tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4153411315762060042024-03-14T18:49:01.147+00:00Why Do I Bother?Things that make me smile should make you smile too. Smile goddamnit, smile. Maybe just a little smirk then.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger113125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415341131576206004.post-2279638299949763112016-02-08T18:31:00.000+00:002016-02-08T18:32:12.129+00:00Oh internet, where art thou?<div style="text-align: justify;">
Dear Reader,</div>
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It's said that it's unfair to kick a man when he's down, is the same true of a multi-billion pound earning internet service provider? No, especially when said provider has been failing to deliver consistent internet connectivity to my household since I moved house six months ago. In that situation you make sure your boots have got sharp toes.</div>
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Internet outages have become a commonplace occurrence in our household, particularly irritating as we both work from home and have no access to mobile phones signals, so no plan b. It should be noted, we haven't moved to Mars, just nearer to sheep and trees. As a result brushes with the customer service department of BT have become increasingly commonplace.</div>
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Communicating with BT is like communicating with the IT Crowd, they really want you to turn <i>it</i> off and turn <i>it </i>back on again.</div>
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I am regularly turning <i>it </i>off and turning <i>it </i>on again. The <i>it </i>in my case turns out to be the hub, the little box which connects to the phone line and then distributes the joy of the internet all around the house. </div>
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Every time I call I learn a little more, (and possibly) navigate a step further through the flowchart of solutions available to the representative on the other end of the line. Some examples are required...</div>
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<b>BT Person, (having quizzed me as to who I am): </b>What is your problem sir?</div>
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<b>Me, (having proved who I am): </b>Internet connectivity is broken again.</div>
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<b>BT Person</b>: I am sorry to hear that, that can be very frustrating. Is the telephone line working?</div>
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<b>Me</b>: Yes...</div>
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<b>BT Person</b>: If you cannot make calls from the phone line...</div>
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<b>Me</b>: I CAN MAKE CALLS FROM THE PHONE LINE. THIS CALL IS FROM THE PHONE LINE.</div>
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<b>BT Person</b>: Thank you sir, let me just check a couple of things.</div>
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At this point I wonder what those checks might be. Does the BT person have to find another piece of paper with some more questions on? Does he also have to check which pieces of paper have been used before? </div>
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<b>BT Person</b>: Have you tried taking the power out of the back of the hub for 10 seconds and then putting it back in again?</div>
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<b>Me</b>: Yes.</div>
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<sound a="" ball.="" being="" in="" of="" paper="" piece="" scrunched="" up=""></sound></div>
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<b>BT Person</b>: Have you tried taking the power out of the back of the hub for 30 seconds and then putting it back in again?</div>
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<b>Me</b>: Erm, no. That will make a difference, will it?</div>
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<b>BT Person</b>: Yes, most assuredly, sir.</div>
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<i 30="" and="" back="" count="" in="" out="" plug="" pull="" put="" the="" then="" to=""></i></div>
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<b>BT Person</b>: Is it back up? I have been changing some settings in the meantime....</div>
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<b>Me</b>: What settings, and why weren't they set properly in the first place?</div>
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I am beginning to believe that the internet is in fact like telephone exchanges from the past where you phone an operator</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">BBC.co.uk? Just putting you though...</td></tr>
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<b>BT Person</b>: Is it back up?</div>
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<b>Me</b>: Yes, it is back up.</div>
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Of course that wasn't the only conversation, there were many more and they were getting progressively more surreal.</div>
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<b>BT Person</b>: Have you tried taking the power out of the back of the hub for 10 seconds and then putting it back in again?</div>
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<b>Me</b>: Yes.</div>
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<b>BT Person</b>: Have you tried taking the power out of the back of the hub for 30 seconds and then putting it back in again?</div>
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<b>Me</b>: Yes.</div>
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<b>BT Person</b>: Have you tried taking the power out of the back of the hub for precisely 57 seconds whilst putting your finger in your ear and whistling Frere Jacque and then putting the power back in it again?</div>
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<b>Me</b>: Yes.</div>
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<b>BT Person</b>: Have you got a paperclip?</div>
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<b>Me</b>: What?</div>
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<b>BT Person</b>: A paperclip, so we can reset the hub.</div>
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<b>Me</b>: Of course, a paperclip why didn't I think of that, that must be the solution</div>
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<b>BT Person</b>: There is a small hole in the back which if you push a paperclip into for precisely 28 seconds then the hub will reset.</div>
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<b>Me</b>: Is that a different kind of reset than the reset that I get if I press the button labelled reset?</div>
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<b>BT Person</b>: This is a hard reset.</div>
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<b>Me</b>: Yes it is, it took me ages to find a bloody paperclip.</div>
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This carries on over the following weeks, I have been turning it off and turning it back on again everyday for the last two weeks and then <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/technology-35472198" target="_blank">this happened.</a> We had another outage, only this time it wasn't just me, it was the entire customer base. When I phoned the helpline, bracing for another surreal instruction from customer service, all I got was an engaged tone, again and again and again. Apparently I wasn't the only one.</div>
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The reason for all of this, according to BT, was a faulty router. I have a faulty router. Could it be that my router is the cause of all this? Oh and one other thing, if you think the turning it on and off again advice is exaggerated, this tweet from BT Customer Services says it all.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKItCbz9Ryq8fPMySQOLPerD34UOydmn8JkXGN7Zl0HVda6qsFiFPSs96TH6jGpBKfufdV2Uh5OEJ8BXDNzHsnGgdhyphenhyphenB3RtU-nvvZFYohy_OFoj4OCDEslqiuKn0e1b8MT3XFAiQr62xVL/s1600/bttweet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="95" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKItCbz9Ryq8fPMySQOLPerD34UOydmn8JkXGN7Zl0HVda6qsFiFPSs96TH6jGpBKfufdV2Uh5OEJ8BXDNzHsnGgdhyphenhyphenB3RtU-nvvZFYohy_OFoj4OCDEslqiuKn0e1b8MT3XFAiQr62xVL/s320/bttweet.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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On that note, I'm off. Off to the opposition that is. Bye bye BT, it's been emotional.</div>
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More soon Dear Reader.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415341131576206004.post-29265764479406390012013-09-03T14:33:00.000+01:002013-09-03T14:34:15.399+01:00Postcards from Australia Part 3 - Jet Lag and the 50th Shade of Unfashionable Lateness<div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">When I <a href="http://troghead.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/postcards-from-australia-part-2-flight.html#axzz2dpZEPlv6" target="_blank">last left you</a>, breatheless with excitement no doubt, I had just vented with regards to inappropriate queuing behaviour outside airplane toilets. You will be pleased to hear this post contains no toilet humour of any sort, honest.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Having arrived at out hotel in sunny Sydney (even in Winter) at 9am local time we were more than a little miffed to find that our room would not be ready until Midday. Just what we needed to hear having been travelling for the best part of thirty hours. We camped in reception, looking moody and homeless and eventually had a room ready for about 10, amazing what a little bit of righteous indignation can do.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Jet lag is an amazing thing. We were meeting friends in the evening who were hardened travellers. They advised sleep, but only a little bit, a couple of hours a most. We managed five and then ventured out into the Sydney night. After the pleasant sunshine of the morning we were a little shocked to find that the evening was bloody freezing. Oh well. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">After a pleasant evening we returned to our hotel and the miracle of jet lag and a mini bar ensured we were tucked up in bed by 4am, awakening fresh as a daisy by 7am. Something was not right, but we were awake. So we trooped to Taroonga Zoo, after an ill-conceived walk to the ferry. The sun may have been out but Sydney's Main Street to the ferry was wreathed in shade (bloody cold again) and much further away than expected. This, coupled with my initial bold strides in completely the wrong direction (albeit on the right road) didn't help matters. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We eventually arrived at the zoo cold and grumpy. A mood which was shared by the animals, most of whom were either asleep or hiding away.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The ferry terminal is bracketed on side by that venerable Australian landmark, the Sydney Opera House. Having set eyes on it close up for the first time, I realised it is much like a polar bear... I may need to explain. From a distance a polar bear looks pearly white and shiny, get up close (not too close) and the polar bear has a distinctly yellow tinge. The Opera House is much the same. Every photo I had ever seen portrays a brilliant white Opera House. Up close it is yellow, definitely yellow. Anyhoo...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">At about 3pm we returned to our apartments, shattered and needing sleep. This was a little unfortunate, as we had to be in North Sydney for 7pm for a pre-wedding get together. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We had a little snooze and woke up before 7pm, but only just. Jet lag had us in it's grip. Getting ready was a little bit like running through treacle, slow and sticky. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Eventually we made it out into the Sydney night and arrived at the venue at 9.30pm. This gave us ample time to meet all the relatives of the happy couple as they were leaving.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Following this the Dear Lady Wife and I were treated to a night out in North Sydney with the lucky groom and one of the groomsman. Much fun was had as we were accosted in a pub by a man who thought he had solved the worlds problems by inventing an iPhone cover! This iPhone cover would change the world by reflecting microwave radiation generated by mobile phones away from the user. My suspicion was that he spent time at home with his head covered in tin foil (just for testing purposes). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">An amusing photo opportunity presented itself, unfortunately photos are a bit of a challenge in the dark but you get the idea...</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Groom, Dear Lady Wife and Groomsman in spitroast shocker.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Infantile, I know, but there are some photos that you just can't resist. For some reason this amused me as well. Details for the caption competition will be disclosed shortly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">More soon Dear Reader.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">xx</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415341131576206004.post-62804014985476088302013-08-29T07:53:00.001+01:002013-08-29T07:54:47.311+01:00Postcards from Australia Part 2 - The Flight<p style="text-align: justify;"> Dear Reader,</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">When I last <a href="http://(null)" target="_self" title="">left you</a> I had cleared security and boarded a flight to Australia. This was largely un-eventful with the exception of one issue which I refuse to let pass. Sadly this post involves toilet humour.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Strangely, just like the last post, this is in fact a queuing issue. So, at the back of our plane where we are sat there are two toilets. As the plane is wide, there is a middle bank of seats, resulting in queues naturally forming for the toilets on either side of the plane. These queues are managed by an old-fashioned thing called good manners. If you are at the front of your queue, then you are facing the leader of the other queue across the width of the plane. If a toilet becomes free then either you, or the person you are facing grabs a toilet, depending which of you was there first. Does any of the above sound like rocket-science beyond the grasp of the average tool-wielding chimp, let alone human?</p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTb2WPiAi-JSTNpRY51kfnF3J1JqqGPnTz0Z6aKV09X07hLOr97k64Et9HDQz5EPgQSDmXdQN4lof5cfmxK_R_DAG0Cg6rLfJhqH27havD-sEtZT82wWCdihdeWLsUS94m9mWjFNnd2WcW/s438/Photo%25252029%252520Aug%2525202013%25252016%25253A43.jpg" target="_blank" style=" "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTb2WPiAi-JSTNpRY51kfnF3J1JqqGPnTz0Z6aKV09X07hLOr97k64Et9HDQz5EPgQSDmXdQN4lof5cfmxK_R_DAG0Cg6rLfJhqH27havD-sEtZT82wWCdihdeWLsUS94m9mWjFNnd2WcW/s438/Photo%25252029%252520Aug%2525202013%25252016%25253A43.jpg" id="blogsy-1377759183323.3462" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="438" height="349"></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Nirvana we dreamed of</td></tr></tbody></table>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I have reached the front of the queue on my side of the plane. This position is by an exit door, so I spend my time watching nothing in particular whilst I wait for nature to take it's course in front of me. The lady facing me who shall be named <strike>Superbitch</strike> Lady A is, based on the system outlined above is after me. All is well in the world.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto; ">At this point the toilet in question becomes vacant. The door opens, someone leaves, avoiding the carnage that is about to ensue. </span><strike style="text-align: -webkit-auto; ">S</strike><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); "><strike>uperbitch</strike> Lady A stares down </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); "><strike style="text-align: -webkit-auto; ">S<span style="text-align: justify; ">upermegabitchfacefromhell</span></strike> Lady B</span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); "><span style="text-align: justify; ">. Words are exchanged. </span><strike>S</strike><strike>uperbitch</strike> Lady A wins the war of words, taking the cubicle with her. <strike>S<span style="text-align: justify; ">upermegabitchfacefromhell</span></strike><span style="text-align: justify; "> Lady B, remains stoically in front of me, intending to take the second available cubicle.</span></span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">This is too much, at this point I have choices. I could make a scene, which would be a much larger scene as she has no intention of backing down twice, or back down. I choose a third option, being that we are close to landing, which is to wake the Dear Lady Wife from a deep slumber to tell her all about it. She is not amused.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><strike>S<span style="text-align: justify; ">upermegabitchfacefromhell</span></strike><span style="text-align: justify; "> Lady B has not finished with me yet. When the plane lands it transpires that </span><strike>S<span style="text-align: justify; ">upermegabitchfacefromhell</span></strike><span style="text-align: justify; "> Lady B is only sat a couple of rows in front of me. I am in the process of dis-embarking, about to pass the seat where </span><strike>S<span style="text-align: justify; ">upermegabitchfacefromhell</span></strike><span style="text-align: justify; "> Lady B resides. She has not as yet retrieved here hand-baggage (which I presume to be a broom-stick and a very angry black cat) from the overhead storage lockers. Undoubtedly spying me with her third eye, she decides to start this process whilst I am parallel with her. She does this by throwing her not inconsidable body mass in my direction, propelling me into the right hand row of seats as she retrieves her items.</span></span><br>
</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">When I recover, and rejoin the shuffling ranks exiting the plane, I find myself behind her and her family. She only stops to talk for ten minutes to each flight attendant she passes on the way out of the plane, deploying that body mass in such a manner that means she won't be passed. I wonder whether urinating down her skirt is unacceptable behaviour on a long-haul flight, as I still haven't been.</span></p>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNAgsn0AgrSdlW7IqnUL64xMZfO4aamKG06dzNDCEvQfMey0oMLiAFkA1q6BPiQ7jJ6S3XVB27e9LHT2FbEv_8epTHcZUwsVryc6CUHrEknzN3fe-44pjlzmUcSlplsNK2icjW5cVypQyG/s604/Photo%2525208%252520Oct%2525202012%25252009%25253A30.jpg" target="_blank" style="clear: left; float: left; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNAgsn0AgrSdlW7IqnUL64xMZfO4aamKG06dzNDCEvQfMey0oMLiAFkA1q6BPiQ7jJ6S3XVB27e9LHT2FbEv_8epTHcZUwsVryc6CUHrEknzN3fe-44pjlzmUcSlplsNK2icjW5cVypQyG/s500/Photo%2525208%252520Oct%2525202012%25252009%25253A30.jpg" id="blogsy-1377759183340.244" class="alignleft" width="284" height="604" alt=""></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ah, this will be the luggage</td></tr></tbody></table>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Eventually we clear </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><strike>Supermegabitchfacefromhell</strike> Lady B and security and spot her and her brood once more awaiting the arrival of the luggage. Our cases emerge first, a small victory, but you have to hold on to what you can. As I leave the baggage area I spy a long item of luggage which definitely isn't a case wrapped in brown paper retrieved by <strike>S<span style="text-align: justify; ">upermegabitchfacefromhell</span></strike><span style="text-align: justify; "> Lady B... Yep that'll be the broomstick.</span></span></p>
<p style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Myself and the DLW are now in Australia. Who knows what will happen next. More soon Dear Reader.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Xx</span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br>
</span></p>
<p> </p><div style="text-align: right; font-size: small; clear: both;" id="blogsy_footer"><a href="http://blogsyapp.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" alt="Posted with Blogsy" style="vertical-align: middle; margin-right: 5px;" width="20" height="20" />Posted with Blogsy</a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415341131576206004.post-77287054930952589922013-08-27T06:45:00.001+01:002013-08-27T06:50:50.946+01:00Postcards from Australia Part 1 - The Journey<p style="text-align: left;">Dear Reader,</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">A dear friend is getting hitched in Australia, which provided enough excuse for me and the Dear Lady Wife to finally make the journey from the UK to Sydney. This was an interesting journey, dotted with notable events, some of which I will attempt to recapture here.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">We begin at Heathrow Airport, Terminal 3. We have arrived unfashionably early, as we have many important supplies to acquire at the airport. The intention being to breeze through check-in and security leaving us two hours to eat and purchase the essentials for the trip.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p><div style="text-align: justify;">Problems started almost immediately. We tried to check-in automatically, using the machine provided for the task. After what the machine described as a moment, but was in fact a string of moments joined together to form an eternity, our attempt failed. This excluded us from the short bag drop queue. The much longer check-in queue beckoned. This queue snaked towards the entrance of the departures hall. Apparently this was a problem to our airline, who came up with a novel solution. Solutions which sprung to my mind included opening more check-in desks, staffing the existing check-in desks with humans who possessed the ability to do the job and so on. The airline was way ahead of me though.</p>
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTvWj7bVkO-47I0J6Wt72Sf96W7jnaE0Z8kCai2tr4d86rp5eizBa9muBQiQFosBA5tZKfIZhHPaLT5Xfhyphenhyphen2KOU_uu22rJecgoWsbAI7fPDw6IttxkMIrF2CgHu9wUnF7z8RvPrMZGjdj6/s300/Photo%25252022%252520Aug%2525202013%25252011%25253A49.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTvWj7bVkO-47I0J6Wt72Sf96W7jnaE0Z8kCai2tr4d86rp5eizBa9muBQiQFosBA5tZKfIZhHPaLT5Xfhyphenhyphen2KOU_uu22rJecgoWsbAI7fPDw6IttxkMIrF2CgHu9wUnF7z8RvPrMZGjdj6/s300/Photo%25252022%252520Aug%2525202013%25252011%25253A49.jpg" id="blogsy-1377582595486.6646" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="300" height="257"></a><span style="text-align: left;"></span></div>
<p style="text-align: justify;">You may have encountered a device like before, it is called the tensabarrier. This device, linked to a huge number of it's friends are deployed in airports throughout the world to control tired and irritable travellers at check-in and security to stop riots from occurring. Sometimes, they are deployed for a bit of a laugh, which was the approach of the airline here. So, the check-in queue, which already resembles the world's largest conga line has spilled beyond the control of the tensabarrier colony currently deployed. We are currently queuing in the "beyond the conga line" part of the queue. A representative of the airline addresses the area "beyond the conga line", excited we think more of the numerous currently empty check-booths to our left will be opened and this is where we were going. We were wrong. A new colony of tensabarriers had been hastily assembled to control the area "beyond the conga line". We were now part of the "outer conga line". There is a gap of a couple of metres to the "inner conga line", this is the "conga-less zone", an area so riddled with unseen danger and peril that an airline attendant has to guide people across it. You can imagine my amusement.<br>
</p>
<p><span style="text-align: justify; "><br>
</span></p>
<p><span style="text-align: justify; ">Several months pass, during which time we cross the "conga-less zone" without incident, and approach the end of the "inner conga zone". At that point another attendant of the airline asks if anyone on the several flights preceding ours are in the queue. Several people behind us stick up their hands. I initially presume they are going to be told that they are too late for their flight and settle in for the wailing, shouting and fighting to ensue. Image my horror when it transpires they were being allowed to "conga line jump", thus further delaying our journey. By this point I was ready to have them shot.</span><br>
</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">A mere week later and the queue jumpers have been<strike> shot</strike> checked-in. We made the front of the line. As always, at this point all check-in desks are populated by family groups spanning five generations, all of whom have, unbelievably, considering how long they have been in the "inner conga line", not got their documentation to hand. I wonder whether tossing imaginary hand-grenades in an airport is an act of terrorism.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Then a gap, and we check-in. This takes less than a minute, which leads to question it was taking so long to check everyone else in. Never mind, we are through, to security, anyway.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I wish I could say this bit was easier, but I am not that good a liar. The signs on the walls make it quite clear what you must do before going through security. Strip down to bare essentials, no belts, shoes, whips, concealed hand-guns etc. Also no liquids, everyone clear on what a liquid is? It is the sloshy stuff that isn't solid. Why am I always waiting for someone to throw away three gallons of the sloshy stuff? Why do they always have to re-pack their hand luggage as a result of doing this? We clear security, leaving only twelve minutes to board. Just about enough time to have a meal and buy some magazines and make last call for boarding feeling thoroughly sweaty and bedraggled. It can only get better.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p>More soon Dear Reader.</p>
<p>Xx</p><div style="text-align: right; font-size: small; clear: both;" id="blogsy_footer"><a href="http://blogsyapp.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" alt="Posted with Blogsy" style="vertical-align: middle; margin-right: 5px;" width="20" height="20" />Posted with Blogsy</a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415341131576206004.post-56867775331522016282013-08-01T21:23:00.002+01:002013-10-09T21:00:03.200+01:00Car Park Wars Part Deux<div style="text-align: justify;">
Dear Reader,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When I left you <a href="http://troghead.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/car-park-wars.html#axzz2ahVtmnjT" target="_blank">yesterday</a>, I left a cliffhanger. For those who can't be arsed to read <a href="http://troghead.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/car-park-wars.html#axzz2ahVtmnjT" target="_blank">yesterday</a> a bulletpoint summary below. This is a little like the bit at the start of a TV series episode which if you are watching in sequence you don't need to see. I fast-forward to get a minute of my life back, on this occasion if you are dialled-in as it where, skip the bullets and go straight to the plot. Otherwise, you will need read the bullets. So, </div>
<ul>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Dear Lady Wife (from this point forward DLW) has parked in a car park on a Monday, purchasing a weekly ticket. She has a fractious history with the car parking attendant</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">DLW departing car park on Monday on a hot day with windows open encounters a mischievous gust of wind, ticket flies out of window. All should be good, as the receipt has not suffered the same fate</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">On Tuesday DLW displays the receipt, assuming that this would be sufficient proof of ticket purchase.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Receives a parking contravention ticket.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">On Wednesday DLW displays the receipt again, assuming that this would be sufficient proof of ticket purchase.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Receives a parking contravention ticket.</li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Things are a tad fraut when I return on Wednesday, crockery has been broken, there is a cat dangling from the lamp shade, which can only mean one thing, DLW is NOT HAPPY. A letter has been written, a blog must be written and a solution planned. The solution involves A4 paper and blu-tack. Now the fool that evaluates DLW's car everyday cannot fail to miss the proof of purchase. See below...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpSzSX6v6wWyHBgAR_Ib_lxFVlnpPHbLZLnz6gCdkuTvLH3MMA1JZhCpxxOzOTs_rB43_4swA5ms9xcaKgF2E5nojP20wNqHoY7eV9T8xHQtHW8R7ksIJSjhir8noVpjSScrFBdFJq8vUi/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpSzSX6v6wWyHBgAR_Ib_lxFVlnpPHbLZLnz6gCdkuTvLH3MMA1JZhCpxxOzOTs_rB43_4swA5ms9xcaKgF2E5nojP20wNqHoY7eV9T8xHQtHW8R7ksIJSjhir8noVpjSScrFBdFJq8vUi/s320/photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Come on, do your worst!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was very excited when this very evening my DLW walked to the car. I was actually, live to her, via satellite to ascertain what the status of the car was. The previous sentence sounds like I had a news team waiting by the car, helicopters overhead and other stuff to catch the latest, which isn't true. I phoned, DLW approached the car and the truth was revealed.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, what was this truth? </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Keep going</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>NO TICKET!</b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, a battle has been won but the war is not over. We still have two days parking to reclaim. We have a letter to file. This matter is not over until a lady of significant physical presence sings.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
More soon Dear Reader. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
xx</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415341131576206004.post-57650241608946794792013-07-31T21:36:00.000+01:002013-08-21T06:40:47.450+01:00Car Park Wars<div style="text-align: justify;">
Dear Reader, </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
After a long silence which may or not be explained at a later date, I am compelled once again to discuss an irritant in my life, or more specifically in the Dear Lady Wife's (from this point forward DLW's) life. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, every day we are currently commuting from our local train station as work requires, leaving our cars in the station car park to be collected for the journey home. This does not always happen. Alcohol has been known to disrupt these best-laid plans, meaning cars holiday overnight in the station car park. This in itself does not pose a problem. A problem arises when next morning, in the mad rush to make the appropriate* train, there simply isn't enough time to renew the ticket on the car. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
*Appropriate - in these circumstances has to tick the following boxes...</div>
<br />
<ul>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Leaves at such a time to allow a longer lay-in than we intended</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">But not so much later that many eyebrows are raised at our respective places of work</li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's a fine balance, anyhoo...</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
That evening, if we are unlucky, the dreaded yellow and black sticky envelope will be attached to the windscreen. A ticket, a fine and much grumbling about the unfairness of the world. No amount of grumbling makes up for the fact that the ticket, no matter how irritating, is fair.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZgDKQSbENDK5f5tFlOVP9SPSYOf59WYk8eqQJ_QVDRxZUromQ3aAr5ttlro33JE3gNg9WULeKlFYmjFQ8-S-EvD1D5Qt4vPsnmpM5oldszX6NLR5uQDWgc3f8PV_skZmOY8Dj4SJ2dElP/s1600/parking+attendant2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZgDKQSbENDK5f5tFlOVP9SPSYOf59WYk8eqQJ_QVDRxZUromQ3aAr5ttlro33JE3gNg9WULeKlFYmjFQ8-S-EvD1D5Qt4vPsnmpM5oldszX6NLR5uQDWgc3f8PV_skZmOY8Dj4SJ2dElP/s1600/parking+attendant2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">OK, fair cop this time.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There are times when it does not seem fair. There have been times when we have both committed the same offence, in the same car park at the same time, but the DLW has got a ticket on her car, whilst I have not got one on mine. DLW calls this victimisation, I call it Karma, it's all about the viewpoint I suppose.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Then there are the times when it really isn't fair, such as now. On Monday, the DLW purchased a weekly parking ticket, which results in a ticket and a dated receipt dispensed on two small pieces of paper. On Monday evening, the DLW collects the car, it is warm and the air conditioning is about as effective as three asthmatic hamsters with hay-fever wheezing at you from the dashboard. Windows are opened and the journey home begins. A breeze picks up the parking ticket and blows it out of the window in transit, not a problem, the DLW still has the receipt. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Tuesday comes, the DLW returns to the station car park, displaying the receipt for the weekly ticket (containing full details of date and time purchased and amount paid - DLW is dictating this bit to me), in the windscreen. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Tuesday night comes. Ticket! </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Wednesday night comes. Ticket!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
What is highly annoying about this is that in an effort to dispel any attempt at unjustified dispute, the warden of the car park company takes three photos of the dashboard, left, right and centre to make it clear that a ticket has not been displayed. So, for the last two days they have photographed DLW's proof of purchase and still issued tickets.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Tomorrow shall be different. This is a vendetta against DLW. She is waging a WAR OF JUSTICE (by leaving notes and underlining words rather than actual killing), but even so, it is a noble war and a people's war. Let them issue a ticket, let them take their photos. What they will be photographing is this...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDA72jKYDjnAUzEdQJDAXPrqH2xi_-ZjvIiK4g1h2IG-x2sHIngz4JqR-TvhFfTgTFvmFmgqhR1xunebPdihBUXxk6_hxB06evQ1phHdSlAG0oLebLFLEl-nQWXnfZSQMN2Pm6bUX11OvW/s1600/carparkticket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDA72jKYDjnAUzEdQJDAXPrqH2xi_-ZjvIiK4g1h2IG-x2sHIngz4JqR-TvhFfTgTFvmFmgqhR1xunebPdihBUXxk6_hxB06evQ1phHdSlAG0oLebLFLEl-nQWXnfZSQMN2Pm6bUX11OvW/s320/carparkticket.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Damn them</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
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This is a social experiment. Will the evil attendant blindly ignore this clear evidence of purchase and plaster another ticket on the car? Note that in doing so the attendant will have to photograph this evidence and store it on the car park operators website. Will common sense prevail?</div>
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We have written a complaint to the car park operator, who, for the moment, shall remain *APCOA* <apcoa> nameless. Damn this stupid computer. I thought I had sorted the "don't insert what I think, just what I type" issue last week. The letter is yet to be posted as we are waiting to see what happens tomorrow. There may be more miscarriages of justice to pursue. </apcoa></div>
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I will be back with an update soon Dear Reader.</div>
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xx </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415341131576206004.post-69823505270603748282013-01-10T13:01:00.000+00:002013-01-10T13:01:38.007+00:00StreetMogs<br />
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Dear Reader, </div>
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<br /></div>
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Regular readers of my blog will have realised by now that I have a certain affection for the feline kind. What I would like to share today is the significant efforts of a postman who clearly shares my love of all things feline. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Whilst trudging through the leafy suburbs of South Wimbledon, weighed down with 100 kilos of mail, (most of which is spam, I would imagine) he would come across a members of cat-kind. He decided to cat - alog (geddit?) these encounters with a camera and a blog has emerged which is absolutely lovely. <a href="http://streetmog.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Streetmogs</a> details his every encounter with a cat which has occurred in words and pictures. To date over 80 have been caught on camera alongside their behaviours and assumed names.<br />
<br />
This wonderful blog has captured much attention in the media, including pieces in the <a href="http://www.standard.co.uk/news/london/its-postman-cat-london-postie-logs-mogs-in-blog-8392500.html" target="_blank">The Evening Standard</a>, <a href="http://www.yourlocalguardian.co.uk/news/10091839.Postie___s_mog_blog_is_the_cat___s_whiskers/" target="_blank">The Guardian</a> and <a href="http://www.yourlocalguardian.co.uk/news/10091839.Postie___s_mog_blog_is_the_cat___s_whiskers/" target="_blank">The Metro</a> to name but some. Following on the coat-tails of such lofty publications I have added <a href="http://www.streetmogs.com/" target="_blank">Streetmogs</a> to the <a href="http://troghead.blogspot.com/p/stufff-i-really-like.html?m=0#axzz2GxR3pibq" target="_blank">Stuff I Really Like</a> section of this blog for posterity.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1V8J-SH7Mz2so46Ejovapu80PH9Tk9Jxh35z-zCAwgrhEAneupUaGiKVdeZvn2OkFsiLby59dT8BnO5OltKAfCbW6VWGi3Wq0huCYYq3XKj4i087WEY_LVisFFoGjL5kbjFe589I4xnnJ/s640/blogger-image--442400008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1V8J-SH7Mz2so46Ejovapu80PH9Tk9Jxh35z-zCAwgrhEAneupUaGiKVdeZvn2OkFsiLby59dT8BnO5OltKAfCbW6VWGi3Wq0huCYYq3XKj4i087WEY_LVisFFoGjL5kbjFe589I4xnnJ/s400/blogger-image--442400008.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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More soon, Dear Reader x</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415341131576206004.post-77740039411578070952012-11-14T21:31:00.000+00:002012-11-14T21:32:09.862+00:00Of Mice and Men<br />
Dear Reader,<br />
<br />
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In 1786, the Scottish poet Robert Burns inadvertently disturbed a mouse nest whilst ploughing a field. The poem To a Mouse, followed as an apology to the uprooted mice. A necessary excerpt follows (with translations):<br />
<br /></div>
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But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane [you aren't alone] </div>
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In proving foresight may be vain:</div>
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The best laid schemes o' mice an' men</div>
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Gang aft a-gley, [often go awry] </div>
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<br /></div>
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Perhaps not the most promising start to a post I know, bear with me.<br />
<br />
In 2012, I was summoned in no uncertain terms by the Dear Lady Wife from my upstairs position on the computer. When I say "in no uncertain terms" it was quite clear from the volume and repetition of the high pitched screech emanating from downstairs that I must come immediately.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I arrive in the kitchen, where the youngest of our cat brood, Randall, is sitting, smug, cheeks stuffed, like a hamster. There is a thin grey thing sticking out of his mouth. He then spat out the contents of his mouth, which transpired to be a field mouse covered in cat saliva. This post is an apology to that saliva covered field mouse.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCui-qqbnVyGl1KdnhMN8tja1eg2jEiHSbMJVD7LxOe3BpVdvxrNOge3UVzOHWZp4dYa0QWTskOtSrlkgXYfpCPr9cl9CWFitSHiW0WVOL0cLQLLhA6sWOSRR8Ae9iz5kJPhBuzD_dtjKJ/s1600/Randfalls2.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCui-qqbnVyGl1KdnhMN8tja1eg2jEiHSbMJVD7LxOe3BpVdvxrNOge3UVzOHWZp4dYa0QWTskOtSrlkgXYfpCPr9cl9CWFitSHiW0WVOL0cLQLLhA6sWOSRR8Ae9iz5kJPhBuzD_dtjKJ/s400/Randfalls2.PNG" width="323" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">The determination is real, the mouse tail isn't.<br />
If I could do puffed cheeks I would.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Episodes involving field mice happen. One does what one can. Attempt to quarantine the cats, then capture the mouse and finally return the mouse to the wild. This is not always straightforward.<br />
<br />
This occasion was particularly convoluted, some bullet points will be introduced:<br />
<ul>
<li>Discover Randall in kitchen, mouse in mouth</li>
<li>Pick up determined Randall (see above) who is rigid, like a plank and then fights like a banshee</li>
<li>Eventually, Randall exhales mouse from mouth</li>
<li>Saliva covered mouse does not run away, instead sits between Randall and another resident cat, Pippy, blinking</li>
<li>I attempt mouse rescue</li>
<li>Randall, sensing what is coming, stores the mouse in his mouth again</li>
<li>I pick up Randall, who is stiff as a board, screaming instructions at Dear Lady Wife which amount to "bring me a glass"</li>
</ul>
<div>
At this point I have to drop out of the bullet points to make an observation. Cats are stronger than you think. Randall is not one for being picked up, or cuddled. He will tolerate about four seconds and then will start to squirm until you put him down. He squirms this time, but it is with the strength of ten Randalls, I place him on the floor, for fear of hurting him and the mouse is ejected again. Back to the bullets...</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Quarantine cats</li>
<li>Find the mouse, which proves to be fruitless. I didn't see which direction it headed as I was too busy dealing with the banshee Randall cat. At this point there are choices, either give up and let the mouse meets it fate (the outcome of this can be very smelly) as our furred friends may or may not finish the job, or, release the hounds (cats) in the hope that they will find him/her before I do (highly likely)</li>
<li>Release cats</li>
<li>Wait</li>
<li>Wait some more</li>
</ul>
<div>
Whilst the waiting is going on a picture needs to be painted, regarding the behavior of our three cats in this situation. They begin alert, sniffing and searching, through many objects. Having exhausted the obvious possibilities (slippers, boxes) they revert to a state of mild disinterest, feigning sleep, whilst always pointed in the direction of where they think the prey might be. Are they trying to fool the mouse?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_I5ZClMosW5TmJXW3lzMeTzg8S2H_MbolgPjJ5tEZlliVWw5ITj9uT9QWqLp7qZevCjfzZkB3RVy6k7n8B0KnXhYVYYSFDCQ9vw63DDFciUjjdt1Qur04ibzaZxs6eW5LxB8MLwTbpw4M/s1600/ofmiceandmen3.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_I5ZClMosW5TmJXW3lzMeTzg8S2H_MbolgPjJ5tEZlliVWw5ITj9uT9QWqLp7qZevCjfzZkB3RVy6k7n8B0KnXhYVYYSFDCQ9vw63DDFciUjjdt1Qur04ibzaZxs6eW5LxB8MLwTbpw4M/s400/ofmiceandmen3.PNG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Guys, stay focused, it must be behind the radiator.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Two of my cats were on guard duty when this photo was taken so we had to use stunt doubles. Guard duty is not an exaggeration... if the prey does not emerge immediately (within ten minutes) they take turns observing the perimeter, whilst the others go and eat, stare at fish, sleep, lick bottoms etc.<br />
<br />
Guard duty was being held around the base of the TV cabinet, designed (it seemed) for field mice in a bind. Too small a space for a cat paw but just the right height for a field mouse. As it got later in the evening I realised I would have to come up with another plan, as the cats would wait all night if necessary. I know this to be true as a mouse once hid in the vacuum cleaner, which I subsequently released. The cats chose to ignore the fact that I had released the mouse and stared at the vacuum cleaner for three days. They are determined little kitties.<br />
<br />
More bullets...<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Quarantine cats</li>
<li>Find object that will fit under TV cabinet that is long enough to poke out the other side. This proved to be a squashed roll of wrapping paper</li>
<li>Insert object under TV cabinet and fish around until the mouse emerges</li>
<li>Mouse emerges</li>
<li>Attempt to capture mouse in glass</li>
<li>Mouse goes back under TV cabinet</li>
<li>Insert object under TV cabinet and fish around until the mouse emerges etc</li>
<li>Repeat until bored</li>
<li>Eventually, out of sympathy, the mouse wanders into my clumsy trap</li>
</ul>
<br />
Once ensconced in the glass, the mouse is transported to the garden and released, out of sight of the cats, who, released from quarantine are staring at the TV cabinet again.<br />
<br />
Three days later, the cats are released from their hypnosis, (might have been the Jeremy Kyle re-runs) and return to their normal lives.<br />
<br />
On the fourth day, this happens...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM9t1QSn7h95xk4Yl4xjNdgTeUZyuV1BERvuuGyzbybfFkRoC1WCaHIAsOqviuzRPSts5w3JIK-oXhLfgjASCo-txXBahvtImVUVIYyJ6eDjSjQzIFdfHMLel3c3N15jy1LIBNp8_krBLx/s1600/Randalls2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM9t1QSn7h95xk4Yl4xjNdgTeUZyuV1BERvuuGyzbybfFkRoC1WCaHIAsOqviuzRPSts5w3JIK-oXhLfgjASCo-txXBahvtImVUVIYyJ6eDjSjQzIFdfHMLel3c3N15jy1LIBNp8_krBLx/s400/Randalls2.jpg" width="398" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Yeah, I did it again. You are getting real good with Photoshop.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And the whole mad saga begins again.<br />
<br />
To complete my apology to mouse-kind I leave you with my favorite mouse-related quote from the legendary Les Dawson...<br />
<br />
<b>I can always tell when the mother in law's coming to stay; the mice throw themselves on the traps. </b><br />
<br />
More soon Dear Reader,<br />
<br />
xx<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415341131576206004.post-33740015711713751082012-10-16T22:50:00.001+01:002012-10-16T22:51:01.413+01:00Dentistry<br />
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Dear Reader,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Whilst munching through a pack of crisps the other day, something odd and unexpected happened. I bit down and encountered something rather more solid than crisp, which I was expecting to basically melt in the mouth. This object did not melt in the mouth, nor did it disintegrate after vigorous chewing. This object was solid. I was excited, had the crisp manufacturer left in the packet something that I could later sue them for?</div>
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<br /></div>
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The object, a little smaller than a fingernail, pointed at one end and thickening towards what I called the base, slightly off-white in colour and quite shiny might have been an artefact from another planet...</div>
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<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSbITh-SzBKxhbvZba2cLwbNtNVeCQMbobZUYNlIVm5yXIPE6Gk4O3Wz0xif2CEXI3j8AA9PjE2sA6Y5fP1SHhzC86a99Jphw2fQlXifXgQahQ8wP31M4FMAUTinLDzAWFK5TD5B491ouo/s1600/dentist1.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSbITh-SzBKxhbvZba2cLwbNtNVeCQMbobZUYNlIVm5yXIPE6Gk4O3Wz0xif2CEXI3j8AA9PjE2sA6Y5fP1SHhzC86a99Jphw2fQlXifXgQahQ8wP31M4FMAUTinLDzAWFK5TD5B491ouo/s320/dentist1.PNG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">It looked like this.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
...except it wasn't. At this point, to my horror, I realised that a crown on one of my teeth had vacated my mouth via the most obvious exit and was embedded in my crisps. Upon inspection, there was a gaping hole at the front of my mouth, which had a metal peg sticking out. Not the most attractive look. This could only mean one thing, I would have to go to the dentist.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
I work with computers, if I was old enough I might have worked with this a long time ago:</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3v2p0Gb2GCTPTFpQ2I1WdioAsDA6arP9_me6mP2AOCB0bugTpz5x0Ia_TXglJ7D_bbZOHbGOY-uTsXZJsKqCdfr-_obPzUn0tCDUvO55w7C9wp5dzVhUu17WqtuPNFo8WLkHSm0XHrXvn/s1600/dentist5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3v2p0Gb2GCTPTFpQ2I1WdioAsDA6arP9_me6mP2AOCB0bugTpz5x0Ia_TXglJ7D_bbZOHbGOY-uTsXZJsKqCdfr-_obPzUn0tCDUvO55w7C9wp5dzVhUu17WqtuPNFo8WLkHSm0XHrXvn/s320/dentist5.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Loving the valves and capacitors, where is the keyboard?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Things have changed:</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-gq6GapZqb4A2v8jDHdZNShgjLeLVZ3QZ5pT2GecgKOn_6q1wLgclhOIw6D9VHw5PpKI8l_tD-befCu_M1SJubvYkJ4sLGivKDyIHCgT7Q7sPa-gzGM1XQImwlQlbhyRK7z1xEMCWNYON/s1600/dentist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-gq6GapZqb4A2v8jDHdZNShgjLeLVZ3QZ5pT2GecgKOn_6q1wLgclhOIw6D9VHw5PpKI8l_tD-befCu_M1SJubvYkJ4sLGivKDyIHCgT7Q7sPa-gzGM1XQImwlQlbhyRK7z1xEMCWNYON/s1600/dentist.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Loving the blue, still can't find the keyboard though.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This has all happened in a short space of time, approximately seventy years. Let us do this again with dentists tools, some 19th century examples:</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDjIh0ParPGoWkxv0nzFTURtqZYWXzst9x6i4-pxpQrOx-PNHHXesNq6CK7YTqdyFoa4PMFehKaG5459RyQal_HuN778tnnUUTQIuZ2CHAvh9Qjef5gf8xt0UqpQmc6UkWLoEZljzFfutZ/s1600/dentist3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDjIh0ParPGoWkxv0nzFTURtqZYWXzst9x6i4-pxpQrOx-PNHHXesNq6CK7YTqdyFoa4PMFehKaG5459RyQal_HuN778tnnUUTQIuZ2CHAvh9Qjef5gf8xt0UqpQmc6UkWLoEZljzFfutZ/s1600/dentist3.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Old school.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And spin forward to today:</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiPeI96kUFjwHhAIpoVMwDSmMYhGY8rkRhBL2yiiEDPtgBnWHe3O6MLLDQSQIO8G7PfMDO3ABT3IdqSKU_epcsJyHlnENxkPSzSirfkmUmMyyMzZeqmDYKrY2DC3WkjqYr_cKmyBbRj4xV/s1600/dentist4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiPeI96kUFjwHhAIpoVMwDSmMYhGY8rkRhBL2yiiEDPtgBnWHe3O6MLLDQSQIO8G7PfMDO3ABT3IdqSKU_epcsJyHlnENxkPSzSirfkmUmMyyMzZeqmDYKrY2DC3WkjqYr_cKmyBbRj4xV/s320/dentist4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">New school.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There is a problem here. I am pleased that the hammer-like object is no longer a part of the dentist arsenal, but aside from that, things maybe shinier, but they are basically the same. I am told that the "science" of dentistry began in 7000BC, at which point I am sure all that was available was hammers and chisels. Science, indeed.<br />
<br />
There is a ton of nuclear-powered equipment driving around Mars at the moment looking for signs of live on the Red Planet, that is science. Accelerating sub-atomic particles to close to the speed of light to simulate conditions that occurred within seconds of the Big Bang, that is science. Reaching for a drill and some pliers to provide dental treatment is a bad mix of medieval torture and DIY. It needs to stop.<br />
<br />
There is another issue as well. Nasal hair.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimHNj1WZk34R4KvUH3toD75yEiaNKIMQechfENhjLJM3TUVymVmqGL0uEKV3UKWgn5awSXhc8V4JioWwdXRHE5nvhYjQjqUR9i5bpnl0XHkHLJ7cEJM6Chbh4KMlFmWvDMS25vOyKkTcbk/s1600/dentist1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimHNj1WZk34R4KvUH3toD75yEiaNKIMQechfENhjLJM3TUVymVmqGL0uEKV3UKWgn5awSXhc8V4JioWwdXRHE5nvhYjQjqUR9i5bpnl0XHkHLJ7cEJM6Chbh4KMlFmWvDMS25vOyKkTcbk/s1600/dentist1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">OK, not the prettiest but I have seen much worse.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Given the dentist is quite often looming over the patient / victim one gets a fairly extensive view of his or her nasal hair. Is it too much to be asked that it is trimmed from time to time?<br />
<br />
One last thing. I am about halfway through some remedial work to fix the gaping hole left by my vacating crown. This involves taking moulds, much drilling, needles, pliers and all sorts of other nastiness. It also involves colour matching.<br />
<br />
Why on earth does it take so long to match the colour of my teeth to one of the stock colours available? How many stock colours can there be? This always leads to a protracted debate between the dentist and dental nurse, with probably a second dentist popping in as well. This conversation happens directly above my prone self whilst I quietly choke to death on my own blood, spittle and the irritating hoover thing that is constantly sucking away at my cheek.<br />
<br />
This is all too much. I am going to start hanging around dentists's conventions with a nasal hair trimmer and one of those colour charts you get at a DIY shop when you are buying paint. We know how many shades of grey there are, I wonder how many shades of tooth? As many as fifty?<br />
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More soon Dear Reader<br />
<br />
xx</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415341131576206004.post-41443909451916858262012-09-15T10:27:00.003+01:002012-09-15T10:29:49.936+01:00Cricket, Curry and the Crackheads<span style="text-align: justify;">Dear Reader,</span><br />
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Recently, myself and a couple of compatriots decided to travel to Nottingham (UK) to watch some cricket. These compatriots were not the recently discussed <a href="http://troghead.blogspot.co.uk/search/label/The%20Twinnies#axzz26EFS3tpC" target="_blank">Twinnies</a>, they would never be seen at a cricket match. Actually, that is not strictly true, if I sold the concept of a cricket match as an afternoon in the sun with unlimited access to reasonable wine they might come, as long as I didn't mention the word cricket. Back to the plot, such as it is.</div>
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This is not a cricket blog and it is also not a photography blog, so let's start with the cricket. We, (England) lost. We had already achieved a cricketing objective, to win on this day would have been ruthless, a trait that, well, just isn't cricket.</div>
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Onto photography. I have a camera that has switches and settings and lenses, none of which I understand. It also has a mode labelled P, which I presume stands for Philistine, designed for the likes of me. This setting, which I never venture from, except by accident, allows me to take acceptable photos. Occasionally, entirely by accident, I manage to capture an image that might be better than acceptable, well, to me, anyway.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkjYLrgdmLj81RtIJ6iQrax-78ugTW2HfU8yX7Vu4Ya8omZ4J4IX9iwruLe24CgYpF9VgXu2_Uf2VB8nF5TpjTGrUaejPy3c6UvDi5kbvMgRNAeycKyc3ZX_ju-0SvEKKselqaYh8iDXOr/s1600/P1110118.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkjYLrgdmLj81RtIJ6iQrax-78ugTW2HfU8yX7Vu4Ya8omZ4J4IX9iwruLe24CgYpF9VgXu2_Uf2VB8nF5TpjTGrUaejPy3c6UvDi5kbvMgRNAeycKyc3ZX_ju-0SvEKKselqaYh8iDXOr/s400/P1110118.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">During the day, image too bright, typical me photo.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi94QdfKRPFQk4DVAX2p-opV2gR4f1gM3iqqvqD3MBjiabq7PnPxbYD7jx7lhi3tC5wipagiqnk1tPDfBKYtKZdoYuxtc2yISWVt6IYOUD6uZVsN9hUUauEs7WpRFH3eD1bmRQ9_9imIjEk/s1600/P1110153.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi94QdfKRPFQk4DVAX2p-opV2gR4f1gM3iqqvqD3MBjiabq7PnPxbYD7jx7lhi3tC5wipagiqnk1tPDfBKYtKZdoYuxtc2yISWVt6IYOUD6uZVsN9hUUauEs7WpRFH3eD1bmRQ9_9imIjEk/s400/P1110153.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Same(ish) shot in the evening, actually looks OK, fluke, pure fluke.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Not only is it by chance, it is under the influence of alcohol. I was unaffected by the demon drink when I took the first one. Enough about photography, I have already written more about it than I can claim to understand. I nearly bought Photography for Dummies, but realised it was too high-brow. So, to the pulsating plot again.</div>
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Having observed the cricket, our next task is to return to our hotel to freshen / sober up before the evening festivities begin. Our transition to Trent Bridge just involved a taxi, our return journey would not be so straight-forward. There was walking, there was wailing, there were hills, curses and threats of imminent death to anyone who asked "are we nearly there yet?" 1.4 miles later we are back at the hotel.</div>
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Suitably refreshed, we venture out into the night. A bar we passed with a piano had attracted out attention. We entered and ordered drinks. I am fan of a decent gin and tonic, but had never been served one of these.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_62Q5IlZWpYby0JGLIi3xuO1OZp9VIcETxELjxxuVwfDfxMAozQ1BeZku61geslXyeU7mO793TGb7dzZefjei2JlzbIqxgl7KSmc39FuvVRRz0cENIw_lQMWOz2-GYd1wHdXu2FKlutHx/s1600/IMG_0553.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_62Q5IlZWpYby0JGLIi3xuO1OZp9VIcETxELjxxuVwfDfxMAozQ1BeZku61geslXyeU7mO793TGb7dzZefjei2JlzbIqxgl7KSmc39FuvVRRz0cENIw_lQMWOz2-GYd1wHdXu2FKlutHx/s400/IMG_0553.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Yummy</td></tr>
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The vegetable matter in the glass is cucumber. This may sound odd, it did to me, but try it, you won't regret it. Chewing all those cucumber slices gave us an appetite, so, regrettably, we returned to the night. A curry was required, and the options were few, well, one in fact.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbhLRmPUcRknSsH4_bnNVVfSuepIBgSu_9sBDIV2kR_LLWJvSVK8dpu621muG1Sao0-bCRzCycLqfoy_Y4Viu6O0uhgSoa6NNN2huyA_AtjB2ck_Cn7RLmAHeDb9nwMLQxlfXUUlOAlEa0/s1600/Chutney.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbhLRmPUcRknSsH4_bnNVVfSuepIBgSu_9sBDIV2kR_LLWJvSVK8dpu621muG1Sao0-bCRzCycLqfoy_Y4Viu6O0uhgSoa6NNN2huyA_AtjB2ck_Cn7RLmAHeDb9nwMLQxlfXUUlOAlEa0/s400/Chutney.PNG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">So good they named it once.</td></tr>
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We sat, pleased to see we were not the only people dining, a first big tick for the establishment. It was at this point that the big ticks sort of ran dry. Drinks were requested, and duly delivered. Then we came to order, which was a rather unusual experience. Having recently returned from a foreign clime, I was used to having to point at menus to get someone to understand what I desired. </div>
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I was a little surprised to go through the same process with an extremely pleasant English girl who understood my sounds perfectly but had clearly never been to an Indian restaurant in her life. I was (for a change) pronouncing things perfectly, but she had no way of mapping this to the words on the menu as she had never heard most of them spoken. Apparently, I was speaking in a foreign language, which threw me a little. Eventually, some food arrived, which looked at least a little bit like what we asked for, complete with Pilau rice (delightfully pronounced pillow rice by our waitress). Thence to bed.</div>
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The following morning, I awake, intending to drive from Nottingham to a business meeting. This didn't turn out as planned. Approaching the car I note something odd. All of the detritus that normally resides in the passenger foot-well of my car (sandwich wrappers, empty water bottles etc) has mysteriously found its way onto the passenger seat. Has there been a hurricane, no, my car has been broken into, passenger window smashed and that side of the car generally examined for booty.</div>
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On the upside, there was no booty of any value. Also, I didn't have to make the business meeting. Most importantly, I got to meet representatives of Nottinghamshire Police Force. Minutes after reporting the offence they arrived in a nice squad car. Two strapping members of the force emerged and began to examine the area. </div>
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Conversation ensues. Whenever faced with authority, no matter how innocent the encounter, my mind attempts to get me in trouble, constantly responding inappropriately during conversation. These responses fight with the correct responses, in short I have to concentrate. The conversation, along with the suppressed comebacks follow:</div>
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<b>Policeman 1 (P1) stepping out of the patrol car</b>: So, you have been broken into?</div>
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<i><b>Evil me whose voice must be suppressed</b>: Ah, so you listened to the radio in your car then?</i></div>
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<b>Me, smiling sweetly</b>: Indeed I have.</div>
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<b>Policeman 2 (P2) also stepping out from the patrol car</b>: Where did they get in?</div>
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<i><b>Evil me whose voice must be suppressed</b>: Perhaps you might want to deploy all those years of police training and work this one out for yourself.</i></div>
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<b>Me, smiling sweetly</b>: passenger front window, they smashed it and then rooted around in that part of the car.</div>
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<b>P1, waving a torch with some importance</b>: they were looking for whatever attaches to the sucker mount on your windscreen.</div>
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<b>Me</b>: Oh.</div>
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<b>P2</b>: You should never leave anything of any value visible.</div>
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<i><b>Evil me whose voice must be suppressed</b>: The sucker mount cost me 0.99, it is of no value.</i></div>
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<b>Me</b>: Nothing of any value was visible, there was nothing of any value in the car, that statement actually includes the car.</div>
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<b>P1, noting I have left the area untouched</b>: We can't do forensics, as there is no blood.</div>
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<i><b>Evil me whose voice must be suppressed</b>: You want blood, I can give you blood.</i></div>
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<b>Me</b>: That's a shame.</div>
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<b>P2</b>: We will get them though, it's the Crackheads.</div>
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<i><b>Evil me whose voice must be suppressed</b>: Would this be the Crackheads of 24 Acacia Avenue? In which case go and arrest them.</i></div>
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<b>Me</b>: Oh.</div>
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<b>P1</b>: When we do get them, they will get a good kicking.</div>
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<i><b>Evil me whose voice must be suppressed</b>: Oh, yippee.</i></div>
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<b>Me</b>: Oh.</div>
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With this they return to their car and drive off. I make a number of phone calls regarding insurance and replacement of glass and then go to the nearest pub. On my return I realise that my parking ticket has expired. I approach the machine which states quite clearly that once a ticket has been paid for, I have 15 minutes to exit the car park. I have been messing around for three hours. Hmmm.<br />
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I then do something I have never done before, which is press the button on the ticket machine which puts you through to a human. Astonishingly, someone answers straight-away, maybe no-one ever presses this button. I explain the situation, at this point the conversation continued as below:<br />
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<b>Car Park Ticket Machine</b>: You should have informed somebody.<br />
<b>Me</b>: I did inform somebody. I informed several somebodies. I informed the police, my insurance company the company who is replacing the glass, my employers and my Dear Lady Wife. Did I miss somebody?<br />
<b>Car Park Ticket Machine</b>: Yes, you should have informed us.<br />
<b>Me</b>: Oh really, would that have helped?<br />
<b>Car Park Ticket Machine</b>: No, but if you are going to need a new ticket issued you are going to need to contact us.<br />
<b>Me</b>: I'm sorry, I have not had my car broken into in a car park before. I was not aware this was standard practice. I have added you to the list of people I must contact in the event of this occurring again.<br />
<b>Car Park Ticket Machine (sighing)</b>: Press the lost ticket button, use that ticket to exit the car park.<br />
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This exchange puts me in a much better mood. I leave the City of Nottingham to get my glass replaced, which occurs without incident.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQNBsth4_dvjWWEWHoc9BytKOMQhCQFhssEMtCaCOyBfNqhK3s9iv0WK6u1LaqByMvScGcclz2SN90JuOm4b7VC76-RIr0wirSsKmYaUuvb0r0UqijH3V_TT6JnvCPJv-9HZAcwvmcuQHO/s1600/nottingham.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQNBsth4_dvjWWEWHoc9BytKOMQhCQFhssEMtCaCOyBfNqhK3s9iv0WK6u1LaqByMvScGcclz2SN90JuOm4b7VC76-RIr0wirSsKmYaUuvb0r0UqijH3V_TT6JnvCPJv-9HZAcwvmcuQHO/s320/nottingham.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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More soon Dear Reader, xxx.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415341131576206004.post-34682918608789786482012-09-03T19:27:00.003+01:002012-09-12T20:22:59.973+01:00Postcards from Tenerife - Twinnies and a Car Journey<br />
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Dear Reader,</div>
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In my <a href="http://troghead.blogspot.co.uk/2012/08/postcards-from-tenerife-easyjet-and.html#axzz24xhHqBae" target="_blank">last post</a>, I began my experience of being with the Twinnies, AKA Dear Lady Wife and Colleague, in a foreign land. We flew, we arrived and we hired a car. At the end of the last post we had acquired a hire car and began our journey. In short, we had to get from the hire car depot to the motorway, facing in the right direction, drive for about an hour and a bit, and then follow a map scribbled on a piece of paper. Like all good pirate maps, our destination was marked with an X.</div>
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Sounds simple enough, but, we have no SatNav, we have a map which has no detail, we have in the car two of the most incompetent people in the world when it comes to navigation and me. Things didn't start well.</div>
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Our not particularly glamorous car rental garage, which is a cross between the warehouse where everyone dies in <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0105236/" target="_blank">Reservoir Dogs</a> and the dispatch area from cult 70's comedy <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taxi_(TV_series)" target="_blank">Taxi</a>, provided us with some instructions for our escape / car rental. "Leff, leff, leff again, straight, head to airport and then keep on going," I was reliably informed by our rental person.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg76Ogw_t3cNgJ_xYqvTlLlPk44t6FTWArc9TiJHHYbn7Vvi_Lq97rTiYjl2fIoOPaaMwWJLc8wwRwaLXnr_wIlQtfSB1YNt10S9DgMjITilv-h6Ut5KBxHeKPgPQFEQYJSBNqByEO1Q9Mx/s1600/twinny1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg76Ogw_t3cNgJ_xYqvTlLlPk44t6FTWArc9TiJHHYbn7Vvi_Lq97rTiYjl2fIoOPaaMwWJLc8wwRwaLXnr_wIlQtfSB1YNt10S9DgMjITilv-h6Ut5KBxHeKPgPQFEQYJSBNqByEO1Q9Mx/s320/twinny1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Everyone dies, my Ford focus is just out of shot to the left.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7058q7PgqZ329x92yEF8pvaEA-n4vcu-B982BW8_tz5aFBZmzU_xmyAqE4Bp900cWaWHxtbT2rLVM2R1JJJ-oI6ayLdamOAUC18a4yi8zuWRQdEEFja3NQIWN8TAlfNsPTtkLv-IWRuGI/s1600/twinny2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7058q7PgqZ329x92yEF8pvaEA-n4vcu-B982BW8_tz5aFBZmzU_xmyAqE4Bp900cWaWHxtbT2rLVM2R1JJJ-oI6ayLdamOAUC18a4yi8zuWRQdEEFja3NQIWN8TAlfNsPTtkLv-IWRuGI/s320/twinny2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Leff? Leff? Leff again? </td></tr>
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Having departed we go leff, leff, then leff again. In short order we are on a dirt road with vultures circling and coyotes looking eager, this is not the plan. I backtrack, eventually we return to where we started.</div>
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The Twinnies, (one in the front, one in the back), find all this highly amusing, this is like some big adventure. After all, once this little issue is solved we will be there in no time. At this point I feel like Thelma and Louises' driver.</div>
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Having tried leff, leff and leff for the second time my only choices are leff or straight on. I didn't choose this the first time as arrows make it quite clear that the only way to turn is right. Not wanting to revise the expectations of vulture dinner-time unfairly I plump for right. Shortly we are forced leff and see signs for the motorway. Could this small but obvious flaw in the instructions not have been made clear from the start? A mere thirty minutes after picking up the car we have made the one kilometre transition to the motorway.</div>
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Now, it should all be plain sailing and for a while, it is. A wrinkle occurs about forty minutes in, I am not sure what happens, but we are not on a motorway any more but find ourselves plunging into a city called Santa Cruz. Whilst pleading with the now sleepy and slightly grumpy Twinnies to look at maps and provide advice, I plunge on through the city, reasoning that we will pick up the motorway on the other side.<br />
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I have since discovered there is no motorway on the other side of Santa Cruz. There is, however an extremely long and windy mountain hugging road which leads to the middle of nowhere (Tenerife, Northern tip). This discovery took approximately forty-five minutes. Another forty-five minutes later I discover that the extremely long and mountain hugging road looks very similar going the other way. On the upside, there is a traffic lane between me and the sea, several hundred feet below.</div>
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Below is a map with some lines drawn on it. The red line indicates where we should have gone, the blue squiggles are an artists impression of the way we actually went.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitTP4A9j12lj0_VrenC9X5l1DrWVQQUZhwYI5-2yXiJ0imDzG4jS1Cga5w9DXAyK9oc_h7bbMGGAFabFUwx8T_uKgGnadWjhuCXq68i8KE5WHorbWjbwUdDgIgmlOZMtetRu7C6FkJT2Ap/s1600/twinnies2-snip.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitTP4A9j12lj0_VrenC9X5l1DrWVQQUZhwYI5-2yXiJ0imDzG4jS1Cga5w9DXAyK9oc_h7bbMGGAFabFUwx8T_uKgGnadWjhuCXq68i8KE5WHorbWjbwUdDgIgmlOZMtetRu7C6FkJT2Ap/s400/twinnies2-snip.PNG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
Back on track, uneventful motorway follows, we eventually reach a signpost which points to the region where our villa is located. Neither Twinny can make sense of the map. I pull off at the first exit and demand to see it. I note a number at the bottom which appears to indicate a junction number, not far from where we are. Shortly after this we arrive at our villa, a mere three and a half hours after picking up the hire car.</div>
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<br />
They say practice makes perfect. When it comes to car journeys in foreign climes with Twinnies, I can attest to the truth of this saying. The return journey to the car rental desk / warehouse took a mere one hour and seven minutes.<br />
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More soon Dear Reader </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
xxx</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415341131576206004.post-62776192793750413322012-08-28T21:10:00.001+01:002012-09-12T19:58:36.778+01:00Postcards from Tenerife - Easyjet and the Twinnies<br />
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Dear Reader,</div>
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<br /></div>
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I find myself travelling again. Regrettably, I find myself once again on my least favourite orange coloured airline. I have spoken about these chaps before <a href="http://troghead.blogspot.com/2012/07/postcards-from-marbella-part-2-flying.html#axzz24IiDLUqV" target="_blank">here</a>, today they have some new surprises for me.</div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY_AdD6olEabMI3NHz8YuZD95jnwIwlT2Upn_XmJbhmImQPa_kZQASv5bfX0_wIkmgFoUzcCjDFBFl9PZznXHQmp8lo_PLr0QoNW2-oqauiTecIWZMV0jRsko-S06UuLc3zWFX2uQE4iVE/s1600/easyjet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="79" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY_AdD6olEabMI3NHz8YuZD95jnwIwlT2Upn_XmJbhmImQPa_kZQASv5bfX0_wIkmgFoUzcCjDFBFl9PZznXHQmp8lo_PLr0QoNW2-oqauiTecIWZMV0jRsko-S06UuLc3zWFX2uQE4iVE/s320/easyjet.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Today we have a new part to play, yay!</td></tr>
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First we have to get to the airport. It is an early flight, the thought of which makes me shudder. The blow has been softened a little by spending the previous night in a hotel approximately four centimetres from the check-in desk. This does not prevent us having to get up three hours before we went to sleep so we are in time for our flight.</div>
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Having awoken, early and angry, we arrive at check-in to find our dear orange friends have requisitioned an entire hall of check-in desks for us to queue in, how thoughtful. What a shame they hadn't manned any of them. Given we were queueing within fifteen minutes of check-in opening I was somewhat disappointed to be dragged out of line when it became clear we would miss our flight if we stayed in the queue.</div>
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Dragged out and checked-in, we advance through security at high-speed. At this point we are united as a group, my good self, the Dear Lady Wife and her Twinny. </div>
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I should break at this point and explain the Twinny. Twinny is a female colleague of the Dear Lady Wife and they share enough attributes to make the word Twinny seem appropriate. A list of shared attributes follows:</div>
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<ul>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Shopping - preferably by mail order</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Lack of organisation</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Love of wine</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Love of animals (every single one, but especially cats and donkeys)</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Ability to wail at the slightest inconvenience</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Ability to meltdown at a slightly larger inconvenience</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Inability to make decisions.</li>
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I share most of these attributes so we get on well. For the journey we require magazines, speakers and something from the chemist. I do the speakers, DLW does the magazines and the Twinny does the chemist. We vow to meet somewhere. This doesn't happen. Last call for the flight is announced. I rendezvous with DLW, but no sign of the Twinny.</div>
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We run for the gate, making it with approximately three minutes to spare. Twinny, however has not arrived. We phone, she is still in the chemist haggling over the price of some unguent. Then her name comes over the tannoy... "RUN" we say. Having finalised her transaction, along with three or four others, she deigns to run. Having stood on the transfer bus for ten minutes, we see her appear at check-in. Astonishingly, she is only second to last. United again, we advance to the plane.</div>
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There were two special moments on the plane; for once I don`t just mean take off and landing. Our orange friends had gone above and beyond the call of duty. First, we ordered food, which in itself was not special. What <i>was</i> special was one of the food items. It was so special I had to capture a shot of the packaging.</div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmG07087XdxHXd0LacNJjK4XbqGw7c9LgKG2obaQIAVdNAmx4en0jvWGXtBnd260Xs7jN0aMnBBMVkY_tr4jpEjxJMROkuZvw_aMadYZ_W7AS4TLgWH9FdTOhcTx0qJH1EgEH_64r3kL9o/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmG07087XdxHXd0LacNJjK4XbqGw7c9LgKG2obaQIAVdNAmx4en0jvWGXtBnd260Xs7jN0aMnBBMVkY_tr4jpEjxJMROkuZvw_aMadYZ_W7AS4TLgWH9FdTOhcTx0qJH1EgEH_64r3kL9o/s320/photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">WTF is this?</td></tr>
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I have never heard the words meat, festival, arctic, bread and wedge used in the same sentence before, but there they were. I attempted to imagine what combination of ingredients could encompass such a grand and wordy title, I came up short. How many ingredients are required for a meat festival? Two of them, apparently. </div>
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This astonishing artefact was in fact a lifeless chicken, ham and cheese sandwich in pitta bread with some leaves. Hardy a festival, but definitely a wedge. Below is the item in all it's glory. You will note a bite has been taken out of it. There were no more bites to follow.</div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAoS4xnOIGUSR5lppDsmZs6ZZk0NXcXGTqV7buzENkcbZuXktPHNF0RP8x3jsjjXooMN8ouCuTXMsjYZ_dCLxXGQaKrD3N4aCCI8yA3M7nT87XwHCS8RNj5KgIKPH9yrzHRyR8CY4RoemD/s1600/photo+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAoS4xnOIGUSR5lppDsmZs6ZZk0NXcXGTqV7buzENkcbZuXktPHNF0RP8x3jsjjXooMN8ouCuTXMsjYZ_dCLxXGQaKrD3N4aCCI8yA3M7nT87XwHCS8RNj5KgIKPH9yrzHRyR8CY4RoemD/s320/photo+(1).JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Come to the Meat Festival...</td></tr>
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Our second special moment came when the orange flight attendant attempted to sell some of their on-board wares. During his little speech he referred to page 494 of his brochure and announced the following... "We have a number of Loreal products at excellent duty free prices, and I know we have some Loreal fans on the plane today...". "HOW?" I couldn`t stop myself from asking out loud. Do you stop them in the check-in area, on the way to the flight? Do you suck out their minds when they check-in on-line in an attempt to get their buying preferences? I didn't get a suitable answer.</div>
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Eventually, we land and collect our belongings with surprisingly little hassle. I have a piece of paper which is our hire car voucher. It says that we should pick up our car from the Orinoco desk or something similar. The desk in question does not exist. After much wandering up and down the terminal looking lost, we locate someone who explains that Orinoco have a person who occasionally appears in the airport, waving a board. The Twinnies look less than impressed. As promised, the person eventually arrives. At this point, we are escorted to a mini-van, which may, or may not, take us to the fabled hire desk. We may be kidnapped; if only I was friends with Liam Neeson.</div>
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We arrive at what can only be described as an underground garage, located some distance from the airport. The possibility of kidnap looms larger. There is a desk, of sorts. Driving licenses are perused, papers signed and we are away in a car, on the wrong side of the road with no clue as to where we are going. Sat-Nav is neither an option on the car or as a stand-alone add-on. We are given a mysterious piece of paper with lines and pictures on it and ushered on our way. Apparently this is a map, I have heard of these but didn't think people still used them.<br />
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Thus ends the first part of our little adventure.<br />
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More soon Dear Reader.</div>
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xxx</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415341131576206004.post-4616368643062947392012-08-22T19:43:00.000+01:002012-08-22T19:48:47.451+01:00Time Team - Why I Have to Watch it Alone<br />
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Dear Reader, </div>
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There are some TV programs I am allowed to watch with the Dear Lady Wife, <a href="http://www.channel4.com/programmes/time-team" target="_blank">Time Team</a>, Channel 4's attempt to sex up archaeology, is not one of them.<br />
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For those who are unaware, Time Team is without doubt a television program with admirable ambitions. Take a supremely un-sexy subject like archaeology and make it peak time viewing. This is achieved by taking a minor celebrity in the form of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tony_Robinson" target="_blank">Tony Robinson</a> (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baldrick" target="_blank">Baldric</a> from <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blackadder" target="_blank">Blackadder</a>), and placing him with a bunch of British archaeologists.<br />
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A typical episode of Time Team might go like this:</div>
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<b>Tony (on TV): </b>Here we are in the village of Sumwhereoreuvver, Somerset, which boasts a cider that makes you go blind and an excellent Alcohol Rehab centre. It is also home to one of the best Guide Dog training centres in the country. (Insert number here) years ago it used to be home to a cottage industry of UFO spotters, half-blind cider blenders and a trainee magician's school.<br />
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<b>Tony: </b> We are looking for evidence of the trainee magician's school which should be located in a field not far from here. We shall have access to this field for precisely two days. Should we find evidence of this academy or some of its artefacts we shall be very happy. We might even try some of that cider. To begin this search we need to take to the sky.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4egFNxcYoU6pUMHVsBFULN7-CLOddDHFF4IgLeKlvSvWxCSiuYQ4a4sdQUzd_Dlvi2KOVmsi85O_1FnB4qJ8pezNYS3RqpvFzrrR34KHsHMRS05DZTo0RcLyvWDmIZyVCzL505jf0igsg/s1600/timeteam1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4egFNxcYoU6pUMHVsBFULN7-CLOddDHFF4IgLeKlvSvWxCSiuYQ4a4sdQUzd_Dlvi2KOVmsi85O_1FnB4qJ8pezNYS3RqpvFzrrR34KHsHMRS05DZTo0RcLyvWDmIZyVCzL505jf0igsg/s1600/timeteam1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Here we are, now where's that bloody cider?</td></tr>
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At this point the program moves to the helicopter, in which one of the archaeologists is sat with a screen in his lap. The helicopter is equipped with what I shall (probably incorrectly) term modern technology, the results of which he is now analysing. It is quite loud in the helicopter, hence the capital letters.<br />
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"THIS SET OF GREY DOTS AND SMUDGES ON THE LEFT OF THE SCREEN ARE AS A RESULT OF ME THROWING UP LAST NIGHT. THAT CIDER IS EVIL. THE WHITE RECTANGULAR SMUDGE ON THE RIGHT INDICATES THE PRESENCE OF A WALL. THAT DARKER THAN DARK BIT TO THE RIGHT OF THE WALL IS WHERE VALDEMORT'S GREAT GREAT GREAT GREAT *64 GRANDFATHER PRACTISED HIS ART."<br />
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<b>Tony: </b>That's great, helicopter with technology man, is that where we should dig?<br />
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"WHAT?"<br />
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<b>Tony: </b>Is that where we should dig?<br />
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"SYRUP WITH SOME FIGS?"<br />
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<b>Tony: </b>IS THAT WHERE WE SHOULD DIG?<br />
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"OF COURSE IT IS, YOU COULD CHOOSE TO DIG SOMEWHERE COMPLETELY DIFFERENT IF YOU WANTED, BUT BASED ON THE ALIGNMENT OF SMUDGES ON MY SCREEN, THIS IS THE BEST SPOT."<br />
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Digging, well, this is a different sort of digging. This is not like digging in the garden, this is not like digging around in your pocket for loose change, this is archaeology. Although Wikipedia disagrees with me, I am pretty sure that the word archaeology is derived from Latin. In Latin it meant dig slowly, so slowly that you'll not get the Olive tree planted before nightfall, even if you started at 7 in the morning.<br />
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With only two days of access to the site, the diggers are digging slower than a trade union of moles striking for better working conditions. As if they weren't busy / slow enough, they keep on getting interrupted by the presenters. Conversations like this abound...<br />
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<b>Tony (sporting positive beaming smile): </b>So what have we discovered today.<br />
<b>Digger (sporting manic depression like a comfort blanket): </b><i>We </i>haven't discovered anything. <i>I </i> have discovered a hole in my waterproofs. Amazingly, although it is just a small hole, it has let in enough mud and water to cover every inch of my body in a cold and grimy film. Next question?<br />
<b>Tony (beam still in place): </b>Lets move to Lucy in the newly excavated trench. What have we here?<br />
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Before Lucy responds, (and she will), I want to talk about the word trench and the images it conjures. I think of trench warfare. Those trenches were generally deeper than the height of the average human. They were also populated by humans who wore helmets, for protection from shrapnel, bullets and other lethal objects in the air.<br />
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Lucy is also in a trench. She also has protective headgear. The "trench" in question is six inches deep. I have watched enough episodes of Time Team to be sure they have never been threatened by bullets or shrapnel, so, why the headgear? This is one of the reasons the Dear Lady Wife won't watch Time Team with me, I can't keep quiet about the helmets. Back to Lucy...<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgePzHdtvrcIkIpWroZ6CnUr7wgL_bWGbvwhLsHa3yaVJGPGGBuSrB5p1OjXyj56u-qFdU_NBQHwo9gdIjiq2h43i68r5bnv7JLEnYXtb87aG6jjxy_R36Fp9W2mC2oapZgPkOlRI86Wowv/s1600/timeteam2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgePzHdtvrcIkIpWroZ6CnUr7wgL_bWGbvwhLsHa3yaVJGPGGBuSrB5p1OjXyj56u-qFdU_NBQHwo9gdIjiq2h43i68r5bnv7JLEnYXtb87aG6jjxy_R36Fp9W2mC2oapZgPkOlRI86Wowv/s320/timeteam2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Stop! Some of those people aren't wearing protective headgear!</td></tr>
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<b>Lucy (trying to ignore the condescending tone of Tony's voice):</b> We have a thing, which we are quite excited about.<br />
<b>Tony (beam moving to full beam): </b>Oh really, that is excellent news.<br />
<b>Lucy (gesturing toward a tent): </b>It is in here.<br />
<b>Tony (full beam unwavering): </b>Oh good, lets have a look shall we.<br />
<b>Lucy (waving an expansive hand over a number of white plastic trays, each containing individually labelled things which look like stuff you would throw out of the earth when weeding the garden): </b>So...<br />
<b>Tony: </b>Wow, you have been busy!<br />
<b>Lucy: </b>What this? No, that's all stuff you would throw out of the earth when weeding the garden, but we did find this...<br />
<b>Tony (beam finding a new level of intensity): </b>Wow, what is it?<br />
<b>Lucy (holding an object in her hand which appears to be a twig with a broken end. It is engraved with swirls and has some hair in it): </b>Surprisingly astute question. We don't know, which is what makes it interesting. It is surprisingly strong and when we scanned it with xrays it appears the hair runs all the way through it.<br />
<b>Tony: </b>Do we know how old it is?<br />
<b>Lucy (gestures with her twig hand towards a computer, which bizarrely has a live toad sitting on top of the monitor. There is a smell of sulphur in the air as well): </b>Actually, no. Normally we would carbon date the object using the equipment delivered to us. When we found this thing that is not a twig we unwrapped the box with the machine in it, the machine was not there. There was just a basket of kittens, which was lovely, but no good for carbon dating. They had a faint aroma of sulphur about them as well. It was all rather odd.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3S0UoCMKOgJgedV5lUAo6paXbafyCx88CCoLlQZYOnyz9gBhFNUnRzhYgjXCZL-CChtx5ccd5KFkeooEFBJ2mBlB70F8CS7BHJqZJEAOx5ZbVygzP1thTrGINrtnJRPY4B5M2Ee0b4LIK/s1600/timeteam4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3S0UoCMKOgJgedV5lUAo6paXbafyCx88CCoLlQZYOnyz9gBhFNUnRzhYgjXCZL-CChtx5ccd5KFkeooEFBJ2mBlB70F8CS7BHJqZJEAOx5ZbVygzP1thTrGINrtnJRPY4B5M2Ee0b4LIK/s320/timeteam4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Carbon dating has moved on a little since my day.</td></tr>
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<b>Tony: </b>So when will we know how old it is.<br />
<b>Lucy: </b>We are expecting a delivery later today, which should be the machine that ended up being a basket of kittens. Then we can scan the twiggy thing that is not a twig and all will be well.<br />
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Then Tony is off to what I can only describe as the reconstruction tent. Whenever a minute fragment of something is discovered, which isn't obviously mud, small change or a mummified condom, then it is scrubbed to within an inch of it's life and brought here. "With the aid of computers" the object is brought to life. When I say brought to life, what I really mean is plugged into some graphic designers wet dream of what a vase might look like in 900BC with one tiny piece missing, the piece that has been dug out of the ground.<br />
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This is akin to wandering around your house and finding a piece of a jigsaw puzzle on the floor. From the evidence of this puzzle piece and nothing else you deduce that it has to belong to a three thousand piece jigsaw showing RMS Titanic at sea approaching it's rendezvous with an over-sized ice cube. Yet all you have is one featureless blue piece. Another reason why I watch Time Team in a separate room. We should however, return to Tony, as the reconstruction tent is about to tell us something important, no doubt "with the aid of computers."<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Shortly this will be an object of some importance.</td></tr>
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<b>Tony: </b>Greg, what have you got for me today?<br />
<b>Greg (grinning the grin that can be achieved only by the Cheshire cat or by a graphic designer in a post wet dream fugue): </b>Well, I took Lucy's artefact and guess what? If you imagine that what we have is the shaft, then, taking the swirled markings along the stem, added to the hair running down the middle, what you have is a wand.<br />
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In slow motion the wand appears on the screen. Greg looks smug.<br />
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<b>Tony: </b>So, what we have is a magical wand, which it seems unlikely has arrived here by chance, so we must be close to some trainee magicians. Great work Greg, another fine piece of detective work.<br />
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Now we have a bunch of dots which indicate the existence of a bunch of dots, according to Chopper Dave (for want of a better name), a twig that is not a twig, according to Lucy, who is desperately trying to off-load seven kittens (with basket) to anyone who will have them and a wand created by Greg "with the aid of computers."<br />
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This information is evaluated in the pub. "But where is the Magicians School?" asks Tony. Everyone has a theory on this, the left side of trench D3, at the bottom of field F1, or perhaps in the toilet (everyone laughs). This is ironic, as two hours and three ciders lately, Tony asks "But where is the toilet?" No amount of helicopters, kittens posing as carbon-dating devices or "computers" could answer that.<br />
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For legal reasons I cannot disclose any of the details of Tony's time at the local rehab centre, which is a blessed relief as I know nothing about it and would have to make it up. Tony will be back, as will Time Team; I will be watching it alone again which is probably good news for the Dear Lady Wife.<br />
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More soon Dear Reader.<br />
<br />
xx</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415341131576206004.post-74259251988813778562012-07-31T06:49:00.005+01:002012-07-31T07:07:13.653+01:00Shhh! It's the Olympics Opening Ceremony<span style="text-align: justify;">Dear Reader,</span><br />
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Last week myself and the Dear Lady Wife were invited to the Olympic opening ceremony. Actually, that is not completely accurate; we were invited to a pub/bar which showed the opening ceremony on a big screen and we had a reserved table. Come Friday (yesterday as I write this) we were very excited indeed, as it appears was most of rest of the nation.</div>
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The World gets a Summer Olympics opening ceremony once every four years, no matter where you are, geographically. To have one in your own country is something special. This was, without doubt going to be an occasion, up there with the Jubilee, a Royal Wedding, a soap opera wedding where nobody dies, an egg with two yolks, you get the idea.</div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL9KwyylWQzedZ3Np3UyBUtQkYtjUYvqIsZUSKLd7Ta8k9O86IgPqwjHLe7fwu8k1OT2HADMdWEKMv-zV5VsGBAAB68yL3ardmB-rjQnBHY6ZbP_isnl4Maa50NQosu4jHN2L2I6mNtEQ0/s1600/olympics1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL9KwyylWQzedZ3Np3UyBUtQkYtjUYvqIsZUSKLd7Ta8k9O86IgPqwjHLe7fwu8k1OT2HADMdWEKMv-zV5VsGBAAB68yL3ardmB-rjQnBHY6ZbP_isnl4Maa50NQosu4jHN2L2I6mNtEQ0/s1600/olympics1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">The last time this happened was 1948...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The city that housed the venue for our evening out was eerily quiet. There was a good reason for this, (apparently everyone watched it on the telly.) We arrive at the pub/bar. It also is quiet, but not ghostly quiet, just quieter than normal. Every table is occupied, all attention focused on the big screen. There is not however the normal nine-deep throng trying to get god-awful cocktails at the bar. This is all fine, I will not have to fight when it is my turn to order some god-awful cocktail from the bar.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidJFlhUNhOU-3rODCI2C4VI96y-VBKomyKtN8pHvr0J4IDwOidBrx9h1kCFLpvtzuSl5tl799gblws6vUhXH1Oj6VgOyFkhHYrFcrgMiUJxe2__jfn5AADJR3rTwddEbCUxsHRX59FNUr9/s1600/olympics2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidJFlhUNhOU-3rODCI2C4VI96y-VBKomyKtN8pHvr0J4IDwOidBrx9h1kCFLpvtzuSl5tl799gblws6vUhXH1Oj6VgOyFkhHYrFcrgMiUJxe2__jfn5AADJR3rTwddEbCUxsHRX59FNUr9/s200/olympics2.jpg" width="147" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Two of my five a day!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I join my compatriots and purchase my first god-awful cocktail. It is at this point I realise something is wrong. There is an irritating buzzing sound, right on the edge of the audible range which won't stop. Am I getting tinnitus? Combined with this observation is another (they're coming thick and fast, must be the god-awful cocktail), I can not only clearly hear the conversations of my compatriots, I can join in without screaming.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The god-awful cocktail and my brain work together to make the connection. The barely audible buzzing isn't tinnitus, it is the speaker system. The reason I can hear every conversation is because there is nothing competing. The reason every face in this bar is looking so intently at the screen is because they are trying to learn how to lip-read (in itself not easy after a god-awful cocktail or three), they are trying to lip-read without any lips as a point of reference. They are trying to lip-read the commentary.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I am a little annoyed. This venue and table was booked in good faith, it was booked because of the big screen. I do not believe there was explicit mention of sound being provided, but this is sort of implied. We live in the 21st Century and the Olympic opening ceremony is not a silent movie. If it was I would have requested the sub-titles to be in bold and perhaps a larger font, but we have moved on a bit. Ah, digressing, sorry.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I discuss this with the early arivals, they say they have asked and nothing appears to have changed. I scratch my chin whilst formulating a plan. I will not harass passing waiting people who are delivering food, I will accost a man or woman bearing the badge of responsibility. The badge shall be engraved in gold and shall be inscribed with the following... <i>Manager.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This proves to be slightly more difficult and certainly a little more painful than I had anticipated. The bar is ill-lit for this sort of pursuit, which means I have to stare at the chests of numerous staff members before I find the one called <i>Manager. </i>Peering myopically at bar people's chests can produce mixed results. Having been called a perve, told to piss off, provided an explanation of working hours, (I only do that on Tuesdays... which confused me a little as it was clearly a Friday and she was working,) I eventually found the manager.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Having accosted the gentleman, I felt we should have a little chat, the good new was I didn't need to shout. It sort of went like this.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<b>Manager:</b> How can I help you?<br />
<b>Me:</b> Well, I can't help thinking that you should turn up the Olympic opening ceremony just a tiny amount. It is after all a celebration of many things, but I suspect the silent movie industry was not high on their agenda.<br />
<b>Manager:</b> (appraising me with a glare), You're not the first person to ask, but we can't turn it up.<br />
<b>Me:</b> (reverting to playground argument mode) Why?<br />
<b>Manager:</b> This is as far as it goes.<br />
<b>Me:</b> Really? Are you sure? Have you actually tried? I came here a few months ago and my ears bled, partly because the music was terrible, but also because the music was quite loud. I didn't imagine it. I have fantasies, they involve cats, there were no cats in this bar, this is how I know it was real. (I use the cat thing to confuse authority).<br />
<b>Manager:</b> We wouldn't want to upset our other punters.<br />
<b>Me:</b> (Being quite close to the front, I look behind me, moving my arm out in a sweeping gesture, so as to encompass those sitting at the tables, rapt, they do not notice me, I would be a distraction to their new discipline, commentary reading. One enterprising couple in their twenties have found ear-trumpets from somewhere). This lot you mean? (I am perhaps not doing justice to my gesture).<br />
<b>Manager:</b> No, there are people outside as well.<br />
<b>Me:</b> (Sensing my pray is on the verge of defeat). The outside people? One, they cannot see the screen and two, THEY CANNOT SEE THE SCREEN. What does it matter what comes out of the speakers. Also, they are mostly smokers, so they don't count and will probably lose the right to vote shortly. (I don't mention at this point that I am about to have a cigarette, I have him where I want him).<br />
<b>Manager:</b> Anyhow, this conversation is pointless, the amplifier only goes up to 10.<br />
<b>Me:</b> Is it on 10? Are you sure it does not have an 11? (<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0088258/" target="_blank">Spinal Tap</a> references may not help at this point, but you have to try).<br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i authority="" cat="" dis-arm="" the="" thing="" to="" use=""><i am="" doing="" gesture.="" justice="" my="" not="" perhaps="" to=""><i at="" a="" about="" am="" cigarette,="" don't="" have="" him.="" him="" i="" mention="" point="" that="" this="" to="" want="" where=""><br /></i></i></i></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoT2_HHWAjvRI2Fl9XmNdirRRz1Haofv46WAbOpHgySbmsGAR5A82053T-ruYnO9IFkcrwTYVe5yOsdtYd29oJWLL6KpuzCujFCa-vY9tP2jmuZvpCJ2kMq5N5K003iP6ENk2gWk7CwUBd/s1600/olympics3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoT2_HHWAjvRI2Fl9XmNdirRRz1Haofv46WAbOpHgySbmsGAR5A82053T-ruYnO9IFkcrwTYVe5yOsdtYd29oJWLL6KpuzCujFCa-vY9tP2jmuZvpCJ2kMq5N5K003iP6ENk2gWk7CwUBd/s200/olympics3.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">These ones go to eleven...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i authority="" cat="" dis-arm="" the="" thing="" to="" use=""><i am="" doing="" gesture.="" justice="" my="" not="" perhaps="" to=""><i at="" a="" about="" am="" cigarette,="" don't="" have="" him.="" him="" i="" mention="" point="" that="" this="" to="" want="" where=""><br /></i></i></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span authority="" cat="" dis-arm="" the="" thing="" to="" use=""><span am="" doing="" gesture.="" justice="" my="" not="" perhaps="" to=""><span at="" a="" about="" am="" cigarette,="" don't="" have="" him.="" him="" i="" mention="" point="" that="" this="" to="" want="" where=""><b>Manager: </b>(has wandered off)<b> </b><wanders off="">...</wanders></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span authority="" cat="" dis-arm="" the="" thing="" to="" use=""><span am="" doing="" gesture.="" justice="" my="" not="" perhaps="" to=""><span at="" a="" about="" am="" cigarette,="" don't="" have="" him.="" him="" i="" mention="" point="" that="" this="" to="" want="" where=""><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span authority="" cat="" dis-arm="" the="" thing="" to="" use=""><span am="" doing="" gesture.="" justice="" my="" not="" perhaps="" to=""><span at="" a="" about="" am="" cigarette,="" don't="" have="" him.="" him="" i="" mention="" point="" that="" this="" to="" want="" where="">Either the god-awful cocktails helped or my hearing got better. Maybe my race-memory kicked in and I became a pre-historic hunter, stalking an Olympic opening ceremony sound-track for hours on end. It seemed to get slightly louder, but not enough to inject a proper atmosphere into the occasion. The rest of the bar was so busy commentary-reading they were no help.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span authority="" cat="" dis-arm="" the="" thing="" to="" use=""><span am="" doing="" gesture.="" justice="" my="" not="" perhaps="" to=""><span at="" a="" about="" am="" cigarette,="" don't="" have="" him.="" him="" i="" mention="" point="" that="" this="" to="" want="" where=""><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span authority="" cat="" dis-arm="" the="" thing="" to="" use=""><span am="" doing="" gesture.="" justice="" my="" not="" perhaps="" to=""><span at="" a="" about="" am="" cigarette,="" don't="" have="" him.="" him="" i="" mention="" point="" that="" this="" to="" want="" where="">As if our cordial hosts could not do enough to please, they managed to switch off Paul McCartney five minutes before the official end of the broadcast. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span authority="" cat="" dis-arm="" the="" thing="" to="" use=""><span am="" doing="" gesture.="" justice="" my="" not="" perhaps="" to=""><span at="" a="" about="" am="" cigarette,="" don't="" have="" him.="" him="" i="" mention="" point="" that="" this="" to="" want="" where=""><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span authority="" cat="" dis-arm="" the="" thing="" to="" use=""><span am="" doing="" gesture.="" justice="" my="" not="" perhaps="" to=""><span at="" a="" about="" am="" cigarette,="" don't="" have="" him.="" him="" i="" mention="" point="" that="" this="" to="" want="" where="">If <i><b>using the Olympics as a cunning ploy to get people into your bar and then ripping off every person that attended</b></i> was an Olympic demonstration sport, we may have been congratulating this entrant and celebrating TeamGB's first Gold medal. Sadly, it was a ploy, but not a demonstration sport.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span authority="" cat="" dis-arm="" the="" thing="" to="" use=""><span am="" doing="" gesture.="" justice="" my="" not="" perhaps="" to=""><span at="" a="" about="" am="" cigarette,="" don't="" have="" him.="" him="" i="" mention="" point="" that="" this="" to="" want="" where=""><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span authority="" cat="" dis-arm="" the="" thing="" to="" use=""><span am="" doing="" gesture.="" justice="" my="" not="" perhaps="" to=""><span at="" a="" about="" am="" cigarette,="" don't="" have="" him.="" him="" i="" mention="" point="" that="" this="" to="" want="" where="">I watched it all the next day from the comfort of my own hangover, when I am at my most critical. It was hard to find much wrong with the whole affair. I hoped you enjoyed it too, Dear Reader. I will be back soon, when the sport stops, or I can't take any more.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span authority="" cat="" dis-arm="" the="" thing="" to="" use=""><span am="" doing="" gesture.="" justice="" my="" not="" perhaps="" to=""><span at="" a="" about="" am="" cigarette,="" don't="" have="" him.="" him="" i="" mention="" point="" that="" this="" to="" want="" where=""><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span authority="" cat="" dis-arm="" the="" thing="" to="" use=""><span am="" doing="" gesture.="" justice="" my="" not="" perhaps="" to=""><span at="" a="" about="" am="" cigarette,="" don't="" have="" him.="" him="" i="" mention="" point="" that="" this="" to="" want="" where="">xx </span></span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415341131576206004.post-51691528120245808002012-07-17T22:32:00.000+01:002012-07-17T22:33:21.329+01:00Postcards From Marbella Part 2 - Flying<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Dear Reader, </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The last time I shared, I and the Dear Lady Wife were beginning the process of flying off to Marbella for a wedding. We had <a href="http://troghead.blogspot.co.uk/2012/07/postcards-from-marbella-part-1-getting.html#axzz20unqvp00" target="_blank">booked the tickets and accommodation</a>. This was an epic journey in itself, but there is much more to come.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have <a href="http://troghead.blogspot.co.uk/2012/06/fake-tan-and-major-outing.html#axzz20iCowC5f" target="_blank">previously posted </a> about the joys of the DLW's preparation for a night out. Now we have to consider the much more exotic beast which is the DLW's preparation for a holiday. To prepare for a night out there is a list of things which need to be done, as below:</div>
<ul>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Nails - potentially</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Hair - obligatory</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Waxing or shaving - the mere thought makes me shudder so I will not dwell</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Shopping, online - a whole host of objects are required that bizarrely the Dear Lady Wife appears not to be in possession of...</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Clothes</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Handbag</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Shoes</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Make-up</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Hair products</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Moisturisers, balms, ointments and other unguents to be applied to face, hands, skin etc.</li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
To prepare for a holiday, some mathematical constants need to be applied to the list above and some new items will need to be added. The constants that can be applied to a given item in the above list are [Days Away] and [Panic Factor]. Note that [Panic Factor] is always a variable.</div>
<ul>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Nails - absolutely</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Hair - obligatory</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Waxing or shaving - the mere thought makes me shudder so I will not dwell, this is now obligatory</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Shopping, online - a whole host of objects are required that bizarrely the Dear Lady Wife appears not to be in possession of * [Days Away] * [Panic Factor]</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Clothes * [Days Away] * [Panic Factor]</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Handbag * [Days Away] * [Panic Factor]</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Shoes * [Days Away] * [Panic Factor]</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Make-up * [Days Away]</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Hair products * [Days Away]</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Moisturisers, balms, ointments and other unguents to be applied to face, hands, skin etc * [Days Away]</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Plugs for foreign destination. Just in case, it is necessary to bring every foreign plug for every foreign destination we have ever visited just in case our European hotel is having its electricity piped in from Thailand, or San Francisco, you never know, right?</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Plasters and tissues, always plasters, always tissues. </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Something to repel mosquitoes, regardless of where we are going.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Jabs, there must be jabs.</li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There will also be a fake tanning session, as <a href="http://troghead.blogspot.co.uk/2012/06/fake-tan-and-major-outing.html#axzz20iCowC5f" target="_blank">previously posted </a> much to my chagrin. On this occasion we are visiting a sunny country, which means there will be an interesting metamorphis of the DLWs skin color. She will arrive faux brown, get lighter as it washes off, before catching up with where she started from with real tan. The irony of this is never lost on me. </div>
<span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="text-align: justify;">Then there is packing. I am not responsible for this, I am just the cup that receives DLW's frustration. My cup doth runneth over. I do have a purpose though, I am the finder, the fetcher and the carrier. Once this is all done we rush, hotfoot to the airport. It should be noted, for accuracy, that neither my feet, or the DLW's feet actually get hot on the way to the airport, making the word hotfoot in the previous sentence seem rather unnecessary. Has anybody literally run hotfoot anywhere? Never mind.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="text-align: justify;">So to the terminal, at an airport that is occupied, neigh dominated, by a budget airline who shall remain nameless.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF2ZOUxa-iLD8Q906gVVF9viqrojImBjJJzescfIm6XfLID8o1bKLVn7pFTS89LHCgkVTAh84kisDIH17XrPBRLXXmzk1Ez6D-G9YFDkRXi13YwePDtKM4Oei-ObzfGknFtL_JfqZSI6iM/s1600/easyjet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="79" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF2ZOUxa-iLD8Q906gVVF9viqrojImBjJJzescfIm6XfLID8o1bKLVn7pFTS89LHCgkVTAh84kisDIH17XrPBRLXXmzk1Ez6D-G9YFDkRXi13YwePDtKM4Oei-ObzfGknFtL_JfqZSI6iM/s320/easyjet.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Damn spellchecker.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="text-align: justify;">We breeze through check in, glide through security and are ensconced in our seats comfy and warm, a mere ten minutes after entering the terminal. The flight takes off immediately and we are are whisked to our destination. Then, I woke up, screaming, because the nirvana of air travel had so cruelly been plucked from my grasp. </span><br />
<span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="text-align: justify;">Let's try again, tearing apart the last paragraph activity, by painful activity.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="text-align: justify;"><b>Breeze Through Check In</b></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This should be the easiest bit, to be fair it actually is. It still isn't as smooth as it should be though. I present my email confirmation on a piece of paper as requested. A lady of indeterminate age (due to exaggerated make-up and botox) regards with me a fixed and startled expression (which I hope is because of the botox, not my appearence.) "Is there just one of you flying today?" She demands without a single facial movement. "Erm, no, two." I respond, weakly, gesturing at the now fuming DLW and cases clearly belonging to two people. Some huffing and swearing follows, eventually a new question emerges. "Are there two of you flying today?" No shit Sherlock, I mutter under my breath, but the bags are eventually checked in.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjolYEgKG-jHnnXOx_RyAW1Ie0niR5M6zyQhvRIFzHxrNMI39xTp03aXm_OUwQ7vhfe9LV4nqOKLR3mJbqdmD4LEl42AOsiZBIThG_ZNVaVNGnQitSe7fhbDcwrn5pCOApPpjzDwIah7I66/s1600/checkin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjolYEgKG-jHnnXOx_RyAW1Ie0niR5M6zyQhvRIFzHxrNMI39xTp03aXm_OUwQ7vhfe9LV4nqOKLR3mJbqdmD4LEl42AOsiZBIThG_ZNVaVNGnQitSe7fhbDcwrn5pCOApPpjzDwIah7I66/s320/checkin.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">There will be questions. Pay attention.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>Glide Through Security</b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Perhaps this was a definition of the word glide I wasn't previously aware of. This definition involved scuttling, shuffling, some more scuttling and some more shuffling. A little shimmy and some swaying. All this over a period of about thirty minutes. Eventually there was some undressing and some awkward silences. Finally we were through security.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaVtC4WoJFtY6mjmBMBL-i1fuln4zfRe-ppnuE-gFkWsTv76uf_HFucs5rAPz_AqXblfkkY1yE8neb_gH_GVELmvV3b9a7RzRmBAgCyXbc_3n8xb8j7xMe11de1nDaCGVPbY7X9ScYYM3w/s1600/security.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaVtC4WoJFtY6mjmBMBL-i1fuln4zfRe-ppnuE-gFkWsTv76uf_HFucs5rAPz_AqXblfkkY1yE8neb_gH_GVELmvV3b9a7RzRmBAgCyXbc_3n8xb8j7xMe11de1nDaCGVPbY7X9ScYYM3w/s320/security.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Shuffle, scuttle, perhaps a sashay, if you're feeling brave.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>Ensconced In Our Seats - Part 1</b><br />
This is actually the best bit. Having escaped security with out clothes (if not our dignity) intact we are in the shopping heaven that is the airport. There will be no ensconcing, but there will be shopping. The finest available provider of books and literature will furnish the DLW with Heat magazine and a bottle of water. The finest chemist will furnish us with extra plasters and mosquito repellent (you can't be too sure). An electrical outlet will look bemused as the the DLW explains her destination, along with her existing collection of travel plugs and demands variants, just in case.<br />
<br />
<b>Ensconced In Our Seats - Part 2</b><br />
Now we must make our way to the gate. Our flight is boarding immediately (allegedly.) Upon arrival at the said gate it appears boarding means sitting in four extremely uncomfortable chairs which have been taken, or standing around. In the blink of an eye executed by an eyelid welded open by a crowbar traversing an eyeball covered in molasses things start to occur. More botox and exaggerated make-up (and that is just the boys) appear at some door. The smell of orange is cloying. Could we perhaps re-convene at another departure gate in a different postcode, suggests an orange, apparently the airplane driver got lost. We all tramp to our new departure gate.<br />
<br />
There is a concept called speedy boarding touted by our flight operator who shall remain nameless. I am not sure who this applies to and neither does anyone else. When the gate eventually opens, boarding is the usual undignified fight for survival that typifies most budget airlines.<br />
<br />
<b>The Flight Takes Off Immediately</b><br />
No, it doesn't. An eternity passes, then we start to move. Not at any great speed. The pilot must be getting paid by the hour, so insists on inching down the runway and most off rural Hertfordshire at approximately four miles an hour. Maybe he is lost as well. Another three eternities pass, finally the proverbial pedal is applied to the proverbial metal and we are off.<br />
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This has taken a while Dear Reader, I am sure you are breathless from the excitement, as am I.<br />
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More soon xxx</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415341131576206004.post-29222688404553132782012-07-16T21:09:00.003+01:002012-07-16T21:17:31.373+01:00Postcards From Marbella Part 1 - Getting There<br />
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Dear Reader, </div>
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A combination of sporting events, weddings and lofty goals have recently kept me quiet. When I say quiet, what I mean to say is I have been recovering from hangovers in darkened rooms for what seems like weeks.</div>
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Time to emerge, blinking into the sunlight, like a mole who set his alarm wrong, or an underground traveller on a sunny day.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh48LPpwMV_lLltilaJkK1Akosi_hGIFYYLldxqpANJRkwa8ScgZE79dU8W8MMW9XCNCaNZIOtUn7XLUSujCFzpdZDrVqSquQzMV32TtecnjdK00iYYeGF4GZ4uQhGdGM0_LDX8_dJkwO8i/s1600/mole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh48LPpwMV_lLltilaJkK1Akosi_hGIFYYLldxqpANJRkwa8ScgZE79dU8W8MMW9XCNCaNZIOtUn7XLUSujCFzpdZDrVqSquQzMV32TtecnjdK00iYYeGF4GZ4uQhGdGM0_LDX8_dJkwO8i/s1600/mole.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Oooh, it's a bit bright out here!</td></tr>
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Let's begin with the wedding... it is no ordinary wedding, as if there is such a thing. The thing that makes this special (apart from the people, obviously) is the venue. Not the church itself (although it was pretty damn spectacular) but the location. It is in Marbella, Spain.<br />
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Marbella, from this point forward shall be referred to as Marbs, not because I am a lazy but because the Dear Lady Wife has just learnt the cast of her favourite program are filming there. They refer to it as Marbs, so Marbs it is. Who am I to argue with the collective intellect that is the cast of The Only Way Is Essex?<br />
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The location implies an extended wedding agenda, including pre-meet, wedding and post party. Basically a wedding over three days, which is fine. It also means travel, my least favourite form of travel, the foreign variety.</div>
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To get to this wedding I, and the DLW have to to get on a plane which will whisk us to our destination. This should be the easy bit, however before this can happen we have to book flights, we have to book hotels and then we have to prepare.<br />
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To avoid total meltdown due to stress we split into two teams, I get flights, DLW gets accommodation. I do well, within one hour of starting the process, I have narrowed down the list of possibilities from many to some. To the untrained eye, this might not seem like a lot of progress, but trust me it is. I have eliminated all return flight options due to either the departure or return time being unacceptable. I have booked the outbound flight and I am working on the return.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizqaEnEep7c-zJQgEcJTJKT7zl93LizVmZrMb9t3hOdP0Y1K-DmPO4gKWhce3OlALFYYOVFKeJk9Z4yC-Eb2ltrTEtmLXndsOJOe_sElzKYxgrehTXlo19oVBM-4Pd-phODlulEsGxHwTk/s1600/meltdownj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizqaEnEep7c-zJQgEcJTJKT7zl93LizVmZrMb9t3hOdP0Y1K-DmPO4gKWhce3OlALFYYOVFKeJk9Z4yC-Eb2ltrTEtmLXndsOJOe_sElzKYxgrehTXlo19oVBM-4Pd-phODlulEsGxHwTk/s1600/meltdownj.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">This is not me, but the smoke is pretty accurate.</td></tr>
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Having used the word meltdown in the previous paragraph, it can be assumed that I find this sort of thing stressful. I hate filling out forms; when it comes to searching for a flight, let alone booking one, there are many forms. If I actually book a flight, there are many more. To deal with this stress a bottle of wine may have been opened, followed by another. I am not certain how many, but this information has been verified and logged by UN trained observers. </div>
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There is a point in time when you should stop trying to make purchases on the internet under the influence of wine. UN trained observers should step in. They should say something UN trained observer like. "Son, you've booked enough flights for one night. Come back tomorrow." Or something similar. They didn't, so I made a mistake.<br />
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I was searching for a one way flight from Marbs back to the UK, I made the mistake of attempting to do this through the providers website. If I searched for flights returning on the Saturday, then a red line of text would appear saying, <i>we haven't got anything on the date specified but here is a totally unrelated flight to a different destination a year later which you might be interested in</i>. OK, you have an eccentric search engine. If I wanted a flight in 2014 from Dubrovnik I probably would have asked for it, but no matter, you have alerted me to this in big red letters.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga4QRVeTugbdz_0DZZYdpYHGDMWqKPGbOrt_mWmmLJtgwEb99nizY6-wMNhYhjONqWuzgAF_me_eqs_d0tHAVI7AipNvJq1BoJtwNMboy2Z5j-ISSfcy8kU0GC5VeHWmC_Rt-CcxuLSkjr/s1600/dubrovnik.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga4QRVeTugbdz_0DZZYdpYHGDMWqKPGbOrt_mWmmLJtgwEb99nizY6-wMNhYhjONqWuzgAF_me_eqs_d0tHAVI7AipNvJq1BoJtwNMboy2Z5j-ISSfcy8kU0GC5VeHWmC_Rt-CcxuLSkjr/s400/dubrovnik.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Dubrovnik, looks lovely, should go, but I need to be in Marbs.</td></tr>
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I actually wanted to return on the Sunday so I changed the search criteria. Do you know what that nasty website did? It suggested a random flight, without the warning message. In a frenzy of excitement I booked it. It was not until I printed the confirmation email, having handed over a large amount of cash I realised that I and the DLW would be flying from Dubrovnik at some point in 2014.<br />
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This, to the untrained eye, may make me appear to be a complete idiot. This is why you should not book flights under the influence of wine. Booking flights is like operating heavy machinery, dangerous if you are using medication.<br />
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So, I need to cancel. Which means I need to speak to a human, and the human operated telephone service closed for the evening 30 minutes ago. I have failed in my task and I must reconvene the following day.<br />
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This experience deserves a post all its own. It has a working title <i>Would I rather stick cocktail sticks in my eye or cancel a flight with a budget airline I booked whilst tipsy the night before.... Discuss. </i>Like I said, its just a working title.<br />
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Suffice to say, the cancellation was agreed, an appropriate flight was purchased, we are on our way.<br />
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This feels like a lot of words already Dear Reader. This is going to be an epic with a number of parts.<br />
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More soon xxx</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415341131576206004.post-56698807597642877742012-06-26T21:23:00.001+01:002012-07-03T21:20:31.804+01:00Cottage Pie, Thermodynamics and Saving The World.<br />
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Dear Reader,</div>
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The title is an interesting proposition, let me explain. <span style="background-color: black;">This is just about the most interesting thing I have ever posted. I could of course, wax lyrical, at great length about the history of the Cottage Pie but I won't. Suffice to say the Cottage Pie is very British fare so some explanation may be required.</span></div>
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Cottage Pie, simply put, is beef mince, mixed with some veg and topped with mashed potato. Finish with some leeks and cheese if you are feeling adventurous and then pop in the oven for about three months at gas mark something or other. If you hadn't already gathered this is not a cooking blog. Cottage Pie has a cousin called Shepherd's Pie. It is basically the same as Cottage Pie except you use lamb instead of beef. The naming of Shepherd's Pie makes perfect sense. After all, sheep are looked after by shepherds. Cows, it would appear, are looked after by cottages. This can't be right. </div>
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It <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cottage_pie" target="_blank">transpires</a>, as a result of a short search on Wikipedia, rather boringly, that cows weren't looked after by cottages. It would appear that Cottage Pie came first, because it was cheap and ideal for people<strike> cottaging, </strike>sorry, I meant people living in cottages.</div>
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I am somewhat scandalised by the fact that there is only one Wikipedia entry for Cottage Pie and none for Shepherd's Pie. This is an omission bigger than a very large omission. I really should move on to the point of all this.</div>
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Before I do though, some words regarding ramekins. A ramekin is a small, individual portion sized pot. It also has some interesting thermodynamic properties, which I will explain.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtnzSepCdcnjzbMW_XQ-alL1n8TWVmbu4B45kMghAESj_ecM4bDgPvN6M8q8YPgNjq2CmgIKMQ_HrC7JftNy4k3okTFjCMm62YugOOhsNOJC8nZfiothJ3PSf6cRo-2lXTPzg1nWC0Yg4L/s1600/cottaging1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtnzSepCdcnjzbMW_XQ-alL1n8TWVmbu4B45kMghAESj_ecM4bDgPvN6M8q8YPgNjq2CmgIKMQ_HrC7JftNy4k3okTFjCMm62YugOOhsNOJC8nZfiothJ3PSf6cRo-2lXTPzg1nWC0Yg4L/s320/cottaging1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">The humble ramekin, in it's restive state.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: black;">There is a convention around the serving temperature of food. It can be stated in simple terms. If it does not cause third-degree burns to the interior of the mouth then it is edible. This sounds quite simple. Cottage Pie in ramekins does not believe in simple. The Cottage Pie in ramekins is a DLW idea. "We can make a bunch of it and then freeze it into individual portions". On the face of it, this sounds bonny. When the individually wrapped portions are placed in the freezer the idea continues to sound bonny. This is all just a little too bonny.</span></div>
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Time to spoil this all too bonny scene. Today I shall be dining on Cottage Pie, (suitably defrosted, two months at room temperature) with some veg and gravy. It shall be an individual sized portion in a ramekin. After de-frosting it shall be heated at gas mark something for 2.3 days and then it shall be ready. It is served on a plate with some veg, with some gravy is in a separate receptacle.</div>
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There seems to be a nefarious heat emanating from the ramekin/Cottage Pie. Should white ceramic pottery glow red? Why is the veg, artistically arranged in the near vicinity of the ramekin, behaving as if it has been exposed to some extreme heat? Why does my pot of gravy look scared? </div>
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Being the curious sort I begin, by piercing the outer shell of the pie. My fork, having penetrated the potato/cheese/leek crust of the pie disappears in a puff of smoke into the pie below. Was it melting? I appropriate more cutlery and some gloves. It seems sensible to turn out the contents of the ramekin onto the plate and dispense it. Fire and brimstone erupt, steam hisses from the deep. My plate starts to glow. I become a little worried that the plate may give way, followed by the table, then the floor, closely followed by the ceiling of the floor below. This is starting to feel like the forensic examination in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alien_(film)" target="_blank">Alien</a> when they realise the bad guy bleeds acid.</div>
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In desperation I throw gravy at the assemblage. There is much hissing, but the temperature seems to recede a little, the ramekin is now a darkened, bubbling brown instead of the fiery red. I have never used gravy as a fire extinguisher before but I can attest to it's ability. Eventually, I eat, it's a little scalding but has returned to a temperature that is acceptable to a human.</div>
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So, it seems that a ramekin, when filled with Cottage Pie could, perhaps be an alternative form of energy. After all, it seems, on the miniature scale at least to be able to provide the energy of a thousand suns. It is clean energy. It is sustainable and controllable, as long as a suitable sized pot of gravy is near to hand. Enough of this wind farm and solar panel nonsense, let every household in the land tap into the energy grid, let ramekin producers everywhere be prepared for a surge in demand, let every country and every family have sustainable energy from their own oven. I may have solved global warming. Bad news for the cows and the sheep though, unless we can come up with a veggie version.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUSYYTQxqMBsb7Z0l24wd4OIeQ4qdJ6rh68fH5lDXe982FJmyVTg_5ver1obEWM-XoEPL_A7fwCuVzJRN4ni7uuO6SQJO_GJQgAKRL2AveH0WhvO2wXOjZI-x3weml5ZGCaw8mWkqojRhr/s1600/cottaging2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUSYYTQxqMBsb7Z0l24wd4OIeQ4qdJ6rh68fH5lDXe982FJmyVTg_5ver1obEWM-XoEPL_A7fwCuVzJRN4ni7uuO6SQJO_GJQgAKRL2AveH0WhvO2wXOjZI-x3weml5ZGCaw8mWkqojRhr/s320/cottaging2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Miniature reactors, lamb.</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUSYYTQxqMBsb7Z0l24wd4OIeQ4qdJ6rh68fH5lDXe982FJmyVTg_5ver1obEWM-XoEPL_A7fwCuVzJRN4ni7uuO6SQJO_GJQgAKRL2AveH0WhvO2wXOjZI-x3weml5ZGCaw8mWkqojRhr/s1600/cottaging2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUSYYTQxqMBsb7Z0l24wd4OIeQ4qdJ6rh68fH5lDXe982FJmyVTg_5ver1obEWM-XoEPL_A7fwCuVzJRN4ni7uuO6SQJO_GJQgAKRL2AveH0WhvO2wXOjZI-x3weml5ZGCaw8mWkqojRhr/s320/cottaging2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Miniature reactors, beef, spot the difference.</td></tr>
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Together, the humble oven and ramekins can change the world, forever.</div>
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More soon dear reader </div>
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xxx </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415341131576206004.post-64564429873708095412012-06-11T21:29:00.003+01:002012-06-12T06:27:09.597+01:00Another Award, YAY!<div style="text-align: justify;">
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Dear Reader,</div>
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Many moons ago, when the Earth was young, (well, actually it was the end of March), I got an award!</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-VewnssMaYZeNDv5p8g0acz0tEqKI-Jss4Ph8r3s62rvm0yO6vGWk0QiZmG4R0ILL-mSvVqu1gamHrnKW3Iv8YXc1iX0cobKlX_jMq5QKlaeKA_3VRzkv5jq3xWh77qeFlP4mcg8QmZhN/s1600/snoopy-happy-dance.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-VewnssMaYZeNDv5p8g0acz0tEqKI-Jss4Ph8r3s62rvm0yO6vGWk0QiZmG4R0ILL-mSvVqu1gamHrnKW3Iv8YXc1iX0cobKlX_jMq5QKlaeKA_3VRzkv5jq3xWh77qeFlP4mcg8QmZhN/s200/snoopy-happy-dance.jpeg" width="155" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">YAY!</td></tr>
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Many thanks to gossip_grl @ <a href="http://myworldaccordingtomeii.blogspot.co.uk/">~*~Whatever~*~...</a>, who is probably wondering why it has taken me so long to get round to accepting.</div>
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So, it was nearly April which was a bit of busy time due to the A-Z Challenge. Once that was over I had a little sleep, then it was June. This defence may sound a little leaky, but given the weather in the UK at the moment this is almost fitting.</div>
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Here are the instructions for the lucky recipients:</div>
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1. Nominate 15 fellow blogger's for the Versatile Blogger Award.</div>
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2. In the same post, add the Versatile Blogger Award.</div>
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3. In the same post, thank the blogger who nominated you in a post with a link back to their blog.</div>
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4. In the same post, share 7 completely random pieces of information about yourself.</div>
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5. In the same post, include this set of rules.</div>
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6. Inform each nominated blogger of their nomination by posting a comment on each of their blogs.</div>
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As a recipient here are the fifteen in no particular order...</div>
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<a href="http://followwillis.blogspot.co.uk/">Follow Willis!</a></div>
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<a href="http://whatisbelgium.blogspot.co.uk/">What Is Belgium</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.gweenbrick.com/">Gweenbrick</a></div>
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<a href="http://mothersofbrothersblog.blogspot.co.uk/">MothersOfBrothersBlog</a></div>
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<a href="http://spill-beans.blogspot.co.uk/">Spill Beans</a></div>
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<a href="http://pixiesdonthavewings.blogspot.co.uk/">Pixies Don't Have Wings</a></div>
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<a href="http://chiz-chat.blogspot.co.uk/">Chiz Chat</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.lesbiansinmysoup.com/">Lesbians in My Soup</a></div>
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<a href="http://superearthling.com/">Super Earthling</a></div>
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<a href="http://theincoherentramblingsofasingleparent.blogspot.co.uk/">The Incoherent Ramblings of a Moose!</a></div>
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<a href="http://charmingchi.blogspot.co.uk/">The Charming chi</a></div>
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<a href="http://suddenlyseekingblogs.blogspot.co.uk/">The Suddenly Kate Show</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.thingsiamthinking.com/">Things I Am Thinking When I Am Not Speaking</a></div>
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<a href="http://flippy-doodle.blogspot.co.uk/">Flippy Doodle</a></div>
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<a href="http://myriad-of-thoughts.blogspot.co.uk/">Good things happened</a></div>
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One must not forget the award itself...</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD1seJmsWG3TMAZshc4pr_S67_lfZpSOU4earu52a07ulshzAILleG6YWO2f4OZtfg4pa_E7Bu3lUqaYLFU-17QVb2d1O_rnP6L6VxBQI_V2unVSubxeHAF5iWl_WL_RO2PMQ2lHFSM_HW/s1600/VersatileBloggerAward.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD1seJmsWG3TMAZshc4pr_S67_lfZpSOU4earu52a07ulshzAILleG6YWO2f4OZtfg4pa_E7Bu3lUqaYLFU-17QVb2d1O_rnP6L6VxBQI_V2unVSubxeHAF5iWl_WL_RO2PMQ2lHFSM_HW/s1600/VersatileBloggerAward.png" /></a></div>
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Seven random things about me:</div>
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1. I like cats. The more the merrier. Currently three reside in our abode. They are called Leo, Pippy and Randall. Randall is a breed, as opposed to the moggies I have grown up with. He is a Scottish Fold with anger management problems</div>
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2. I was born in the 60's (just). Man walked on the moon two days after I was born</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
3. I spent a small amount of time in my formative years as a music journalist for a sadly departed magazine</div>
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4. I have fish (of the tropical variety). The cats would like them for breakfast. I have explained on numerous occasions why this is not possible. They keep asking though, every day</div>
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5. My middle name is Charles</div>
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6. I once wore an "only gay in the village costume" in public</div>
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7. I have a certificate that says I attended a street party for the Queen's Silver Jubilee (1977).</div>
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<br /></div>
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So, to the nominees, enjoy. As for me, I think I need a lie down.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
More soon Dear Reader</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
xxx</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415341131576206004.post-76130091996241682002012-06-05T22:04:00.001+01:002012-06-12T19:39:16.561+01:00The Jubilee - Part 1<br />
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Dear Reader, </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Being British I have been enjoying a longer than normal weekend courtesy of the Queen. She has officially inhabited the throne for sixty years and thus there must be a diamond jubilee. As a result we get an extra two days holiday to enjoy the festivities. There were many festivities, not all of which I managed to observe, but sat in front of the TV, I certainly observed some. Given the occasion, it only seems right that I share some of my observations.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Pageant</b></div>
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I considered venturing into the metropolis that is London for this. As it turned out, the weather on the day was atrocious so I declined. Instead myself and the Dear Lady Wife strapped ourselves in on the sofa and prepared for what was to come.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
For those who don't know the pageant was water-based. A thousand boats, of varying size and purpose would make their way down the Thames, pass the Queen, salute and move on. It was a wonderful idea, it was spectacular, it was covered, in spectacular fashion, by the BBC.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpFFvzrYueD6Os4Eh2iArx9mDnk05Lw9EfDE-FEj7h7Hg35uRPWXxxYeIJVqpIaCuJA9-Qvskl-fcuM_xJX1Tg4MAt4asX9XfdjT8cRd0TJq1_yFE7mTgj_NuqCK8NXkc6WStU3uFF1MnV/s1600/jubille1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpFFvzrYueD6Os4Eh2iArx9mDnk05Lw9EfDE-FEj7h7Hg35uRPWXxxYeIJVqpIaCuJA9-Qvskl-fcuM_xJX1Tg4MAt4asX9XfdjT8cRd0TJq1_yFE7mTgj_NuqCK8NXkc6WStU3uFF1MnV/s400/jubille1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">This was the big idea.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The BBC tend to make this sort of event their own. They had reporters on every bridge, boat and vantage point they could think of along with an anchor team in the studio. Everything seemed to be planned to within an inch of its' life, but this is live television, 4.5 hours of it, something was bound to go wrong. Of course, this is part of the fun.</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB-3IAwQdHAUpwI8ErjuuGH6hrMUj7wlE6UaxMUjDKQZNY6ojSjhPMJOeTv0zN7fCocZ_V8OTKQ7ca5xASAAXNRN_bb18Z4kq3GkdXqCFqlBrqwswQCvUyVIMMDM_gHfJ1OJY4riobmCH8/s1600/jubilee4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB-3IAwQdHAUpwI8ErjuuGH6hrMUj7wlE6UaxMUjDKQZNY6ojSjhPMJOeTv0zN7fCocZ_V8OTKQ7ca5xASAAXNRN_bb18Z4kq3GkdXqCFqlBrqwswQCvUyVIMMDM_gHfJ1OJY4riobmCH8/s320/jubilee4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">This was what it looked liked, not bad, not bad.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="text-align: justify;">An insight into the life of a BBC live event director follows...</span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Director: </b>"Pan to Westminster Bridge where someone isn't ready and in position, no, switch to that small barge thing with Chris on it, what do you mean he can't hear us? OK, go to Anneka who is on the art bridge, what do you mean they have all packed up because of the rain? Oh for christ sake. Fine, move to Clare, can she hear us, she can! Do it, focus."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Clare Balding </b>[conducting an interview, sound feed entirely obliterated by the horn of a large boat]: ""</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Director: </b>"Well that's no good is it? Right, back to the studio... I don't care if they are not ready they will just have to fill until someone else can talk to us. Where the feck is Griff Rhys-Jones?"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Studio: </b>Picture of two presenters stone-faced not knowing they are on camera.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Director: "</b>THEY ARE LIVE! Someone tell them, oh my God, get me another coffee."</div>
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<b>Studio: "</b>Ah, it would appear there have been a couple of technical problems with the fourteen live broadcasts we just tried to provide you with over the last ten minutes. Sorry about that. Did you know it it the Queens' Jubilee? They are releasing a thousand ducks into the Thames to celebrate."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Director: </b>"BOATS, NOT DUCKS. Christ alive, where do we get these people from? Do they not read the script at least once before they stare into the camera like a pair of paralysed goats?"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Studio: </b>"Of course I was joking, when I said ducks I meant goats..."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Director: </b>"BOOOAAATTTSSS!!!"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Studio: </b>"Ahem, boats, thousands of boats are being released into the river as we speak."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And so it went on, much to our amusement. I believe, if you squint at Tower Bridge from a certain angle you will be able to see the entrails of the BBC Live Event Director now displayed for all to see, very traditional (and completely made-up).</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The BBC blamed the weather, and there certainly was some, quite a lot in fact. It wasn't just me who found the coverage a little lame, as this <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/uknews/the_queens_diamond_jubilee/9310547/BBC-Diamond-Jubilee-Pageant-Coverage-slammed.html" target="_blank">article</a> attests. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This day wasn't about the coverage though, it was about the Queen, who for the best part of two hours, at the tender age of 86, stood in the pouring rain (granted under a royally appointed gazebo) waving at the fruits of two years worth of planning. There were to be several crescendos to this event (or wow moments if the BBC were to be believed) including helicopters flying in a diamond formation, cancelled due to the weather. A Red Arrows fly-past, cancelled due to the weather. A number of historic smaller planes flying past, cancelled due to the weather.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This left the Philly, otherwise known as the London Philharmonic Orchestra who were bringing up the rear of the flotilla. They, ably accompanied by Royal College of Music Chamber Choir, swung round to play and sing a number of rousing classics at the Royal party. The Philly, had sensibly, camped out in the lower, covered portion of the boat. The Chamber Choir, without any precious instruments to protect, had drawn the short straw and stayed outside. My heart goes out to them, especially the girls. Dressed in their finest black evening wear, with hair that I am sure, four hours earlier looked fabulous, were presented to ten million plus people on what could be the single greatest stage of their lives, as drowned rats. This <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-18316899" target="_blank">link</a> encapsulates the rather damp, but all the same rousing finale.</div>
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<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieaqaRBZ_OvKJcdkyrwptTs0U0wRDEcjPOYxe-5i-JOTeKT3pG3extA2MCCK5SeRn7wsZUs1rwJlMH1guqtH_KrAA0jOMJSc9841M59Z5wv3Hpn6ZgO3MMhkO3A6dMjpq3L0jvaOTiS4b7/s1600/jubilee3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieaqaRBZ_OvKJcdkyrwptTs0U0wRDEcjPOYxe-5i-JOTeKT3pG3extA2MCCK5SeRn7wsZUs1rwJlMH1guqtH_KrAA0jOMJSc9841M59Z5wv3Hpn6ZgO3MMhkO3A6dMjpq3L0jvaOTiS4b7/s320/jubilee3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Bless their cottons, watch the video, they were amazing, if a little bedraggled.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
One hopes your day was not too damp Dear Reader, if I am really lucky, I will return tomorrow with day two.</div>
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More soon Dear Reader.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
xx</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaMGv3jqxs9RIMbFsg6AUbsKqNd1BXOViChBQrfGlxRraiULOLCrDb4-6HZMIFMM50NiYbt39v5GGPnzca0KpC4aofCqAfvJvHho4FpbmoDhW1w0D1bLbsdT-wh-d5rhukJNLaWCtPucgZ/s1600/jubilee2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaMGv3jqxs9RIMbFsg6AUbsKqNd1BXOViChBQrfGlxRraiULOLCrDb4-6HZMIFMM50NiYbt39v5GGPnzca0KpC4aofCqAfvJvHho4FpbmoDhW1w0D1bLbsdT-wh-d5rhukJNLaWCtPucgZ/s200/jubilee2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
PS: It's probably worth mentioning in the same breath as this post that the Philly are booked to do something at the opening of the London Olympics. As with all things related to the Olympics, there is a committee, on this occasion called LOCOG. They say that the <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2153716/London-2012-Olympics-London-Symphony-Orchestra-told-mime-opening-Games.html?ito=feeds-newsxml" target="_blank">Philly</a> can't play live, regardless of their play live in any situation credentials, amply illustrated above. One would hope that sanity is allowed a breath of fresh air in that particular argument. </div>
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415341131576206004.post-66793272518969126392012-06-05T18:58:00.001+01:002012-06-05T18:59:14.673+01:00Fake Tan and the Major Outing<br />
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Dear Reader,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Occasionally the postman staggers to the door with a package containing a product I don't enjoy, normally because it isn't for me. Even more occasionally the postman staggers to the door with a product that is not only not for me, but it is actually abhorrent to me.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
[Insert generic slap it all over tanning brand here] fake tan lotion has arrived. This product is not for me, it is for the Dear Lady Wife. She has been summoned to an outing of some description which means she must appear. This is not an ordinary outing, this is a major outing, not just your ordinary trip to the pub. Think hen-do, wedding, that sort of thing. Given the significance of the occasion a number of pre-outing rituals must be observed, namely...</div>
<ul>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>Nails</b> - potentially</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>Hair</b> - obligatory</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>Waxing or shaving -</b> the mere thought makes me shudder so I will not dwell</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>Shopping, online</b> - a whole host of objects are required that bizarrely the Dear Lady Wife appears not to be in possession of...</li>
<ul>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Clothes</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Handbag</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Shoes</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Make-up</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Hair products</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Moisturisers, balms, ointments and other unguents to be applied to face, hands, skin etc.</li>
</ul>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>Shopping</b> - in a shop if the on-line world cannot provide what is required</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>Visit to tanning salon</b> - optional, or go for the alternative with more control which has arrived in the post today.</li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
These rituals, ideally, take place in a period of about a week before the event. This is often not the case, though. Sometimes a dizzying number of appointments are made by the Dear Lady Wife for the same whirlwind day. Sometimes appointments have to be cancelled, which is my job, when I am not answering the door to yet another delivery man or being sent to the shops to make bizarre and embarrassing purchases.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
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If I have a purpose in life, it must be to provide entertainment to bored shop assistants when I am making these bizarre and embarrassing purchases. When I approach the till with two bottles of wine, a bottle of bleach, cat food and a bikini-line waxing kit in my basket, a number of things can happen. I have listed them below in order of probablity, least likely first.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJniSF1uf7y_NCkBuiIgNYZdRa1NUZ8wmvcauLFf2NewRMHjAWefKrm81fDL0DoKeTDZRxIqfwrk1OoEkkTpHdPrZkj3XEgZPLCfH8sRN_z4sMmisosH0KQsqEtihUx9PTkKjiPiQT5Aph/s1600/tanning1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJniSF1uf7y_NCkBuiIgNYZdRa1NUZ8wmvcauLFf2NewRMHjAWefKrm81fDL0DoKeTDZRxIqfwrk1OoEkkTpHdPrZkj3XEgZPLCfH8sRN_z4sMmisosH0KQsqEtihUx9PTkKjiPiQT5Aph/s1600/tanning1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Don't worry, I'll be along soon to brighten up your day.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<ol>
<li style="text-align: justify;">The transaction takes place normally, money is exchanged and I leave the shop, glowing with pride at a job well done. </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Whilst scanning the waxing kit the (always female) shop assistant will look me up and down but says nothing. I leave the shop feeling confused and slightly violated, but I don't know why.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Whilst scanning the waxing kit the (always female) shop assistant will point out a special offer. If bought in conjunction with a box of regular tampons I can save 50% on this item. This only occurs if there is a large queue behind me. I have to gracefully decline.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-style: normal;">Whilst scanning the waxing kit the (always female) shop assistant suggests an alternative brand which she has used before.</span></i> This only occurs if there is a large queue behind me consisting entirely of male rugby players and builders. Again I gracefully decline, which the shop assistant takes as a tacit acknowledgement of her perception that the waxing kit is for me.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Whilst scanning the waxing kit the (always female) shop assistant encounters a technical issue which will require the pressing of a button below the till. The button is labelled <i>Attract the attention of all female shop assistants in the vicinity to come and giggle at the contents of this man's basket. Oh, can one of you also go and get another bikini waxing kit because this one won't scan. </i></li>
</ol>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My involvement in the rituals is not complete. So, after some considerable time, I have reached the point of my tale, [insert generic slap it all over tanning brand here] fake tan lotion, more specifically, the application of it. Generally this happens just before retiring to bed which means we have gone through the wine and most of the cat food. Wine and the application of fake tan do not make good bed fellows. Any slight mishap will stain something, carpets, ceilings, phones, cats etc.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The Dear Lady Wife, having covered all the bits she can reach then turns to me, offering the gloves and the bottle. I have to do the bits she cannot reach and also, cannot see. However this does not prevent a running verbal quality assessment of my handiwork.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>DLW</b>: It has to be even.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Moi</b>: It is even.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>DLW</b>: You've missed a bit.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Moi</b>: Is that better?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>DLW</b>: No, it's streaky.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Moi</b>: How can you tell?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>DLW</b>: I JUST KNOW!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimmBC0OV1d7_YryHlMZfOOpt4LqmXxP1TfbNZDscHPEYq3ExxA4OccJSkNXrTbFTj6YODLr2X8UYO3hyITypV163KvYXm8Kh6L7ALH7Avcq3sStmkYzZxn7LVXfXYLGSVPjsjDQNgythr5/s1600/tanning2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimmBC0OV1d7_YryHlMZfOOpt4LqmXxP1TfbNZDscHPEYq3ExxA4OccJSkNXrTbFTj6YODLr2X8UYO3hyITypV163KvYXm8Kh6L7ALH7Avcq3sStmkYzZxn7LVXfXYLGSVPjsjDQNgythr5/s320/tanning2.jpg" width="215" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Not the look we are aiming for.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Conversation continues in this vein until the process is completed. I awaken the next morning to find the sheets have changed colour and I have a brown stain on my right hand, which normally fades after about a week. It seems I have negotiated the pre-amble to another major outing. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
More soon Dear Reader</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
xx</div>
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415341131576206004.post-60076451063267177332012-05-29T21:32:00.003+01:002012-05-29T21:35:47.054+01:00Visitors<br />
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Dear Reader,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The peaceful tranquillity of our humble abode will sometimes be shattered by a knock on the door. On the other side of the door will be a visitor. Visitors come in two categories, those that are welcome and those that are not so welcome. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>The Welcomes:</b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<ul>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>The Postman</b> (who, incidentally is a woman, perhaps I should use Postperson from now on?) - weighed down with Dear Lady Wife's latest purchase in her ongoing quest to try every piece of clothing ever produced in her size.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>The Postperson (2) </b>- weighed down with Dear Lady Wife's latest purchase in her ongoing quest to try every pair of shoes ever produced in her size.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>The Postperson (3) - </b>holding a box the contains that latest in a long list of frivolous purchases by my good-self. Recently I bought a fridgepet, now everytime I open the fridge door I get greeted in Japanese. I feel compelled to respond in kind, even if I have a hangover. If you don't believe me see the demo below...</li>
</ul>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/CtsRVSfQTuI?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<ul>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>Pizza delivery people</b> - Well, anyone who brings us food actually.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>Friends</b> - thought I better mention them to avoid offence.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>Cats - </b>obviously.</li>
</ul>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>The not-so Welcomes:</b></div>
</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>Children</b> - normally saying "Can I have me ball back?" Is it wrong to say "no, but you are welcome to come round for the ceremonial burning this evening when we offer the ball as a sacrifice to Lord Voldemort?" </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>People selling things - </b>this situation is not as bad as it used to be, as text messaging is more efficient and infinitely more irritating. If the dude that sent me 43 text messages (normally in the middle of the night) asking if I had been in an accident that was not my fault would like to come round and discuss, well, I may be involved in an accident that is very much my fault. If you wanted evidence that the Devil is alive, well and having a blast then look no further.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>People selling ideas</b> - whether they be political, or worse.</li>
</ul>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Having run through the possibilities I have, finally, come to the point of this post. We had a visitor the other day, it was a Sunday, during the day, which eliminates all the welcomes except cats, but they generally don't knock. I am greeted with two very pleasant, earnestly smiling people. I can tell immediately that these people are selling ideas. I begin the mental preparation required for this sternest of doorstep tests.</div>
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"Have you ever thought about why we are here?" asks the earnestly smiling man nearest the door. Questions, they always have questions. "Erm, I haven't got time for this." I mumble, weakly.</div>
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"That's fine," says earnestly smiling man, radiating even greater levels of earnestness whilst passing me a pamphlet, "why don't you take this and consider the purpose of life?" </div>
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At this point I am tempted to quote renowned theologian and philosophical thinker <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/50_Cent" target="_blank">50 Cent</a> and respond with the immortal words "<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0430308/" target="_blank">Get rich or die tryin'</a>" but the moment has already passed and I close the door. Another opportunity missed.</div>
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So, to the pamphlet, there is always a pamphlet. Like most pamphlets, it has a front cover, a back cover, there are pages in between, those pages are covered in words, those words are arranged in such a way as to form sentences and those sentences have been arranged into paragraphs. Don't be fooled into thinking that makes it sensible and logical though. The arrangement of the words may hold up to grammatical inspection, but that is the last test these words will pass.</div>
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And then there are the pictures... There is always something not quite right about pictures in these pamphles. Some examples are required...</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikzsvYWrl9W8sIFSuRxC7BpJ5pFpNQRuwBRt94mZXU49Yz6OHOyxc6k1tYrpb9ePlVbtIGuOMDKHYfBH6a33l0NEgaD5VocD8093tJnjSSZqI11v036z_7e-7BnShtFAl9QyIoZcqwlkEG/s1600/pamphlet1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikzsvYWrl9W8sIFSuRxC7BpJ5pFpNQRuwBRt94mZXU49Yz6OHOyxc6k1tYrpb9ePlVbtIGuOMDKHYfBH6a33l0NEgaD5VocD8093tJnjSSZqI11v036z_7e-7BnShtFAl9QyIoZcqwlkEG/s400/pamphlet1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Oh good, keep it up.</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg93Vjnvpe19tsMw70LPhsZCZ0erc9bX6rFnd_wSAcswkl7CpdPJLKUCguDoe1TYQpx7ibc90QvjrO3YTcSOWFXBTQ5HrdZzwDHSGqhRKZ97ibpNcjpmzu9I2trt6grRi3883fqXUxfqmqn/s1600/pamphlet2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg93Vjnvpe19tsMw70LPhsZCZ0erc9bX6rFnd_wSAcswkl7CpdPJLKUCguDoe1TYQpx7ibc90QvjrO3YTcSOWFXBTQ5HrdZzwDHSGqhRKZ97ibpNcjpmzu9I2trt6grRi3883fqXUxfqmqn/s320/pamphlet2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Not sure which box I should tick...</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh492Cj5XUDgKywHdeXcpGRnRpjvNlOec5_-pcZ6rmwA4JgXIfgjR236EOWTs3iSwvu5HUGozOrTLUixPdQ9MdCtmbw9CwjvHNtK75Ubnpt7q1n3HhFFo4E6LPnC2SmTY1UrFl1tKOKRLoX/s1600/pamphlet3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh492Cj5XUDgKywHdeXcpGRnRpjvNlOec5_-pcZ6rmwA4JgXIfgjR236EOWTs3iSwvu5HUGozOrTLUixPdQ9MdCtmbw9CwjvHNtK75Ubnpt7q1n3HhFFo4E6LPnC2SmTY1UrFl1tKOKRLoX/s320/pamphlet3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">I think there are a couple of things which should be in the top 20 which are missing. Maybe there is a revision.</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGzF4ZO5ROrg6rngmbAsu_WF_qfB5xfRk1eSYh5-Xt4tojyZertP2O91WxW9p0m-kAwPZHxR83EVExBQS2FMuv9xpoDNeFbNUHUyBRcG_i29fJFX4X1LSmYtY8ILCz8RGKL_46-rFqB0aS/s1600/pamphlet5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGzF4ZO5ROrg6rngmbAsu_WF_qfB5xfRk1eSYh5-Xt4tojyZertP2O91WxW9p0m-kAwPZHxR83EVExBQS2FMuv9xpoDNeFbNUHUyBRcG_i29fJFX4X1LSmYtY8ILCz8RGKL_46-rFqB0aS/s320/pamphlet5.jpg" width="194" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Good news, as long as you do.</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNzFjPky2q7B7ehcJ7glTsg9uRvn_CKkADT5zaa-xGf9kW9vLxIOqgvFlQAtW-UG1oe4rOOuTdW1nNo9b4mnSFDCArrXB-eVXuwTYH7oIszh8MNC13i2Ve2DCUJDiG-7NIgkVBG-7YboJ4/s1600/pamplet4.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNzFjPky2q7B7ehcJ7glTsg9uRvn_CKkADT5zaa-xGf9kW9vLxIOqgvFlQAtW-UG1oe4rOOuTdW1nNo9b4mnSFDCArrXB-eVXuwTYH7oIszh8MNC13i2Ve2DCUJDiG-7NIgkVBG-7YboJ4/s320/pamplet4.gif" width="184" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Cool, I should be able to get it at McDonalds soon then.</td></tr>
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I think you get the idea. In summary, I think I passed the sternest of doorstep tests, this time. Next time I may show weakness, or I may invite them in, or their hypnotic stare may take me to a processing facility in Delaware. In two years time I may be the earnestly smiling gentleman on the doorstep, posing the millenia old question "what is the purpose of life?"</div>
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More soon Dear Reader</div>
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xx</div>
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PS: Thank you to <a href="http://abespenny.wordpress.com/tag/ifgos/" target="_blank">I Found God on the Subway</a> for the last four images above, well worth a look.</div>
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415341131576206004.post-76028259983957746982012-05-07T22:42:00.000+01:002012-05-29T21:33:01.170+01:00A-Z Reflections - #atozchallenge<br />
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Dear Reader,</div>
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Now the <a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" target="_blank">A to Z challenge</a> is over, I've had a little sleep, it was long overdue. Now I am awake again. It seems I spent quite a lot of time during this challenge bemoaning how difficult this was. Some of my friends have pointed out that if I had <i>planned in advance </i>this would have been so much easier. One of these friends is still in intensive care. Apparently getting a flea out of your ear can be quite serious if it has been buried deep enough. Anyhoo...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUfB3mG5sTpNMlWUQPzC8EUaaDMw3ZVdARosQtjcCXE6JHthlDkmDAWtO8F3eWxjgBJVYzwl9RXGSrgcXG-kEzTz7UiVNzXDZKGw__6OhS168usFMSzMbRyONv1jXxbRu8f6dxHLqKEDDn/s1600/a-z+survivor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUfB3mG5sTpNMlWUQPzC8EUaaDMw3ZVdARosQtjcCXE6JHthlDkmDAWtO8F3eWxjgBJVYzwl9RXGSrgcXG-kEzTz7UiVNzXDZKGw__6OhS168usFMSzMbRyONv1jXxbRu8f6dxHLqKEDDn/s1600/a-z+survivor.jpg" /></a></div>
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The Dear Lady Wife has been affected as well. She was often to be found rocking on the sofa knitting A-Z Widow paraphernalia during this task. As a result I have four pairs of mittens, (size: random), two sweaters (size: too large for a human), twelve beanie hats (size: well, not exactly head-size) and a number of other barely started knitting objet d'art. Search for <a href="http://disappointed/" target="_blank">A-ZWidowShop.ebay.co.uk </a> and see how you get on. She has stopped swaying now and more importantly she has stopped knitting, thank [insert major deity here].</div>
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It is only right to thank the people who organized this madness and as a result started me upon it:</div>
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<a href="http://tossingitout.blogspot.co.uk/2012/05/to-z-reflections-2012.html" target="_blank"> Arlee Bird</a> and his A-Z Team, a big thanks goes out to them! </div>
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<a href="http://alexjcavanaugh.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Alex J. Cavanaugh</a> (Alex J. Cavanaugh),<a href="http://amloki.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank"> Amlokiblogs</a> (Damyanti Biswas), <a href="http://karenjonesgowen.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Coming Down The Mountain</a> (Karen Jones Gowen), <a href="http://kmdlifeisgood.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Life is Good</a> (Tina Downey),<a href="http://izombielover.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank"> Retro-Zombie</a> (Jeremy Hawkins), <a href="http://dlcruisingaltitude.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Cruising Altitude 2.0</a> (DL Hammons), <a href="http://thewarriormuse.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">The Warrior Muse</a> (Shannon Lawrence), <a href="http://theqqqe.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">The QQQE</a> (Matthew MacNish), <a href="http://elizabethmueller.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Author Elizabeth Mueller</a> (Elizabeth Mueller),<a href="http://nothoughts2small.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank"> No Thought 2 Small</a> (Konstanz Silverbow), <a href="http://pearsonreport.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Pearson Report</a> (Jenny Pearson), <a href="http://breakthroughblogs.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Breakthrough Blogs</a> (Stephen Tremp).</div>
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An extra special thanks to Jenny Pearson who found the time to pop over and comment whilst undoubtedly doing this for many other blogs as well.</div>
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As previously stated, I seem to be a little negative about this whole experience. I don't mean to be. It was hard (for me) but that doesn't mean it wasn't good. If you considered this year and refused, or are considering next year for whatever reason expect some changes to your world. Stats may be required:</div>
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<li style="text-align: justify;">Visitors per month - doubled my highest month ever. Thank you all.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Followers via Google Connect - gained twenty-seven during the month, welcome aboard. I had twenty-five previously so doubled again.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Followers via Feedburner - a difficult stat as it seems to go up and down based on some metric that i don't really fully understand. All I know is that I look at a nice graph for the last 30 days it was about a third higher than it was at the start of the month. So, welcome to you as well.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Comments - Oh the joy of comments. My dear little diatribe had received fifty comments in the best part of two years. Add another hundred for the last month. All from lovely people too, thank you every one for taking the time.</li>
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Whatever the reason you have for writing stuff down, one of the stats above may mean something to you. It is not all about stats though, it is about connecting, which is why the comments stat means so much to me.</div>
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On a personal note I posted more things in one month that I did in my first two years of blogging. Which means I have learnt something, although I am not sure what. Once I have worked out what that thing is I will be sure to report to you what it is, if I remember.</div>
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More soon Dear Reader</div>
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xx</div>
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PS: There isn't actually any knit wear for sale, that bit was made-up. Sorry.</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415341131576206004.post-22041824802504480872012-04-30T18:18:00.003+01:002012-05-03T18:40:37.069+01:00Zoomorphism<br />
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Dear Reader, </div>
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So, finally we have reached the letter Z. For me, the <a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" target="_blank">A-Z Challenge</a> has been just that, a challenge. It is a challenge I may have technically failed, but for me, once this last one is completed I have succeeded on a technicality. That being said, it has been very useful in a number of ways, which I will share before the end of the week. There are a number of positives I will take from this as well as some lessons learned. </div>
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So just to finish off this little odyssey I am camped in a bar in a London train station as I am shortly meeting some friends with the intention of watching the <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/sport/0/football/17875773" target="_blank">Manchester derby</a>. Go City! Once again I have set myself a ridiculous target. Oh well.</div>
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Anyhoo, back on track, so the letter Z. Another big spender in the scrabble world, again there is a bit of shortage of options. I was prepared though. Right at the beginning of this I posted about <a href="http://troghead.blogspot.co.uk/2012/04/anthropomorphism.html#axzz1tUkPFWJn" target="_blank">anthropomorphism</a>, the very human habit of applying human traits and behaviours to animals, in my case, my pets.</div>
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There is a logical opposite to anthropomorphism, which is <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zoomorphism" target="_blank">zoomorphism</a>. This is the habit of applying animalistic traits and behaviours to humans, amongst other things. Wikipeadia is a little sparse on this subject, which, although slightly disappointing, allows me to draw on my huge personal store of knowledge on this subject. Ah, damn spell checker. In the last sentence the bit after "allows me to" should read "make stuff up". Technology, eh? Getting distracted, must stop doing this.</div>
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So, zoomorphism. There is an example in classical literature I can draw upon that demonstrate zoomorphism. That example of classical literature is <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Viz_(comic)" target="_blank">Viz</a>, a comic that satirised the British comic style of the 40's and 50's but made it modern, and in somewhat bad taste. One of the regular strips that ran in this fine publication was <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Billy_the_Fish" target="_blank">Billy the Fish</a>. Billy the Fish was the goal-keeper for a struggling fictional football team called Fulchester United FC. </div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjUilzZhiRD8zfNwJTYSKJUqcu46MxKtPD4Ef7xgfJWE3cDfdcYrMJUlnKHYbhmqv8Zy7PyY5CbkDk2Jnr2xkEg0xIrSklOQAG6P7rLp14t0LrfcImxAt5v1U6Z0A0mSPyKfd7gmsEdba9/s1600/Z1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjUilzZhiRD8zfNwJTYSKJUqcu46MxKtPD4Ef7xgfJWE3cDfdcYrMJUlnKHYbhmqv8Zy7PyY5CbkDk2Jnr2xkEg0xIrSklOQAG6P7rLp14t0LrfcImxAt5v1U6Z0A0mSPyKfd7gmsEdba9/s1600/Z1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Billy, in all his glory.</td></tr>
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Billy would always manage to save Fulchester United FC from difficult situations with his fishlike skills. Well, until he died anyway. No matter, as his son, who looked just like him and was also gifted wish fish-like skills soon followed. This paragraph sort of sums up Viz for me.</div>
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I may soon, return to this post and update with some more zoomorphic entites but for the time-being that is it for the A-Z Challenge anyway. I will, however, be back with a little analysis of the process quite soon. Time and battery life is against me as the biggest football match of the premiership season calls. </div>
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More soon Dear Reader,</div>
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xx</div>
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<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415341131576206004.post-71069429024507610582012-04-30T07:11:00.002+01:002012-04-30T07:16:21.463+01:00Yak<div style="text-align: justify;">
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Dear Reader,</div>
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I don't why Y is so difficult but it really is. Put "Y is for" into Google and you get a bunch of recent blog posts from <a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" target="_blank">A-Z Challenge</a> participants. Judging by some of the results, <a href="http://www.claybaboons.com/2012/04/y-is-for-yo-yos.html" target="_blank">yo-yos,</a> <a href="http://www.ittakesawoman.co.uk/blog/2012/04/28/the-a-z-challenge-y-is-for-ytterbium-atozchallenge/" target="_blank">ytterbium</a>, it may not just have been me that has struggled.</div>
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I have a list of words beginning with Y, it's a depressingly short list. I have just googled "yonder", which is (wave arms theatrically in one direction, pointing,) over there somewhere<vague arm="" motion="" pointing="" sweeping="" with="">, apparently. </vague></div>
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I am scanning the wikipedia entry for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yttrium" target="_blank">Yttrium</a> which has all the endearing features of a really dull, relatively common, non-precious metal. None, in other words.</div>
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Oh, how about <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yggdrasil" target="_blank">Yggdrasil</a>, Norse cosmology anyone? It was an immense tree that held the nine worlds of Norse cosmology together. Yup, thought not.</div>
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This is the problem with Y. It doesn't provide much to work with. How about <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yak" target="_blank">Yak</a> then? Well I have already posted about <a href="http://troghead.blogspot.co.uk/2012/04/llama.html#axzz1tUkPFWJn" target="_blank">Llamas</a> this month, so why not another random furry beast?</div>
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Yaks are the default beast of burden if you happen to live in the vicinity of the Himalayan Plateau.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: justify;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgye7Hv5mIQtsEHAKPss4po2smOvIXooDEzJf0NKUXcbPj_eFuoAwdxpps1knOF8UVX4_Iudha84uNQa7BmDTZz7QJHIlTq3pI0gr17Di737ohADlcw06JmyVwTr1AyuxNMVwuu3LhrEQeh/s1600/Yak2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgye7Hv5mIQtsEHAKPss4po2smOvIXooDEzJf0NKUXcbPj_eFuoAwdxpps1knOF8UVX4_Iudha84uNQa7BmDTZz7QJHIlTq3pI0gr17Di737ohADlcw06JmyVwTr1AyuxNMVwuu3LhrEQeh/s1600/Yak2.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
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Young yak.</div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpeHoyW-JM0uBy768W9ewLZ0l1gO_3oq0o4G-RNdzc_X15MsSv1GeitRKiUqpFGSSs2XT9e3QHPa7tlR0-5gA8cWJAqCcQ77v-cDCjpfyhTQ3-2f932dX0ABYZKCxRys6kbHL5fkBZYJe2/s1600/yak3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpeHoyW-JM0uBy768W9ewLZ0l1gO_3oq0o4G-RNdzc_X15MsSv1GeitRKiUqpFGSSs2XT9e3QHPa7tlR0-5gA8cWJAqCcQ77v-cDCjpfyhTQ3-2f932dX0ABYZKCxRys6kbHL5fkBZYJe2/s1600/yak3.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small; text-align: -webkit-auto;"> Penny for your yak, sorry thoughts, I meant thoughts</span> .</div>
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Interestingly new sports are springing up with the yak central to them. Take yak skiing, a wonderful idea. Attach a rope to a herd of yaks, feed the rope through a pulley. Get the yaks to wait at the top of a snow covered hill. Attach the other end of the rope to yourself and wait at the bottom of the same hill. Rattle a bucket of yak food loudly. Watch as a herd of yaks stampeded down the hill, dragging you at high speed up the hill. Oh what fun, I wonder when they are having a health and safety audit.</div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghFPMvM6pGEBPg2QlQ3ZzQubfPoGcytcYonYEFAvoQ9qCebJghcAqmW8Hfbg3yWT-eJ-Av52VhMZLaqLv8J7ApQJ1dOvFP6Dw8zvbDb-iuXX1zvUYqDjA-bMqBfBSd3UNAaITktVzm4D3u/s1600/yak5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghFPMvM6pGEBPg2QlQ3ZzQubfPoGcytcYonYEFAvoQ9qCebJghcAqmW8Hfbg3yWT-eJ-Av52VhMZLaqLv8J7ApQJ1dOvFP6Dw8zvbDb-iuXX1zvUYqDjA-bMqBfBSd3UNAaITktVzm4D3u/s1600/yak5.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Yak skiing, obviously.</td></tr>
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Disappointingly I couldn't find a photo which properly does justice to the madness that is yak skiing. We will just have to use our imagination. It doesn't take quite so much imagination to understand yak polo. Remove the horses, replace with yaks and you get a slightly slower, hairier and more horny version of polo.</div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZXqST0zguNTqQHJOARPydA83bP4xt5pl-re6QQP1E7Tuhlt7333fnWvC1PCFBEDXLw8dveNVhW_ZMeGdhPySe6xSNO660vur7xqTAj8nZ909u2hSAzLI6Z1IhOwnWghW-_oKbFqi4iFoB/s1600/yak6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZXqST0zguNTqQHJOARPydA83bP4xt5pl-re6QQP1E7Tuhlt7333fnWvC1PCFBEDXLw8dveNVhW_ZMeGdhPySe6xSNO660vur7xqTAj8nZ909u2hSAzLI6Z1IhOwnWghW-_oKbFqi4iFoB/s1600/yak6.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Careful with that mallet.</td></tr>
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So, that's the yak. Adaptable to all manner of sporting endeavour. Synchronised swimming might be a bit of a stretch though.</div>
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Back later Dear Reader, when I will be considering the zen of Z</div>
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xx</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415341131576206004.post-84576407477129822232012-04-29T20:47:00.000+01:002012-04-29T20:48:55.532+01:00X-Factor<div style="text-align: justify;">
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Dear Reader,</div>
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Onward, ever onward. Here we are at the letter X. Given the relative sparsity of words available X-Factor has proved convenient subject matter. It is also a Dear Lady Wife suggestion so I can always blame her if this goes horribly wrong.</div>
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<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_X_Factor_(UK)" target="_blank">X-Factor</a> then, where do you start? Well, if you haven't seen it then I guess I better explain. It is, on the face of it, a talent competition. It is judged by pop svengali <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Simon_Cowell" target="_blank">Simon Cowell</a>, accompanied by which ever group of pop luminaries are currently in favor.</div>
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The X-Factor plays out in three phases, the auditions, judges houses and finally, the ultimate prize, the live shows. Let us deal with each phase in turn.</div>
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<b>The Auditions.</b></div>
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Auditions take place across the UK or US, depending on which one you are watching but follow a similar formula. There are good auditions, OK auditions and bad auditions.</div>
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Good auditions first, these will either be really good or OK. Good auditions are delivered by people who have a shot at the live shows. A good audition example:</div>
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Not too shabby, Danyl was good enough to make the live shows, but did not win. A good audition does not guarantee success.</div>
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The OK auditions are normally accompanied by a <i>story</i>. A <i>story </i>can get you a long way in the X-Factor. The <i>story </i>normally involves misfortune, the type of misfortune that is guaranteed to get an emotional response from people watching. If Kayla is doing it for her recently deceased mother or father then she has a shot. If Kayla is doing it for her recently deceased father and her very much alive mother who is in the audience tonight but doesn't know that Kayla is auditioning because they became separated at the age of four by social services and only made contact again last week and her dog has got cancer and her cat saved the lives of four hundred people by dragging them all from a burning building using nothing but his tail, then, you have a guaranteed audition. That, is a <i>story.</i></div>
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The other side of the coin is the bad audition. Bad auditions are the car crash moments that allow Simon to give full rein to his wit and biting sarcasm. Bad auditions are normally attended by people who have an over-elevated view of their ability, quite often they are also a little bit mad. This combination makes good telly apparently.</div>
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Beware the holistic vocal coach bearing gifts!</div>
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Much wittling of this nature happens over a four to five week period. Two-three weeks is spent travelling around the host country, followed by a more focused set of auditions which eventually leave us with the acts that move on to next significant stage.</div>
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<b>Judges Houses.</b></div>
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The acts that have reached this stage are nearly all competent. During this phase the judges have been allocated their mentoring categories. The categories are as follows:</div>
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<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>Girls - </b>Regularly win.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>Boys </b>- Regularly win.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>The Overs</b> - I call them the overs as the age range for this category is fluid. It could be over 35's, the over 30's, so on and so forth. Never seen a winner in the UK anyway, but commercial success can happen for one who reaches the latter stages.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>The Groups - </b>Rarely win but, commercially are one of the strongest categories.</li>
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There are normally between 5 and 10 acts per category. You would think that by this time everyone in the competition would be able to hold a note and this is largely true. There are however, a couple lurking (normally in the Overs category,) who can only hold a doctor's note. These observations are UK specific, I have not had the pleasure of witnessing another competition unfold.</div>
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During the <i>Judges Houses </i>stage of the competition contestants are apparently shown a little bit of the celebrity lifestyle, and perform to the judge allocated to their category. What they are not shown, however, is the judges houses. These are very nice pieces of property rented for the show.</div>
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The hook with judges houses is the decisions. Each judge must sit down with each act in turn and tell them the good or the bad news. There will be many, many tears. Tears will often come from the judges (not Simon obviously, he is above all of this.) Tears will always come from the acts though, story or not.</div>
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Astonishingly, once this final wittling is over there will be still at least one basket case left in the competition. They will be able to sing a bit, have some charisma and can entertain. They will, quite clearly never win. They are normally in the Overs category. They do however give the live shows some comedy moments, where we shall go to next.</div>
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<b>The Live Shows.</b></div>
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So, the X-Factor moves into the final phase. This is where the judges/mentors can only influence the outcome with the help of song choice, styling and production. No matter what they do, it is the public who decide.</div>
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In the UK each live show is played out over approximately 5 hours spread evenly between Saturday and Sunday. Filling that time clearly gets more difficult as time goes on. The live show has a host, who is really peripheral but sort of necessary. What this stage is all about is the <i>story. </i>Every week, every artist has a <i>story</i>. It may be a re-hash of a previous <i>story</i> or it may be an illness. It could be that the contestants' cat can't stop coughing up furballs. The contestant may have lost his / her voice for six days. The mentor is with them all the way through all of these mini-traumas if the <i>story </i>is to be believed. They might even be catching those furballs.</div>
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Each live show is also played out in the press. All contestants are now under the microscope, their past and present laid out for all to see. If one of them falls out of a nightclub at 3 in the morning with a lady on his arm, the public will know about it. If there is a lot of press coverage, you can be sure that their <i>story</i> for the next week will include this.</div>
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It is a perilous weekly journey that finishes with the public vote. Eventually there will be a final three and someone will win. That someone will sell records, without a shadow of a doubt. The someone who has sold the most to date is a diva. This return to the stage for a results show proves that occasionally these shows find someone amazing. Leona Lewis is proof of that.</div>
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So when the show is over, some will win and some will lose. It is supposed to be a singing competition, sometimes it is. In reality once you get to the live shows it is a popularity competition, pure and simple. This competition gets played out over the newspapers, forums and the web of the participating country. </div>
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All of this is good for Simon. Many participating acts end up on his record label <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Syco" target="_blank">Syco</a>, a fifty-fifty partnership between himself and Sony, who just want to sell records, as many as possible. Any arriving act who has just spent the last twelve to fifteen weeks on prime-time telly touting their wares is in a good place to start a recording career. This is good business.</div>
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I could spend a bunch of words being negative about this show, which begins as a circus and ends being something more akin to a money making machine. It's a guilty pleasure though, at least the latter stages. For the Dear Lady wife, I don't think there is any guilt at all. </div>
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Onto later Dear Reader, as I attempt to yield all of the mysteries of the letter Y.</div>
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xx</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0