my hotel room watching top gear, having just had my room-service dinner (haddock fish cakes and some funny lemon sauce, followed by penne pasta with green and red stuff), quite content knowing I am two paces from the toilet and no paces from a very comfortable bed.  

I suppose I can tell you more about my hotel room.  I booked via the Starfleet inter-galactic booking tool and this was the only one available.  A quick glance at the address showed it to be on Tottenham Court Road, so it passed my "hotel test" for being 1 tube ride away and a short walk the other end.  It is a Radisson, by the way, and very nice it is too.  I can collect some A-Club points in the process.  Unfortunately, checking the map just a little bit more closely reveals it is actually at the far end of TCR, a tube change and 2 more stops, or a walk.  I chose the latter, and with nothing specific to get home for, had a pretty good walk for twenty minutes.  

Check-in was quick, aided by a cheerful employee.  Room service selection was the usual small choice, big price.  However I ate well and fairly healthily for under my dinner allowance, so it passes the room-service test with a creditable 6/10.  There are not so many TV channels as my usual, so 4/10 for that.  The room is well furnished, so 8/10.  The bathroom has a bath, and no mould, and free bath hats, which the family find very useful, so 9/10 for the bathroom.  Coat-hangers are the "cannot be stolen" variety, which is good for hanger attrition, but not so good for my Gloria Hunniford trick for running a hot bath and steaming my shirts on hangers in the bathroom, to save having to iron them.  So 3/10 for hangers.  Also, no biscuits, so 1/10 for that.  Overall score is... sorry, am I boring you? 

Anyhow, gonna sign off now.  Have a good evening, and speak again tomorrow.

P.S.  I wanted to tell you a hotel-related joke, but found these instead.  Nothing to do with hotels, but quite funny, if a little old.

Q: Are you sexually active?
A: No, I just lie there.

Q: What is your date of birth?
A: July fifteenth.
Q: What year?
A: Every year.

Q: What gear were you in at the moment of the impact?
A: Gucci sweats and Reeboks.

Q: This myasthenia gravis, does it affect your memory at all?
A: Yes.
Q: And in what ways does it affect your memory?
A: I forget.
Q: You forget. Can you give us an example of something that you've forgotten?

Q: How old is your son, the one living with you?
A: Thirty-eight or thirty-five, I can't remember which.
Q: How long has he lived with you?
A: Forty-five years.

Q: What was the first thing your husband said to you when he woke up that morning?
A: He said, "Where am I, Cathy?"
Q: And why did that upset you?
A: My name is Susan.

Q: Do you know if your daughter has ever been involved in voodoo or the occult?
A: We both do.
Q: Voodoo?
A: We do.
Q: You do?
A: Yes, voodoo.

Q: Now doctor, isn't it true that when a person dies in his sleep, he doesn't know about it until the next morning?

Q: The youngest son, the twenty-year old, how old is he?

Q: Were you present when your picture was taken?

Q: So the date of conception (of the baby) was August 8th?
A: Yes.
Q: And what were you doing at that time?

Q: She had three children, right?
A: Yes.
Q: How many were boys?
A: None.
Q: Were there any girls?

Q: How was your first marriage terminated?
A: By death.
Q: And by whose death was it terminated?

Q: Can you describe the individual?
A: He was about medium height and had a beard.
Q: Was this a male, or a female?

Q: Is your appearance here this morning pursuant to a deposition notice which I sent to your attorney?
A: No, this is how I dress when I go to work.

Q: Doctor, how many autopsies have you performed on dead people?
A: All my autopsies are performed on dead people.

Q: All your responses must be oral, OK? What school did you go to?
A: Oral.

Q: Do you recall the time that you examined the body?
A: The autopsy started around 8:30 p.m.
Q: And Mr.. Dennington was dead at the time?
A: No, he was sitting on the table wondering why I was doing an autopsy.

Q: Are you qualified to give a urine sample?

Q: Doctor, before you performed the autopsy, did you check for a pulse?
A: No.
Q: Did you check for blood pressure?
A: No.
Q: Did you check for breathing?
A: No.
Q: So, then it is possible that the patient was alive when you began the autopsy?
A: No.
Q: How can you be so sure, Doctor?
A: Because his brain was sitting on my desk in a jar.
Q: But could the patient have still been alive, nevertheless?
A: Yes, it is possible that he could have been alive and practising law somewhere

Some times I likes to sit and think, and sometimes I just likes to sit...

... had a fantastic weekend with our friends Brad and Angelina, Harrison and Calista and Tom and Katie, and their respective maggots.  Camping, obviously 'vannin' in our case, in Wiltshire.  Nice site with a country park along side that included a zip wire and other country-like maggot play things.  Had a thoroughly good time.  

Even went fishing, first time in 30 years for me, first time ever for maggot 1, ably accompanied by champion fisher Brad.  I caught one, and had an absolute whopper break my line, maggot 1 caught four and Brad caught seven, including an 8lb carp, which for the modern amongst us was pretty bl00dy big.  Mine was a more conservative size, but it was definitely punching above its weight and put up a pretty good fight.

The weather remained dry and warm, and a couple of days were downright sunny, so we really could not have asked for more.  Except maybe more days.

Now back at work, in London, in the hotel, looking for a good 10pm show to watch to send me off to sleep, only to be rudely awoken at 3am by either a) the people next door doing exercise, b) a drunken resident returning via every flat surface between the lift and their room or c) a loud advert on the telly.  My preference would obviously be the shout of room service bringing my breakfast in bed at 7am, but likelihood is that I will be queuing outside my favourite juice bar for breakfast at 7am just before the office, for my usual order of porridge (with soya milk) and honey, followed by a juice, followed by seeds for a snack, and finally a sandwich for my mid-morning snack.  And all for half the price of breakfast in the hotel.  Lovely.

Off to find that telly show now.  Have a good evening, speak again soon.

x

Where did the weekend go?

We had a lovely weekend 'vannin' in the New Forest with Brad and Angelina.  The weather was broadly sunny, the site very natural, and the company just what the doctor ordered.  The site is one where you just pick your place amongst the trees, and our place we picked amongst the trees was perfect.  A bit far from the toilet block, but then we only use that for solids (over-sharing, Ed.).  The maggots made a camp on the first day, and asked for my help on the second.  As I walked away from the said camp that I have to say was one of my better ones, I had one of those moments that offset the agony (and cost) of having children.  Maggot 2 said, as I strode back to the main camp for another cuppa and a slice of chocolate chip Madeira cake, "See, I told you my dad's camps are the best!"

Ah, bless.

We also went down to the river, that is like the Riviera, but smaller.  And less sunny.  Oh, and not so French.  But it is wet and has a beachy bit and a rope swing, and it was on the said rope swing that all four maggots had a swing and a splash. Sir Scobi even had a go, which was fun, although the rope did stretch rather more for me than for the maggots, making my bum drag in the icy cold water and my flip-flops to drop off in to the river.  Needless to say that provided much merriment for the maggots, and a rather scrambled dismount and ungainly wade to retrieve the said flops.

This week is one spent mostly in London.  The needs of the account are becoming more stringent and on site presence seems to be slowly being mandated via a number of frankly pointless escalations.  I hope that things will settle down after the July deadline, but if not then I may need to hang in there until October/November and then look for something else.

The demands of Starfleet are many and varied, and the joy of working may be slowly ebbing away.  Those with a long-service medal say that things ain't like they used to be, and even though my medal is a few years away, I think that maybe I am beginning to agree with them.

On that cheery note, have a good week, and speak tomorrow.

and . . . relax!

When I was younger, I used to go to aerobics every Tuesday.  Let's all of us think of a long and interesting story as to why I did that, but a guy's got to get his exercise where he can find it.

Anyhow, I have three strong memories of those times.  The first is that Mrs Scobi used to go, so we can sort of say we met over a sweaty leotard.  My second memory was this girl/woman who was always in the front row, who was friends with the instructor, who always did the "if you want to push it further do this" bits, and who had the most amazing curve in her back - her body in a leotard looked like one of those Jane Austin women with a massive bow on the back of their dress, such was the curve and the protrusion of the bottom.  I can feel a serious squirrel moment coming on.

The third thing I remember was the terrible bit at the end when you had to stretch and bend and hold all sorts of positions that in another context would definitely contravene International Human Rights legislation.  Right at the end of all that torture was the "and . . . relax" moment when we were allowed to just lie there and rest.

That is the feeling I have today as Friday appears over the horizon.

I am starting very early today (my day started with the lowest number starting with a six, for Bad Man readers) so that I can finish early and head to the New Forest for some R&R amongst the trees and with our very good friends, who I mistakenly called Homer and Marge last time I wrote about them, but who of course really should have been called Brad and Angelina.  In the good days.  And without any adoptions.  Anyhow, the weather forecast is looking good, and there is a lovely river near the site where one can dip one's toe in to water, or jump from a rope swing in to the deep bit, depending on your predilection.  If the sun does shine it will be as busy as Brighton beach, and just as interesting for the people-watchers amongst us. 

Have a great weekend, and speak again soon.

Aiy Phone

You've read the rest, now read the best.  Golfy knows nothing.

So, word on the street there is a new phone on the market.  Apparently you can make phone calls with it.  And other stuff.  Well that's nice then.  My dad is not so in to technology, so he has bought one of those really really simple phones with big buttons that make phones calls.  And nothing else.

So, is the "stuff" worth another £351 of your ill-gotten gains, or is it nothing more than the emperor's new clothes?

To be honest, and don't tell Golfy, I don't really care.  I have seen an HTC with Android, and that rocks.

So, on to other things.  Football.  Interesting.  North Korea, good try.  Brazil, nice one.  Portugal, you've gotta sort out that diving twot coz he is giving your country a bad name.


The next game is on Friday, and I cannot believe the terrible planning, because I am 'vannin' in the New Forest for the weekend.  We are going with our very good friends Homer and Marge*, and are really looking forward to the trip, but, honestly, during an England match.  That really is beyond the pale.  We are going to have to slum it listening on the radio.

Anyhow, that's all for now folks.

* If you think you may be Homer, or Marge, then do not despair.  There is nothing implied or otherwise in the name, I simply could not think of any other couple's names at such short notice.

So here we are then

Spending Tuesday to Thursday in London is a very intense experience.  I do at least a week's work in those three days, yet I also have a day either end working at home which is obviously still work, but does seem like overtime.  All that is to say, today is Friday but it most definitely feels like Saturday.  And we all know what a bummer feeling that is.

Today is, of course, the first day of the 2010 World Cup.  Only if you have been living on another planet, or Gloucester* as we Londoners** call it, can you have missed the fact that we are about to enter three weeks of either "glorious sporting endeavour" or "the wost three weeks of the summer, but never mind, I need to tidy up the loft and paint the kitchen anyway", depending on which side of the spherical divide you sit.

Me?  I love it.  I have to admit that somewhere through the first week the prospect of three games of football in one day between teams I have no interest in does pale slightly, however overall it is a delicious prospect, and I do rather enjoy all the spectacle and the buzz that is created amongst the England-supporting members of the community.  I even love flags, which would probably rank as an extreme social faux pas were I not already a self-confessed 'vanner, and I expect we will have one or two around the house.  It's not for me, it is for my children of course.  I am just trying to work out if I can dye the lawn in my back garden with a red cross, and must remember to borrow the ladder off my dad so I can fit the ten metre square roof-top tarpaulin***.


Tomorrow, England play their first game.  We had planned a family pizza and footy session, but Maggot 1 has just been invited to a sleep-over birthday bash, so we are recording it to watch on Sunday.  Obviously that will be "watch it for the second time" for us adults, but don't tell the children.


Have a good weekend, speak next week, and ...

... COME ON ENGLAND!!!!

------------------------------------------------------

*  Remember, you can't sue if it is funny.

** Did you notice that?  I have only been and gone and called myself a Londoner.  Whatever next?

*** Remember, as long as it is funny****, you don't need to be truthful either.
**** Humour is, like beauty, in the eyes of the beholder.

Time off for good behaviour

Some of you may have noticed that I have not been blogging much lately.  This is caused by two factors:

1. When I work in London, I cannot access this blog site (blocked by my customer's web-blocking devil)

2. I have been on holiday in Norfolk for a week last week.

The former is probably well known to you.  The latter may not be, so let me tell you all about it.


Norfolk, home of the north folk (bit of a guess) and to Norwich, which itself is home to a football club whose main claim to fame, for a know-nothing southerner, is when their most famous supporter had one too many sherries during the first half, and decided it was a good idea to rally the troops during the half-time interval.  See here to be reminded.  It was car-crash TV of the highest order, and I am guessing not many people tried to haggle down her after-dinner speaking fee after that.
It is interesting to note that she does herself live with the south folk, in Suffolk.  Rumours are it is to be nearer London, for her work you know, but then rumours know nothing.


The highlight of the visit was a visit to Wroxham.  This is on the Broads, and has a low bridge through which only small and medium sized vessels can pass, and so Wroxham has become a natural start and end point for the boating folks of the Broads, of which there are many.  Most of these you would really rather not be in charge of a large floating vessel, but in charge they are and after a couple of Pinot Grigios they are world-class.  Except with the bridge.  There are several chunks out of the said bridge, which now has a steel bridge installed above the original stone bridge, presumably for strength and such like.  Anyhow, you can get a "pilot" to take your boat through for you, which seems a very sensible route to take, and ensures that your boat looks just the same when it comes out the other side as it did when it went in.  The fact that the "pilot" basically does the process at top speed and with one lazy eye barely looking forward makes it all the more thrilling a spectator sport.

The other key claim to fame for Wroxham is Roy.  Roy owns the town.  There is a Roy's department store (bit like House of Frasier), Roy's food supermarket (Asda), Roy's Toy Emporium, Roy's Children's Clothing and Roy's Garden Centre.  Roy obviously saw a gap in the market and went for it.  My picture of Roy is six foot six, stetson, spurs and a plaid shirt, with a kind smile to old and young alike, and a wallet the size of a small fridge. 



We also had a lovely day out in Bewilderwood, which is an adventure playground set in the woods, with slides, roof-top walkways, zip wires and the like, all set in beautiful woods and selling only good quality, often organic, food.  We took a picnic of course, can't be doing with all that healthy stuff.

Anyhow, back up to Londinium this week, so will be non comunicado for 3 days.

Have a good week, and keep the faith.  I will try to find a way to blog when I am "up North".

 

Well, wasn't that a week and a half

Only 3 days in London, but it felt like 10.  Went to The Globe to watch a very long play called Henry VIII.  Some fat geezer wot liked to put it about a bit.  Spoke funny, and used a lot of words and many of them really didn't make any sense.  You just have to glaze over a bit and let the words wash over you.  Better than sedatives.


Off for a week in the 'van so won't be posting much.  I guess that my already dwindling readers will be finding something less boring to watch, so I promise to come back full of stories that will make you laugh, cry and feel just a little bit uncomfortable.

Until then, ttfn.

Slippers

Now, I am very much a man who lives by the adage "try everything once except incest and Morris dancing".  Once a chap has layed down that important moral foundation stone for life, then he can make his way up the evolutionary scale to full human being.  If he wears the right tie (more on ties later) and shakes hands in the "right" way, then he may even ascend to the lofty heights of thoroughly decent chap. 

So what has all this got to do with slippers, I hear you cry.  Well this is the point that I am, eventually, trying to make.  Maybe the list of things I would not try even once needs extending.  Perhaps it should read "try everything once except incest, Morris dancing and wearing slippers".  Now, the jury may well be out on slippers, in fact they are probably down the pub selling their story to the red tops, but I feel that a discussion forum such as this is exactly the place to tackle the difficult subjects in life.  Like slippers.

If I were to share with you another foundation stone for life, then it would be that what a chap does in the comfort of his own home is, by and large, and referring oneself to the first foundation stone of life, his own business.  If a chap chooses to wear a slipper device on his meat pies, and it doesn't scare the children or the horses, be damned man, he should jolly well be able to wear them.

I appreciate such a stance will enable my friends to mock me, and for strangers to make a mental note not to leave me in charge of the remote control.  You should remember that I love 'vannin', so I guess I stepped over the threshold a long time ago.  Those who really love me will forgive my foibles.  Those who don't will be steering a wider berth next time they see me coming down the corridor.

As Golfy would say, if you can't join 'em, feck off and do something else.

Blinking

I have just blinked and it is Friday. How did that happen? I must try blinking more often.

It happened, of course, because the week has been very busy. I spent a couple of days and one night in London, as I have already told you, and had some train issues on the way home, something that is frustrating beyond belief, but something I think I will have to get used to. The final leg was spent sharing a taxi with three other fellow travellers to get home. I remember reading the definition of how you complete the Luge is "Lie flat, don't die" and you need a bit of that to get through a week like this.

So Friday it is, and this Friday sees me with a half day off to go, yes you've guessed it, 'vannin'. I shall be dragging the big white box down to Lyme Regis to stay at a campsite by the sea. It is also a site where our friends, let's call them Brad and Angelina, are also staying, in a static caravan owned by Brad's mum. When it comes to big, white and ugly theirs knock ours in to a cocked hat.

And in best squirrel tradition, I just had to Google that expression, because in black and white, it does look strange. The definition taken from several sites seems to settle on something like this:

"The game of Cocked Hat was similar to ninepins except that only three pins were set up, in triangular formation. It took its name from the three-cornered hat with the brim turned up (i.e. cocked) worn in the late 18th and early 19th centuries. The expression implies a comparison between something in disarray after a defeat and the way in which pins are sent flying in a game of Cocked Hat."

So there you go.

We are very much looking forward to being away in the 'van, to spending some time by the sea with our very good friends. We are not, however, sure we like the weather men (and women) very much. They keep insisting it is going to rain over the long weekend. What's that all about? I for one shall do what I always do in such situations, and ignore the reports, simply believing that it will "probably be all right where we are." I shall report back as to how this highly scientific experiment goes.


I have just caught a news item about a sixty-seven year old man from the US who accidentally got his foot caught between the accelerator and brake, and managed to reverse fast in to has parking space, punching a hole in the wall behind the space. Oh, and he was seven floors up in a multi-storey car park. No people were hurt, but a couple of cars have had their pride and bonnets dented by falling rubble.

I hope your long weekend is enjoyable, and your imagination and weather-altering powers are as good as mine.

The bright lights

I was personally not a great fan of Terry Wogan's breakfast show, but I am very aware that a lot of people were, and I have it on good authority that a subset of his followers like to call themselves TOGs, which is either Terry's old Gits or Terry's old girls, depending on what dangly bit you do or don't have.

I am wondering whether I should make up something for the followers of Scobi Wan Kenobi. Having given it almost no thought at all, I have come up with SWKers. I think it has a rather cheery sound to it, and can see both my followers getting t-shirts printed forthwith saying "I am a SWKer".

If you have been wondering where I have been for a couple of days (yes, both of you) then I can tell you that I have been up to the capital of our country, the Big Smoke, up in Town, namely Londinium. I can confirm a couple of things:

- the streets are not paved with gold
- there are a lot of people up there
- I decided to walk from station to office and from office to hotel, so can confirm that I really did take myself by the hand and led myself through the streets of London.

I am transitioning, a fine word and one that does not even begin to describe the difficulties found therein, to a new account. If you have ever watched You've Been Framed, and based on polls carried out by Worrie, they have defined my demographic as "the sort of people who are likely to watch You've Been Framed", so I am guessing you probably have, then you may remember one of the key themes that are repeated QUITE A LOT, is the theme where the person, usually a bit older and a bit un-nimble and more than a bit overweight, is stepping off a jetty and on to a small boat, and as they have one foot on each, the boat begins to move away from the jetty. As any physicist will tell you, action and reaction are equal and opposite, and boy there is some action in a 22 stone person stepping on to a boat, and the finale is a rather wet person. Oh how we laugh.
Anyhow, ... squirrel ... that is what it is like when you are "transitioning". It can be quite an emotional tug of war with your old account still wants a piece of you, and your new account is so happy to have finally got a body, want you at least 100%. More often, it is just a pain in the bum that is a lot less fun than ending up in the drink as you try to step on to a boat.

London is an interesting place. There are people everywhere, from my small poll sample, there is no time of day after 11am when someone isn't in a pub or bar having a drink, and they always have a suit on. Don't they have work to do?

I think it is fair to say that I do enjoy a visit to London, but I am not a natural city boy. I don't know whether I am actually chewing on a bit of straw, but I do feel a bit out of sorts with all the bustle. Our office is pretty flash, lots of glass and marble, but once you are inside there are seats and desks and I am staring at a partition wall, so I really could be anywhere.

Nevertheless, my new account is full of interesting problems and I am relishing the challenge of something new. I just hope I can be as effective as my managers are hoping, and I make a success of things.

I stayed up for the night, so met up with a very old friend from college. Since we like to give pseudonyms for people, let's call him Taff, a name that, to my best knowledge, he has never been called. We have not seen each other for a couple of years, but we just slipped back in to a comfortable and very enjoyable evening of drink, food and chat, catching up on what we had both been up to since we last met, which did give us a vast tableau of topics to discuss.

I am working at home today, hoping that the garage can fix my car by tonight so that I have it for our planned 'vannin' trip down to Lyme Regis.

Is that music I hear?

I am wresting with the right verb. I can't decide if the right word is make or write or compose or something else altogether. For the purposes of this blog, I shall therefore be using a composite word what we can agree between us means whatever it is that I do. The word shall be compeate. This is part compose, part create.

So, I have been compeating music again. I am working on an Aphex Twin inspired electronica song that I am trying very had to make odd, and, for now, failing. I feel it needs some kind of voice clip, and have decided that I shall be looking for such a sound clip from the film Harvey. Golfy recently watched the film, supposedly on the casual mention by me, and it has reminded me what a charming film it was. I have found the clip and will have a look tonight whether mashegrate (part mash, part integrate of course) it in to the song to see whether I can make it please me.

I even got a message on my MySpace page, along the lines of "liking the music..." but on closer inspection, I notice that it is a company dealing in band paraphernalia, t-shirts, plectrums, stickers, hoodies, lighters etc. Maybe they are flattering to deceive, and I for one am always open to flattery, but am not sure a plectrum is going to be much use on my computer-based home studio.

I am on a short week this week, with a couple of days off to go 'vannin'. This means that a number of loose threads need either to be tidied up or given to someone else to ensure that the Starfleet machine does not stutter due to my absence. In case you are worried, that last bit was me trying to flatter myself, and I realise of course that, as a rule, you are missed in such circumstances about as much as a bucket of water misses your hand when you take it out.

As I will be off air for a couple of days, I thought I had better leave you with a joke so the memory of me lingers until I return (self-flattery again). As anyone who knows me knows, I do like to tell a joke, and have a soft spot for a-man-walks-in-to-a-bar type jokes. Here goes.

A nose walks into a bar and asks for a drink. The bartender says, "Sorry, I can't serve you. You're already off your face."

Anyway....