Two days after the Rusty Rackets and I am still aching like I have fallen out of the beautiful tree and hit every branch on the way down. I can definitely vouch for the Rusty bit.
What I need is a lovely weekend at home, nothing too much to do other than the usual routine stuff, and a chance to just potter, or maybe even just sit. Apart from a poetry competition in which Maggot 1 is performing, the weekend is planning to be just that.
Oh, other than David and Samantha coming over Saturday afternoon and evening. In fairness, they plan to come earlier than usual and leave at around 9ish, so it won't be a late boozy night, which were there a doctor on the scene, would definitely be something he would order.
I may not even have any DIY to do, but I will probably start a bit of a non-specific and non time-bound activity to make our garden fit for summer and human habitation. I either have to build the fort I have been promising for 2 years or look to find a home for the old decking wood, and I need to start tidying up mess, and probably also prune the apple tree, and start to prepare the lawn, at least what is left of it after a heavy winter season of football, and think about moving the remnants of the fire wood that has killed off one corner of the lawn. In short, I need to try and turn Armageddon in to something that vaguely resembles a garden.
I hope your green fingers are as occupied as mine this weekend.
Thursday, 8 March 2012
The Wall
Thought I had better improve on my previous tardy blog.
Rusty Rackets last night was as good as always. Numbers were down, only six, which meant that we all got to play more tennis and practice more skills, and that meant that the Scobi, a man known for his stamina and strength*, was absolutely cream crackered by the end of the ninety minutes. In fact, he can reveal that as he through the ball up to serve, at 5-4 in a game that ended 9-8, he genuinely "hit the wall". A complete sense of the tank being empty, and likely the ultimate reason he lost 9-8, and then 5-2 in the following game***.
Now, I know what you are thinking, hitting the wall usually happens around the twenty mile mark in a marathon, the point at which all the carbohydrates have been burnt, which burn like a cigarette paper on a bbq, and the body is turning to the fat in the body, which burns like a damp newspaper on a matchstick. According to Brad, who knows such things, actually with today's isotonic drinks and carb-loading**** you needn't hit the wall at all, and that may be where I have been going wrong. Not all that clever stuff you need for a marathon, but maybe just a snack sometime after lunch and before I play. Maybe even a banana, like Andy Murray. Now that would be nice.
I arrived home, a spent force and a tired little bunny. Tea was a Houmous Sandwich***** and a bit of a sit down and chat. LO was thankfully feeling slightly better, and we went to bed early, not for the thing you normally go up for, but for sleeping, which is the other thing you normal go up for. And sleep we did, until we woke up.
-----------------------------------------
* just in case, that is what we call in the literary game "irony"**.
** Thanks for that startling insight. Ed.
*** Okay, I think we can go with that for now. Ed.
**** I have always called it pigging out at the Italian, but apparently it is also a technique for beating "the wall".
**** A delightful meal filed under Snack/Small meal and something I first experienced in Denmark, home of the open sandwich. It consists of half a Chiabatta bread loaf, which itself is cut in half, liberally coated with houmous, then a layer of roasted veg, followed by grated carrot and salad. The top half is spread with pesto, green by preference, and placed on top of the "sandwich" at ninety degrees to the base slice. Lovely.
Rusty Rackets last night was as good as always. Numbers were down, only six, which meant that we all got to play more tennis and practice more skills, and that meant that the Scobi, a man known for his stamina and strength*, was absolutely cream crackered by the end of the ninety minutes. In fact, he can reveal that as he through the ball up to serve, at 5-4 in a game that ended 9-8, he genuinely "hit the wall". A complete sense of the tank being empty, and likely the ultimate reason he lost 9-8, and then 5-2 in the following game***.
Now, I know what you are thinking, hitting the wall usually happens around the twenty mile mark in a marathon, the point at which all the carbohydrates have been burnt, which burn like a cigarette paper on a bbq, and the body is turning to the fat in the body, which burns like a damp newspaper on a matchstick. According to Brad, who knows such things, actually with today's isotonic drinks and carb-loading**** you needn't hit the wall at all, and that may be where I have been going wrong. Not all that clever stuff you need for a marathon, but maybe just a snack sometime after lunch and before I play. Maybe even a banana, like Andy Murray. Now that would be nice.
I arrived home, a spent force and a tired little bunny. Tea was a Houmous Sandwich***** and a bit of a sit down and chat. LO was thankfully feeling slightly better, and we went to bed early, not for the thing you normally go up for, but for sleeping, which is the other thing you normal go up for. And sleep we did, until we woke up.
-----------------------------------------
* just in case, that is what we call in the literary game "irony"**.
** Thanks for that startling insight. Ed.
*** Okay, I think we can go with that for now. Ed.
**** I have always called it pigging out at the Italian, but apparently it is also a technique for beating "the wall".
**** A delightful meal filed under Snack/Small meal and something I first experienced in Denmark, home of the open sandwich. It consists of half a Chiabatta bread loaf, which itself is cut in half, liberally coated with houmous, then a layer of roasted veg, followed by grated carrot and salad. The top half is spread with pesto, green by preference, and placed on top of the "sandwich" at ninety degrees to the base slice. Lovely.
Thursday
At home. About to go on the sixth conference call of the day. And yet I am blogging. Enough said.
Wednesday, 7 March 2012
Tuesday, 6 March 2012
Sickness is in the air
Still two down at home, but life goes on. Maggot 2 has football after school, which adds an hour to his pick up time and whole lot of stress for the morning preparations, because I now also have to find his kit, in addition to the lunch box/breakfast/teeth/shoes/coat/where's the reading books routine that is the usual pandemonium.
I am now approaching the run-in to the "tunnel of death" of my Tuesday conference calls. On paper it does not look too bad, but in my mind it is buttock-clenchingly painful. My routine is that I can only get through it with caffeine, so at 10.15am precisely I start the morning elevenses ritual of hot water on coffee in the caffetiere (with 4 large spoons of coffee to approximate an espresso) and two thirds of a cup of milk heated in the microwave, a loving mix of semi-skimmed and skimmed milk, to create what us Baristas call a semi-semi. The sort of thing you might get watching an MTV video (pure smut, Ed). That should provide sufficient caffeine to send me in to orbit for the rest of the day.
The rest of the day is a sprinkling of calls, some actual old-fashioned work, and picking Maggot 2 and A&E's two children up from football at sixteen-ten hours.
I am sort of looking forward to tea time, which I shall be cooking of course, but that will shortly be followed by doing nothing, which is fast becoming one of my most favourite things.
I am now approaching the run-in to the "tunnel of death" of my Tuesday conference calls. On paper it does not look too bad, but in my mind it is buttock-clenchingly painful. My routine is that I can only get through it with caffeine, so at 10.15am precisely I start the morning elevenses ritual of hot water on coffee in the caffetiere (with 4 large spoons of coffee to approximate an espresso) and two thirds of a cup of milk heated in the microwave, a loving mix of semi-skimmed and skimmed milk, to create what us Baristas call a semi-semi. The sort of thing you might get watching an MTV video (pure smut, Ed). That should provide sufficient caffeine to send me in to orbit for the rest of the day.
The rest of the day is a sprinkling of calls, some actual old-fashioned work, and picking Maggot 2 and A&E's two children up from football at sixteen-ten hours.
I am sort of looking forward to tea time, which I shall be cooking of course, but that will shortly be followed by doing nothing, which is fast becoming one of my most favourite things.
Monday, 5 March 2012
Ilness
There is a bit of illness in the Scobi household, with both LO and Maggot 1 sick. LO needs to complete her course assignment by the end of the week so is soldiering on in her dressing gown, although she is not looking so hot. Maggot 1 is virus-ill (that ill-defined thing that has a bit of this and a bit of that, but nothing you could hang your hat on) and on the sofa not eating much (a sure sign of proper illness).
I was therefore drafted in to the school run, and a more shambolic start to the week I can barely contemplate. I have a bunch of conference calls and some things I need to do and some people to which I need to speak; in other words, a normal working day, and am savouring the well-planned if slightly monotonous rhythm of that working day.
We had a great weekend. LO spent most of the daytime hours on her college work, which fitted well with the boys' plans, which included Maggot 2 swimming lesson Saturday morning, and a four hour football tournament in the afternoon for Maggot 1. Myself and Maggot 2 stayed to watch and to kick footballs whenever possible, and it was a pretty good afternoon. To ensure no parent-related incidents*, the cub packs were all mixed up, and the team for which Maggot 1 played goalie came a creditable third. To be honest, and this is not the rose-tinted glasses of a parent, but he really made a difference on the one game he played outfield, however he prefers goalie, and did a pretty good job playing that position as well, even saving a penalty in the penultimate game.
Saturday evening LO and I went to a party for a friend who lives round the corner who was celebrating her fiftieth birthday. She is the parent of one of Maggot 1's class mates and so probably a tier 3** friend overall, but they are very friendly and we usually play on the same quiz team at the Kingsham quiz and we had invited her to a music quiz evening chez Scobi on exactly the same day. In a nutshell, we got an invite, as did A&E, who dropped by for a quick drink before we all four left for the party. The theme was "hippy" and I would say overall the turnout was excellent, although the interpretation was broad, and I would say would more accurately have been described as "late-sixties to mid-seventies" since there were a number of white high-heeled boots with short dresses, as well as a bunch of outfits which one might guess had been pulled from the back of a wardrobe having not been worn for forty years.
It was a lovely party, the hosts were very host-like and the food was great and their house is a lovely warm and inviting place. LO had her mental notepad out, jotting down "ideas for my fortieth", which may include a Yurt in the back garden.
Sunday was fairly relaxed, with a monster game of Monopoly in the afternoon. "Who won?" I hear you cry, but a chap is too modest to comment that he absolutely completely and utterly wiped the floor with his sad loser family, and they were all left homeless and penniless and begging for one Monopoly Dollar to buy a cup of tea.
On that high note of family accord, may I wish you a great week, and speak again soon.
-------------------------------------
* In previous years, I am reliably informed, there have been numerous "ugly incidents" with parents getting over enthusiastic about their little darling's input or treatment at the hands of others. Nuff said.
** Just in case you find me callous or something worse, I just made this up on the spot as it kind of paints a picture. I don't want you thinking I tier my friends or anything, coz that would just be a process too far, and that is from a person who works for a company whose motto is "No process too small, no process too far".
I was therefore drafted in to the school run, and a more shambolic start to the week I can barely contemplate. I have a bunch of conference calls and some things I need to do and some people to which I need to speak; in other words, a normal working day, and am savouring the well-planned if slightly monotonous rhythm of that working day.
We had a great weekend. LO spent most of the daytime hours on her college work, which fitted well with the boys' plans, which included Maggot 2 swimming lesson Saturday morning, and a four hour football tournament in the afternoon for Maggot 1. Myself and Maggot 2 stayed to watch and to kick footballs whenever possible, and it was a pretty good afternoon. To ensure no parent-related incidents*, the cub packs were all mixed up, and the team for which Maggot 1 played goalie came a creditable third. To be honest, and this is not the rose-tinted glasses of a parent, but he really made a difference on the one game he played outfield, however he prefers goalie, and did a pretty good job playing that position as well, even saving a penalty in the penultimate game.
Saturday evening LO and I went to a party for a friend who lives round the corner who was celebrating her fiftieth birthday. She is the parent of one of Maggot 1's class mates and so probably a tier 3** friend overall, but they are very friendly and we usually play on the same quiz team at the Kingsham quiz and we had invited her to a music quiz evening chez Scobi on exactly the same day. In a nutshell, we got an invite, as did A&E, who dropped by for a quick drink before we all four left for the party. The theme was "hippy" and I would say overall the turnout was excellent, although the interpretation was broad, and I would say would more accurately have been described as "late-sixties to mid-seventies" since there were a number of white high-heeled boots with short dresses, as well as a bunch of outfits which one might guess had been pulled from the back of a wardrobe having not been worn for forty years.
It was a lovely party, the hosts were very host-like and the food was great and their house is a lovely warm and inviting place. LO had her mental notepad out, jotting down "ideas for my fortieth", which may include a Yurt in the back garden.
Sunday was fairly relaxed, with a monster game of Monopoly in the afternoon. "Who won?" I hear you cry, but a chap is too modest to comment that he absolutely completely and utterly wiped the floor with his sad loser family, and they were all left homeless and penniless and begging for one Monopoly Dollar to buy a cup of tea.
On that high note of family accord, may I wish you a great week, and speak again soon.
-------------------------------------
* In previous years, I am reliably informed, there have been numerous "ugly incidents" with parents getting over enthusiastic about their little darling's input or treatment at the hands of others. Nuff said.
** Just in case you find me callous or something worse, I just made this up on the spot as it kind of paints a picture. I don't want you thinking I tier my friends or anything, coz that would just be a process too far, and that is from a person who works for a company whose motto is "No process too small, no process too far".
Friday, 2 March 2012
And . . . relax
I don't know about you, but I am liking the way the days are starting to draw out, the warmer temperatures that are appearing, if not all over the UK map, at least in the southern regions. I have noticed the odd bud appearing on the flora, and the odd skip in the step with the fauna. All in all, there is a sense that while the world's economics remains flat at best, and sinking at worst, at least Mother Nature is doing her thing when she should be doing it.
This weekend looks like being a bit of a lads weekend. LO has waxing (don't ask) and will probably spend most of her day on college work (swot), so it will be me and the lads doing swimming for Maggot 2, followed by an afternoon football tournament for Maggot 1 with the cubs. I have manfully volunteered to assist, which may mean anything from nothing to refereeing a match, with a bit of cat-herding in between. Maggot 2 is coming too, and I hope that he can contribute in some way, whether by running the line, or maybe taking the bungs. Both he and I will take our boots "just in case we are needed".
Once that is over, it will be back for a cup of tea and a slice of cake, and quite possibly a little nap for the elder members of the lads' club. Then in the evening we have a 50th birthday party, with a "hippy" theme. I did try to suggest to LO she has hips enough already, but selective deafness led her to eBay and the purchase of a hippy wig with tinted heart-shaped sunglasses. My outfit is based completely on items I have found in our "dressing up box", which we keep in the loft to ensure that it is slightly damp with a faint odour of eau-de-mould. I will be wearing flares and an old leather, likely with a stupid hat (that I actually did originally buy for normal wear) and some beads or something. I believe that in such situations, a token gesture usually gets you through the door, and within the hour everyone has either swapped their items or are naked*, so it doesn't really matter any more.
I hope you too have a groovy and love-filled weekend man.
This weekend looks like being a bit of a lads weekend. LO has waxing (don't ask) and will probably spend most of her day on college work (swot), so it will be me and the lads doing swimming for Maggot 2, followed by an afternoon football tournament for Maggot 1 with the cubs. I have manfully volunteered to assist, which may mean anything from nothing to refereeing a match, with a bit of cat-herding in between. Maggot 2 is coming too, and I hope that he can contribute in some way, whether by running the line, or maybe taking the bungs. Both he and I will take our boots "just in case we are needed".
Once that is over, it will be back for a cup of tea and a slice of cake, and quite possibly a little nap for the elder members of the lads' club. Then in the evening we have a 50th birthday party, with a "hippy" theme. I did try to suggest to LO she has hips enough already, but selective deafness led her to eBay and the purchase of a hippy wig with tinted heart-shaped sunglasses. My outfit is based completely on items I have found in our "dressing up box", which we keep in the loft to ensure that it is slightly damp with a faint odour of eau-de-mould. I will be wearing flares and an old leather, likely with a stupid hat (that I actually did originally buy for normal wear) and some beads or something. I believe that in such situations, a token gesture usually gets you through the door, and within the hour everyone has either swapped their items or are naked*, so it doesn't really matter any more.
I hope you too have a groovy and love-filled weekend man.
--------------------------------
* Humour of course has no respect for the truth
Thursday, 1 March 2012
Relentless
That is how the week is panning out.
I had fun at tennis last night, and definitely took out a bad day on the little yellow balls, and were it not for the very high fence I suspect we would have been down a dozen of balls or so, but boy oh boy did I get my frustrations out.
My top spin is to die for, and in terms of points won, death was probably too good for my game. Nevertheless it is a fun group and we play a lot of tennis and get some good coaching, so long may it continue. Last night we covered how to "neutralise" our opponent, which is basically to keep them playing their shots behind the baseline, and then starting to move them around the court so that they are put under pressure. At the point that they play a short shot, we move in for a transition shot, to put them under further pressure with a view to moving to the net to smash them in to oblivion. It is fair to say that I approached the final stage of this like a Red Setter chasing a deer.
I also watched the England game, and enjoyed going down two-nil, but then gallantly coming back to two-all, only to be robbed of a point in the ninety-third minute. Damn those Dutch and their infernal left feet. Overall it was a good game, and there were positives to take away, as well as negatives around "naive defending", a fact with which everyone, including the stand-in manager, agreed.
On the subject of Stuart Pearce, the boy done good.
There was a bit too much
and not enough
and on occasions maybe there should have been a little bit of
He even, according to Maggot 1, looks a bit like 'Arry, but I can't see it myself.
I had fun at tennis last night, and definitely took out a bad day on the little yellow balls, and were it not for the very high fence I suspect we would have been down a dozen of balls or so, but boy oh boy did I get my frustrations out.
My top spin is to die for, and in terms of points won, death was probably too good for my game. Nevertheless it is a fun group and we play a lot of tennis and get some good coaching, so long may it continue. Last night we covered how to "neutralise" our opponent, which is basically to keep them playing their shots behind the baseline, and then starting to move them around the court so that they are put under pressure. At the point that they play a short shot, we move in for a transition shot, to put them under further pressure with a view to moving to the net to smash them in to oblivion. It is fair to say that I approached the final stage of this like a Red Setter chasing a deer.
I also watched the England game, and enjoyed going down two-nil, but then gallantly coming back to two-all, only to be robbed of a point in the ninety-third minute. Damn those Dutch and their infernal left feet. Overall it was a good game, and there were positives to take away, as well as negatives around "naive defending", a fact with which everyone, including the stand-in manager, agreed.
On the subject of Stuart Pearce, the boy done good.
There was a bit too much
and not enough
and on occasions maybe there should have been a little bit of
He even, according to Maggot 1, looks a bit like 'Arry, but I can't see it myself.
Tuesday, 28 February 2012
What is there to say about Tuesday
I am sad to report that the title, that felt was nice and original, has been used before. Oh well, there is not much that is new in the world*.
Today we have the boiler engineer back for the fixing of the pump and various seals. Hopefully the end game will be hot water when we want it, and a boiler that has passed muster with the engineers. We have had to cut away a bit of the boxing in, which has upset us both, but definitely LO much more than me. There is also the prospect that if some other types of repairs are needed, that require access to the "isolation valves", then we will need to cut away the boxing in sufficiently for them to get a screwdriver in the back. I plan to remember this, and expect to have to do it if we are ever to need another repair.
The only other news is that I have been having intermittent broadband problems. I am slightly worried that it was caused by the dodgy wiring in the house, and it may yet come to that, but at the moment I have regular drop-outs, and having just rung O2, they have confirmed that we have had multiple drop-outs and that they need to "do some tests". This will likely take out the line from time to time, over a period of 24 hours, so we are planning to do it at the weekend.
Have a good week, and speak soon.
-----------------------------------
* as the sound engineer in the Camden Falcon told us, there had been "... nothing new in music since Bowie in 'seventy-six".
Monday, 27 February 2012
Just a quickie
I was up extra early today due to problems with staying asleep, partly caused by something going by the name of Maggot 2 doing his best impersonation of "many crumbs in bed", and thus driving me from my crib to a place where tea could be made, and a couple of episodes of Frasier could be watched.
It is now 7am and both Maggots are down, which means I lose control of the controller, and am banished to the kitchen for apple juice and toastandmarmite. Unusually for a Monday, I am in the office today. Late Friday there was a three line whip for a bunch of interested and not so interested parties to go in to the office to review a large project that those at the top believe is going off course. In fairness, it is going off course, but the main reason is that the course set prior to customer signature was set by the commercial folks, let's call them the vampires, whose goals are about getting it signed up, not making it deliverable. The usual adage in Starfleet is sign it up first, work out how we are going to deliver it second, the imperative being that only by having a severe problem with resourcing can we solve it, and thus it was so on this deal. That is all well and good; we are a commercial organisation etc. etc., however the power is with the vampires and not with the technical folks, let's call them the lambs* so, by way of an example, when the customer is pushing to crunch the timeline on the project, the vampires have to control themselves to avoid dribbling on the contract, whereas the lambs are silently looking skywards for the missing month in the plan.
All that abstract rambling is to say that we have a project where the vampires promised a certain timeline, against the advice of the lambs, which is like the pebble advising against the tide coming in. Now that the vampires are looking at ways to spend their bonus, the lambs are sitting in a room saying "what the . . . . ". Once the customer gets wind of such things, they escalate to our senior management team, and our senior management team call a meeting to "get the project back on track".
This meeting will be attended by both lambs and vampires. My attendance is almost incidental, but as the lead for the lambs who put the proposal together, it is probably right I be there for image, something I care not much about really, and also to support my team, something I care about a lot. Quite how the "... the vampires made up the timeline to satisfy the customer ..." discussion will go, only time will tell.
Have a good day, speak again soon.
It is now 7am and both Maggots are down, which means I lose control of the controller, and am banished to the kitchen for apple juice and toastandmarmite. Unusually for a Monday, I am in the office today. Late Friday there was a three line whip for a bunch of interested and not so interested parties to go in to the office to review a large project that those at the top believe is going off course. In fairness, it is going off course, but the main reason is that the course set prior to customer signature was set by the commercial folks, let's call them the vampires, whose goals are about getting it signed up, not making it deliverable. The usual adage in Starfleet is sign it up first, work out how we are going to deliver it second, the imperative being that only by having a severe problem with resourcing can we solve it, and thus it was so on this deal. That is all well and good; we are a commercial organisation etc. etc., however the power is with the vampires and not with the technical folks, let's call them the lambs* so, by way of an example, when the customer is pushing to crunch the timeline on the project, the vampires have to control themselves to avoid dribbling on the contract, whereas the lambs are silently looking skywards for the missing month in the plan.
All that abstract rambling is to say that we have a project where the vampires promised a certain timeline, against the advice of the lambs, which is like the pebble advising against the tide coming in. Now that the vampires are looking at ways to spend their bonus, the lambs are sitting in a room saying "what the . . . . ". Once the customer gets wind of such things, they escalate to our senior management team, and our senior management team call a meeting to "get the project back on track".
This meeting will be attended by both lambs and vampires. My attendance is almost incidental, but as the lead for the lambs who put the proposal together, it is probably right I be there for image, something I care not much about really, and also to support my team, something I care about a lot. Quite how the "... the vampires made up the timeline to satisfy the customer ..." discussion will go, only time will tell.
Have a good day, speak again soon.
---------------------------------------------
* As in the World War 1 "lambs to the slaughter"
Friday, 24 February 2012
And . . . relax
And now, the time is near, and we find ourselves at Friday. Hurray for that.
As you know, I have been running a highly scientific experiment to see whether a shorter week makes the getting to Friday any the quicker, and this week's data has been added to the data from previous weeks, and some clever jiggery pokery has been done to the dataset, most of which I don't really understand. I find that keeping quiet and stroking your chin a bit tends to give a chap a certain knowing air. Less is more and all that, something I think Jordan could probably have heeded.
Anyhow, this was a five day week. It had been planned as a four day week, however Maggot 2's illness put a halt to us both attending the school trip to a local attraction, so the week was five days long and the feeling on Friday was just the same as when it was three days long. So that proves it then.
On the subject of Maggot 2, I think if truth be told, he was not so worried about missing the school trip. It was to a local outdoor centre that has a number of old buildings, from early middle ages onwards, and as part of the theme, the kids were asked to dress up in Victorian costumes. Truth be told, Maggot 2 is not so keen on dressing up, in public at least. Either doing it of watching other people doing it tends to bring the same response "weirdos". Now, if you were in a beautiful country village on a sunny summer's day and some strange fellows with stick and bells on their shoes were to start dancing, I think most of us would be with Maggot 2, however in general the tolerance for such things is much greater in the populous than it is for Maggot 2.
This Sunday we are hosting a family do, to say thank you to all the uncles who helped build our extension. This will be an interesting affair, not least because the brothers are all so very different and, truth be told, do not often get together in one place, except maybe to go watch Pompey at Fratton Park. So we can expect a few "family moments" but hopefully also some fun, some drinking, some eating and, if I can time it right, a little postprandial kip to boot.
Before I go, I saw this quote and smiled:
Before I go, I saw this quote and smiled:
- "Formula for success: rise early, work hard, strike oil." J. Paul Getty
Have a good weekend.
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