7 July 2011 (Thursday) - A Day Off...

I’d booked today as a day off work because originally the plan was that today would be spent packing for Brighton Kite Festival. But that got moved to earlier in the year. So having booked the holiday I thought I’d take it anyway. I naively thought I’d have some “me time”. God laughs when we make plans….

First of all I waited for ‘er indoors ^TM at the garage, and once she’d turned up I drove her to work: she’d left her car at the garage to get the brakes seen to.

I then went to the bank to get the astro club paperwork seen to. And when I got there the nice man started fussing about a “mandate”. It turns out that a “mandate” is another silly scrap of paper that the bank wanted, so he gave me a blank one and told me to get it signed by all and sundry and take it back tomorrow. I bet he’ll have another piece of paper for me tomorrow (!).

I then drove round to Lloyds pharmacy. Last night I was looking at their website. They listed seven main symptoms of diabetes. I have six of them, and a family history of late-onset diabetes. They also said they were offering free diabetes testing, and bearing in mind that my own GP surgery is useless I thought I’d take Lloyds pharmacy up on their offer.

I turned up and promptly got closeted with a fit bird who took down my particulars (woof!). It seems I scored quite badly for diabetes risk (I knew that anyway), and seeing that my father and grandmother both had late-onset diabetes meant I had a good chance of getting it too (I knew that anyway).

The fit bird measured my blood glucose level. It was 6.7 meganewtons per cubic parsec. The expected level is somewhat lower than that (so she says!), and so the fit bird reassured me not to worry (I wasn’t especially worried – I’ve known this to be coming for years) and said for me to come back in the morning to do a fasting blood glucose level.

That will give me something to do tomorrow….

I went to B&Q for light bulbs, and saw the most wonderful sight. A rather attractive young lady was bending over the light bulb stall, and 99+% of her bum was hanging out of her trousers. This would have made the best CrackWatch photo ever. I turned my phone to camera mode, got into position, lined up the shot, and right at the vital moment ‘er indoors ^TM phoned me to say how much her car was going to cost. By the time I’d politely answered “Yeah-whatever!” the photo opportunity had passed. I tried following the lady in question for a few minutes in the vain hope of a repeat performance, but there is only so long that one can stalk a young mother in B&Q.

And so to the college where I collected “Daddies Little Angel ^TM ” to take all her artwork home for her. And then I was planning to go home myself when my mobile rang. The ‘er indoors ^TM –mobile was ready for collection – would I drive her from work back to the garage? (of course, my heart!). By the time I got home it was gone 1pm. I treated myself to some KFC for lunch; if diabetes has finally arrived, KFC may well be a thing of the past. So I might as well scoff it whilst I can.

I scoffed lunch whilst watching “Sex Lives of the Potato Men” (a really funny film), and then I finally settled down for what I was hoping to do in the first place. I got my paints out and did a painting.

I’ve been watching Bob Ross in the mornings recently. If you’ve never seen “The Joy of Painting”, then have a look around the Discovery Home and Leisure channel. It is perhaps one of the most relaxing TV shows you’ll ever see. And it is one of my biggest regrets that I took up painting after Bob Ross died: I would love to have met him. Bob maintained that anyone could paint. I was sceptical – I *knew* that I couldn’t. But I went to a class in his style of painting and found that I could paint. And so I got quite “into” painting.

In all honesty I don’t think I’m especially good at it: my “in the distance” pine trees have never been quite right. Clouds elude me, and my mountains are rather hit or miss. But without wishing to sound big-headed, whilst I’m not especially good, I’m not particularly bad at it either.

Last week “Daddies Little Angel ^TM ” said I should sell my paintings. And Bob mentioned the other day that people usually buy paintings because the colours of the paintings match their rooms; not for any intrinsic art value of the painting. There are paintings for sale in the room where the arky-ologee club meets: quite frankly I can do better than a lot of those. So this afternoon I painted. The first one I’ve done for some years; and I’m quite pleased how it turned out. If any of my loyal readers would like to give me hard cash for it, I would be happy to take their money.

Having said that, if any of my loyal readers would like the painting, I’d be very happy to just hand it over. The trouble with painting for a hobby is that one’s house soon fills up with paintings. Quite a lot of friends and family have my paintings adorning their walls: there’s even one at work. I quite like seeing my paintings in other people’s houses….

6 July 2011 (Wednesday) - The News

I spent a few minutes this morning going over my diary of forthcoming events. It’s available on this blog by clicking on the link above which reads “Dates for the Diary”. There’s a day of three castles this coming weekend. Stevey’s pencilled in a return to the Western Heights planned for September, and I’ve got some of the bonfire parade dates down too. Some, but not all. Shadoxhurst Bonfire is a tricky one to pin down. Have the organisers never heard of the internet? Surely I can’t be the only one who likes to plan his life? On typing “Shadoxhurst Bonfire 2011” into Google I found that there’s no mention of the event by the organisers at all. In fact one of the first sites to be called up on Google was my blog of the event last year. With no other clues, I’ve made a guess that it will be about the same time of year this year.

And I suppose there can’t be many people who’ve missed the news stories of today. From the man in the pub to the Prime Minister, everyone is amazed at the journalist form the News of the World who apparently hacked into the mobile phone of a child who was later found to have been murdered. Having hacked in, this chap then allegedly deleted various messages on that phone. But far from being an isolated event, hacking would seem to be commonplace.

Whether this journalist hindered the police investigation, or gave false hope to parents, or whatever his actions might have been, the bottom line remains.

One of the nations’ leading newspapers sees no wrong in hacking a child’s mobile phone in order to make money.

The Prime Minister is doing his bit. He’s ordered a public enquiry into what’s going on. And what about us – what can we do. We can all of us do something to register our disgust. We make sure we don’t buy the News of the World this weekend. And we tell our friends and family that by buying the paper this Sunday they would be tacitly approving of a mentality which puts profit ahead of children’s lives.

Let’s see if a weekend of not selling a single copy makes them sit up and take notice….

5 July 2011 (Tuesday) - Retirement, Opening Lines...

There has been a spate of retirements at work lately. And with my retirement only (!) thirteen years away (I hope), I have often wondered exactly how my last working day will go. Will I go in a blaze of glory; telling management what I think of them? Will it be a genteel testimonial in which I politely smile at an equally polite throng?

I may well copy the example of Gladys.

Gladys has been a secretary at work for…. I don’t know how long. I do know that I was there before she started, but she started fairly soon after me. And so she must have been there at least twenty years. I didn’t notice her at work yesterday: I assumed she had a day’s holiday. So did everyone else. She didn’t turn up today either. On checking the leave records she didn’t have leave booked. After a bit of to-ing and fro-ing it turned out she’d retired.

Apparently some months ago she approached the HR department and planned her retirement arrangements, and made it quite clear that retiring was a personal thing: no one’s business but her own, and she did not want anyone else to be made aware of her personal affairs. And the admin took her at her word. Confidentiality was maintained. Apparently when she went home last Friday she mentioned in passing that she wouldn’t be coming back; that she had retired. The person she spoke to smiled and took it to be a joke. But it wasn’t. She’s gone. No one had any idea that she was going.

I might do just that myself when the time comes.

There was an interesting article on the radio today…… I use that phrase an awful lot on this blog; often as the first line of a day’s rant. Is it a *good* line from a literary point of view? Perhaps I shouldn’t use it quite so often?

The thrust of the article on the radio today was that the opening line of any work of literature determines whether or not the reader is hooked, or whether their attention will wander. The radio show quoted all sorts of introductory lines to novels – “Truths universally acknowledged”. “Clocks striking thirteen”. “Bests and worsts of times”…

I can remember a chap at school winning all sorts of awards for an essay he’d written; the opening line of which was “I stopped the car and let the fog close in around me”. A wonderful opening line – so evocative. I can distinctly remember our English teacher being in raptures over that line. I can also distinctly remember the look on another chap’s face when, like me, he recognised where that line had been blagged from (Google that line!).

Over thirty years later that unpunished plagiarism still bothers me. But it proves the point of the importance of the opening line on any written work. I’ve been blogging daily for nearly five years. I’ve never taken any writing advice or lessons. But this has given me food for thought.

I may not be able to come up with earth-shattering openings to future blog entries, but I shall at least try not to be quite so repetitive…

4 July 2011 (Monday) - Devolution

There was a very interesting article on the radio today about Scottish independence.. And then I met a Scotsman. There’s no denying that the chap’s nationalistic fervour boiled my piss. And that set me off looking on the Internet.

And having done that I predict war between England and Scotland within my lifetime….

Apparently Her Majesty has given tacit approval for Scottish independence. And following the recent success of the Scottish Nationalists at the most recent election, it would seem a referendum is on the cards. The Scottish Nationalists want a Scotland independent of England.

Scotland already has its own parliament and legal system. Will they get independence too? Possibly. Would it make any difference?

Quite frankly Scotland and all things Scottish have always been a matter of indifference to me. I suppose the reason for this is that there are not many places in England farther away from Scotland than where I live. Scotland is a long way away, and I have a lot of things closer to home to worry about.

Having said that I do seem to meet Scots all the time; the vast majority of the Scots of my acquaintance all make great show of their national pride, and of hating the English. There were atrocities committed by the English who lived hundreds of years ago against the Scots of hundreds of years ago, but I can hardly hold any responsibility for them, can I?

And I can’t help wondering that if Scotland is so absolutely amazing, why are so many Scots living in Kent? You can’t get much further from Scotland and still be on the same island. Following Scottish independence, will the chap who was so vocal today about the wonders of Scotland go back home? Or will he stay living in Kent because he openly admits he can’t get a job in his glorious homeland?

Interestingly the vast majority of the English of my acquaintance seem to treat Scotland and the Scots with the vague indifference that I do.

So an independent Scotland – who cares?

On reflection, I do. Apparently the widely held theory that financially Scotland can’t afford to go it alone without England turns out not to be the case. It would seem that having achieved independence, according to international law some ninety percent of the current UK’s oil reserves would be under Scottish jurisdiction. As would nearly half the current UK’s sources of renewable power. Far from being well shot of a drain on England’s resources, losing Scotland would cost us (the English) a fortune.

Would we accept it? Could we afford it? Bearing in mind the state of our finances we might find ourselves at war with the Scots over what we might very well claim to be *our* energy reserves.

War with Scotland? When it happens, remember that you read it here first….

3 July 2011 (Sunday) - Exploring Hidden Dover

I woke up in quite some pain today – hardly able to move. That didn’t bode well for the day. But what can a fat bloke do? Get up and get on with it is about all I could do.

Over brekkie I worked on adding a page to the blog – instructions for leaving comments on blog entries. I’m very happy for people to comment on anything I write, but I wish that people would not do so anonymously.

And then on with the business of the day. To Folkestone to collect the rest of the crew, and then off to Dover: the Western Heights. We had a nosey round the Knights Templar church and a gun emplacement, and then we hit the jackpot. Someone has prised open the barred door to the deep military shelters. Now nowhere did it say that we were to keep out; nowhere was there any mention of the place being private property. So we scrambled our way into the hole and had a look-see.

We walked along about twenty yards until the tunnel turned right and we found ourselves in pitch darkness. Fortunately we’d had the foresight to bring torches. (We might be daft, but we ain’t stupid). We found what was once the Commanding Officer’s room; the only one with a fireplace. And then we found stairs going down. So we went down. And down. The shelters were very deep, and went on such a long way underground. They are very much like the tunnels on public display at Dover Castle, but these ones have just been left to decay. It’s criminal, really.

After half an hour of noseying about we thought we’d move on. It had been a struggle getting into the tunnel. Getting out would be easy enough – getting out gracefully would be en entirely different matter. But we (mostly) managed all right. There is even video evidence to show how we managed.

We then moved on to the Redoubt Fortress. This had a sign up saying that it was English Heritage. We had a good look around, but couldn’t find a way into the place. So we moved round to the detached bastion. That didn’t seem to be owned by anyone, and the fence keeping people out didn’t actually look like a fence at all. I honestly think it looked like a stile inviting us in. And it would have been rude to have turned down such an invitation. So we hopped over the stile and wandered round what was very clearly a very well trodden footpath. If we were really trespassing there wouldn’t be anything resembling a footpath, would there?

Having said that, I feel I should point out that it was a footpath through a jungle. It has to be said that the detached bastion has been left to fall into disrepair.

We found a hole in a wall. A small hole at the bottom of a wall. Far too small a hole for anyone to get through. So we had a go at getting through the hole anyway. And succeeded.

It was a bit of a scramble, and more than a tad claustrophobic, but four of our five braved the hole. However the other side of the hole proved somewhat of a disappointment. There was a large courtyard-type area with a room off to one side. The room contained what was once a metal spiral staircase going up. The metal staircase had rusted over the years and wasn’t at all sturdy. So we sent “Daddies Little Angel ^TM ” up the staircase to have a look-see. She scrambled up and reported a locked door at the top. But then we had a problem. Like her father, and like tiggers, “Daddies Little Angel ^TM ” can only climb up. Climbing down isn’t something at which she excels. But she eventually came down: she had little choice.

The (main) problem with urban arky-ologee is that when exploring one is very much left to one’s own devices. Whilst not *actually* trespassing, it could be argued (and probably would, were we to phone the fire brigade to ask to get rescued) that we shouldn’t have been where we got ourselves stuck.

With “Daddies Little Angel ^TM ” off of the staircase we decided to move on. I was the last one to go through the hole to get out, and I had a minor attack of nerves at the thought of squeezing through such a small space. But I’d done it once before, and this time I knew what was on the other side. And getting out was easy, even if I did have to pose for photos on the way out.

Pausing briefly to admire a passing frog we then moved on. We found a very interesting hole in a wall that we couldn’t get to. And then round to the detached bastion proper. We searched and searched for a way into it, and just as we were giving up hope we turned a corner and found a small girl scrabbling up a wall. When she saw us she jumped off the wall, and looked as guilty as a puppy sitting by a pile of poo. We asked her if she’d found a way into the bastion. “No!” she promptly denied; just as her mate leaned out of the opened window to see what the delay was. Her mate too looked rather sheepish, but when the kids realised that we might be four times their age but were still up to as much mischief as they were, they gave us advice on how best to scale the wall to the window. We were soon inside. And once inside I was amazed: the detached bastion is enormous inside. We set off exploring, and the two kids we’d encountered tagged along with us. Not having ropes or torches themselves they suddenly realised that one needs to be prepared to get up to serious misbehaving.

We found all sorts of chambers and passageways, and several staircases leading to the top of the bastion. And then I heard voices. For a moment I thought we might be about to be caught by the Normal People. But it wasn’t Normal People; it was others like us, out to explore. In this case a father with three children. I helped the father get his kiddies over a hole at the foot of some stairs, and left them to it. And then there was some screaming: some teenaged girls were walking round the bastion too. With no torches it was dark and they were terrified. I didn’t wind them up very much(!)

The detached bastion was amazing: in how big the place was, in that we could explore somewhere that had just been left to rot, and in how many other people were mooching about the place. But time was pushing on, stomachs were rumbling, and so we made our way to the local Wetherspoons for a roast dinner and a couple of pints.

And then it was on to Samphire Hoe. Ostensibly for an ice-cream but we arrived too late – the ice cream stall was shut. So we stared at France on the distant horizon and soaked up the sun.

I have so many hobbies that I don’t actually do anywhere near as much as I’d like. Urban arky-ologee is one of them…..

2 July 2011 (Saturday) - Seaford Kite Day

‘er indoors ^TM signalled for pickup shortly before 1am, so last night was a bit of a late one. I was still awake and shaved by 6.30am though.

Once brekkied we set off on the day’s mission. Firstly to deliver a plastic beaker to my mother’s house in Hastings, and then on to Seaford. On the way the sat-nav was having kittens; doing it’s best to divert me via Tenterden. But I wasn’t having any of it. I stuck to the Hastings route, even if it did take me through every set of traffic lights in Kent and Sussex (and they were all against me).

After two and a half hours we arrived at our destination – the Seaford Family Focus Group were having a kite day and the kite club was there to show the public how it was do be done. It’s a sad look-out for humanity when I am being held up as a shining example, but we had fun. We got to play with all sorts of kites, had a go at taking aerial photographs with cameras suspended from kites, teased the local dogs with fast-moving kite shadows, met up with old friends, and slept in the sunshine.

‘er indoors ^TM  and I slipped off at one point to find the ice-cream van and we had a wander around the beach. We found a kittiwake reserve. Kittiwakes look like normal seagulls, but are somewhat gobbier. Bearing how much noise they were making I would have wrung their necks rather than have set aside a reserve for them, but it would seem the RSPB thought differently.

On the way out we got chatting with the organisers who gave us complimentary burgers as a “thank-you” for our efforts. We sat on the beach to scoff our burgers. ‘er indoors ^TM enjoyed the seaside ambience. I enjoyed the ample charms of the epically bosomed bikini babes.

And then home. We came home the way the sat-nav had tried to take us to Seaford. In the meantime it had changed it’s mind. It now wanted to go home the way we’d come down.

Once home I quickly changed my shirt, and we set off to the home of a fellow Blogger who was having a birthday bash. We spent the evening burning things in the garden whilst scoffing burgers and drinking beer. Can’t be bad…

1 July 2011 (Friday) - This n That...

I woke suddenly at 2am this morning. There was a lot of shouting outside the house; lights were flashing and reversing beepers were beeping. I got up to see what was going on. An ambulance was reversing up the road. I would have thought that pointing the vehicle in the right direction and using forward gears would have got the ambulance to the ill person faster, and not woken the entire street in the process. But what do I know?

The ambulance eventually stopped a few hundred yards up the road, and I left them to it.

I was rather restless for the rest of the night, and got up feeling rather crappy. I wonder if I’m sickening for something. Over brekkie I had a look through my accumulated post. I had a letter telling me that I might have won a car or a telly in a draw I never entered. To see if I was eligible to win, all I needed to do was to phone 09061… … .. In *very* small print they explained that the phone call would last a minimum of five and a half minutes, and would cost £1.53 per minute. It’s clear to me who the winner here would be.

I had a letter from the Halifax building society telling me of changes to my account. I wasn’t aware I had any accounts with them, so I phoned them to ask what was going on. After a lot of to-ing and fro-ing I got through to Amanda. She took my details, put me on hold for ages and then announced that she had absolutely no idea why they’d written to me. She suggested I went into my local branch and asked them what was going on. So much for telephone banking(!)

The Nationwide building society had written to me. They are a bunch with whom I have got an account. They had sent me an AGM voting pack and asked if I would vote to approve various reports and to elect (or not) assorted members of their board. Not knowing (or caring) the first thing about what they were asking, I binned the letter. On reflection, such apathy about banks and building societies is probably the very reason our country is in such a dire financial position.

The garage had written to me – did I want a new car? Sightsavers had written a letter thanking me for my support, and did I want to support even more?

Friends Life had written to say that “Friends Life” was the new name for “Sun Life”. They must have money to burn if they can afford to write to tell everyone such triviality.

I then went through the household accounts. The leccie bill had apparently doubled, and the gas bill hadn’t been paid. I got onto the power company. It would seem that they had combined both payments for no apparent reason. I found a letter from them on the matter. Apparently they have done this for my benefit. I wonder how that works?

There was a crash as “Daddies Little Angel ^TM ” burst through the door on a flying visit. She mentionied in passing that Princess (her cat who recently had his knackers cut off) has the squitters, and was “shitting from here to Alabama”.

I merely mention this in case any of my American readers wonder what the brown trail heading south might be.

And then I set off to Tesco to get lunch. There was a minor episode at the self-service checkouts. A seriously scary looking hooligan was attempting to buy fabric conditioner using tokens. His checkout machine wasn’t having any of it, and an assistant was trying to help him. “Thugbert” was not happy – he was insisting she go back to the fruit and veg section and send a checkout girl to help him. It was at this point that he self-service checkout that I was using spat out all the money I’d put into it. Having no other way to pay, I pressed the help button. The nice lady left “Thugbert” and came to help me. “Thugbert” started screaming for her to go back to him. Apparently it was embarrassing enough for him to have to buy fabric conditioner without everyone watching him failing to be able to pay for the stuff.

The only reason anyone was looking at him was for the exhibition he was making of himself. I was quite happy pulling faces at the assembled children who in turn had been quite happy pulling faces back at me. But because “Thugbert” was far more entertaining to watch, he had garnered the attention of the assembled throng. He then became quite agitated. He started shouting for his tokens back just as the nice lady started crying. That was when “Thugbert” turned bright red, threw down his purchases and ran out of the store in tears himself.

Now that all the excitement was over so the supervisors appeared. By the time the nice lady had been calmed down and I had reassured her that I really wasn’t bothered about having had to wait twenty five minutes for her to see to me, I was running half an hour late.

Fortunately for my nerves, work was (relatively) uneventful, and after a dull day I went straight round to Chip’s where the tribes had gathered for a game of cards. Having once been a rather confused newbie, “Daddies Little Angel ^TM ” has figured out the rules of poker. And having wiped the floor with all present she then proceeded to photograph her winnings.

And so home.  ‘er indoors ^TM is out on the lash. I’ve offered to pick her up “when she is ready”. I wonder how long I will have to wait…