14 October 2009 (Wednesday) - Ironing, Diversions, Basketball

Up at the crack of dawn, and on with the ironing for an hour or so, whilst watching the antics of Space Pilot John Lee. He is the man – Japan’s answer to Gerry Anderson invented Star Fleet some time ago, and it is so awful, it’s actually brilliant. Take this morning’s episode – the hermaphrodite baddie utterly destroyed Star Fleet’s Pluto base. Following a continued bombardment with laser torpedoes, it was totally trashed beyond any possible repair. There was nothing left but smouldering ruins. And for good measure, the baddies then blew those ruins up. Some scary looking puppet with a bad haircut (who was actually the good guy) sent out a couple of spanners with a hammer, and they fixed it up, good as new, in five minutes. Quality…

Having cut myself shaving this morning, I set off for work with bits of loo roll adhering to my face in a lame attempt to stop the bleeding. I knew things had got off to a bad start what with Space Pilot John Lee and the shaving laceration, but I wasn’t expecting what came next. As I was driving up the dual carriageway toward McDonalds, there were juggernauts coming over the hill. Coming straight at me in my lane. Pausing only briefly to scrape my pants out, I realised they had a police escort. It turned out that a lorry had overturned on the roundabout by the motorway, but I didn’t know that at the time. All I knew was that I found myself diverted back the way I came. Being in need of salad (how lame is that?) I decided to go via Sainsburys. However thanks to the traffic problems, it took an age to get there. And when I did, I was greeted by the staff brandishing tissues and sponges – my shaving cut was still bleeding. I eventually got to work over an hour after I left home – I have walked to work faster.

I eventually got to work, and received a revelation. I’m not the only bloke on the planet that does ironing. One of my junior colleagues was also up at silly o’clock doing ironing. He has this theory that when his beloved sees all his hard work, she will be suitably impressed. And therefore will give him “a portion” as a reward later. If that’s the case, I think I’ll give up ironing here and now.

A phone call from the chokey. “Norman Stanley” has once more played basketball. Following last week’s 42-2 defeat, and “Norman Stanley” throwing up after three minutes physical exertion, this week’s game was more successful. The team they were playing against had lost their last game 78-0, so the “Harlem Globetrotters” went into the game in high spirits. They lost 28-2.

And in closing, I received a comment on yesterdays’ blog entry. Well, I received two. Cheers Andy – but I’ve figured out PowerPoint. But do come along to AstroBash on the 24^th to see the finished presentation. And the dalek. And the bouncy castle. And the ….. you get the message, I’m sure. I hope all my loyal readers can come to AstroBash – it’s going to be fun.

But the second comment I received I rejected. Karim left a link to a website which he claimed was a “Very thoughtfull post on Self Improvement. It should be very much helpfull”. Sorry, Karim, but this is my diary, my reflections and my rantings. If there’s going to be anyone doing blatant profiteering, it’s going to be me. Does anyone want to buy a candle…..

13 October 2009 (Tuesday) - Stuff

Sometimes I hate NeverWinter Nights. I’ve spent ages trekking through swamps, deserts and jungles, and now my character is stuck in the temple of total evil and is facing the indestructible hoards, and the game refuses to save. Still, it’s better that Dungeons & Dragons Tiny Adventures on Facebook. You just tell that what mission you want to do, and Facebook tells you what happened afterwards. What’s that all about? And if you’re not into D&D, then this paragraph is utterly meaningless, isn’t it…

With less than two weeks until Astrobash, it’s been suggested that I change the design template on my presentation so’s all the speakers use the same. A very good idea, with only one small drawback. I can’t figure out how to use the template I’ve been sent. I’m sure I’m being really dumb, but if any of my loyal readers are PowerPoint whizzes, I’m smiling hopefully.

The doorbell rang – some scary looking biddy with a clip board was there and asked me if I was Mrs Jones. With a straight face, I said that I wasn’t. She consulted her clip board again, and asked if I was sure. I was sure. However she didn’t believe me, and she insisted that Mrs Jones should live at the address on her clip board. I suggested that Mrs Jones may well live at the address on her clip board. But she had the wrong house – and the wrong road.

I pointed up the road to where she might find Christchurch Road. She looked at her clip board yet again, and then told me we were in Christchurch Road. I told her we weren’t. She consulted her clip board yet again, and asked if I was sure. I had to admire her faith in her clip board. Even in the face of utter failure, she was still deferring to it. I again pointed out Christ Church, and again explained that’s where Christchurch Road could be found. And then I went in, and left her standing on the doorstep. When I left for work half an hour later, she was gone. I wonder if she found Christchurch Road.

And then to work where the scary new secretary once again stopped me to see what tie I was wearing today. She told me she likes my ties, and looks forward to seeing what I have on each day. I haven’t the heart to tell her I’ve worn the same tie for over a year….

12 October 2009 (Monday) - Quality Telly

Have you heard the news – I am *so* excited. Arguably the best thing ever to happen to the entire concept of television will hit our screens next year – “Upstairs Downstairs – The Next Generation”. Set in 1936, it will feature Jean Marsh as Rose, who will be back in Eaton Place. The rumours are that once more Royalty will visit number 165. A quick squzz in Wikipedia showed that apart from Mr Hudson, Mrs Bridges and “is lawdship”, most of the original cast are (surprisingly) still alive, and some may be making cameo appearances. I wonder if the fact that Gordon Jackson has been dead for twenty years will be enough to prevent them from wheeling on Mr Udson?

Meanwhile it’s possible I might be forced to have an injection. Every year I’m offered a flu jab, and every year I turn it down. Why? – Because over the years it’s been my experience that those who don’t have the jab don’t get flu anyway. And those who have the jab usually are ill with the reaction that they have to the jab. This year it would seem the jab has had a record low take-up, and Whitehall mandarins are concerned that if staff don’t get jabbed they will pass the flu onto already sick patients. Presumably these bureaucrats have never heard of the concept of “disease carriers”.

And in closing, it’s been brought to my attention that the “vile lies” in my blog are causing offence and upset. If anyone could shed light on what these “vile lies” are, please let me know. I shall be hiding in NeverWinter…

11 October 2009 (Sunday) - Duck Houses

A few weeks ago I mentioned about the bell in the church up the road. The thing was making its awful clanging again this morning at 9am. They’ve been banging that thing on three out of the last four Sunday mornings. I think I might just drop the vicar a line of complaint. Or I would if my printer was working.

To Staples for a colour ink cartridge. I got the large one, as it worked out to be better value. Mind you, for the price of two ink cartridges, I could have bought a whole new printer.

And then to the farm. Regular readers of this drivel may recall an entry from August 30^th when we got a duck house out of the pond for repairs. Today the thing had completed its refit, and ready to be relaunched. The plan was to use it to replace another duck house which also needed to be refurbished. So, we loaded the smartened up duck house onto a trailer, tractored it to the pond, and we took a look at the one that needed to come out of the water. And then that’s where the fun started. Duck houses are heavy things. And when they’ve been floating in a pond for a year or so, they get waterlogged, and even heavier. You can’t pull them out of the pond. They are too heavy to pull. But you can push them. However pushing involves getting behind the duck house. And getting behind the duck house involves getting into the duck pond. I have known colder and smellier water, so I shouldn’t complain. Mind you the duck house itself was a bit whiffy with a year’s worth of accumulated duck poo. It was at this point that I lost my shoe in the pond.

With the old duck house onto dry land, we left it to drain for a bit. You’d be amazed how much water comes out of a duck house. Pausing only briefly to collect my shoe which was serenely sailing by, we then launched its replacement and tied it in place. Unless duck houses are firmly tied in place, they tend to drift to the shore where the foxes can get the ducks.

And then we put the duck float in place. A duck float is like a duck house, but without the house – it’s just a platform on which the ducks can stand and do whatever it is that ducks do. Duck floats are rather heavy – when I slipped in the mud and the thing landed on me, I was fully expecting my leg to break. Fortunately it landed on a tree stump rather than on me, and I lived to tell the tale. And to slip in more mud ten seconds later. Tying the duck float in place was tricky. As a new duck accessory, there was no rope in place to which to attach the thing, and provisional plans had me swimming the rope across the pond. However using “skill and expertise” I was able to use the duck float to sail the rope across the pond.

We then loaded the now drained old duck house onto the trailer and drove it back to the barn where someone else will hose out a year’s accumulation of duck poo. It’s amazing how much poo a duck generates. It’s also amazing how much maintenance a duck house needs. I’ve spent a bit of time both up to my goolies in duck ponds and up to my wrists in duck poo. If not an expert on the subject, I’d like to think I was more knowledgeable on the matter than the average fat bloke. I’m told that my new-found “skill and expertise” will be called on again in a few weeks time when not only will we re-float the old duck house, but we may even try our hands at a mallard house. If any of my loyal reader would care to be educated in the ancient lore of the duck house, I’m sure their help would be gratefully appreciated…..

10 October 2009 (Saturday) - To Eastbourne

Once I’d cleared all the hobgoblins out of NeverWinter this morning, I started compiling this week’s letter to the chokey. This will be the thirty-eighth letter I’ve sent, and with it will be the nineteenth rude crossword. I’m amazed at how many letters and crosswords I’ve packed off over the last few months.

And then to Eastbourne. I’ve mentioned before that every year has regular special events – beer festivals in Canterbury, Folkestone and Dover. The Teston weekends. The bonfire parades. It’s also become something of a tradition to spend a day in Eastbourne on the second Saturday in October. Well, it is Corrinne’s birthday. We arrived a tad early today and thought we’d have a pint or two of lunch first. The very first time we came to Eastbourne for birthday ice creams (five years ago) we drank in the beer festival which takes place just over the road from the ice cream parlour. We don’t do that any more. Much as I like a beer festival, I resent the prices some of them charge. Not for the beer, but to get in to the place. The people at Eastbourne beer festival wanted £5.50 admission, and then another couple of quid for the glass. You’d find yourself paying the price of a round of drinks (each) just to get in. So we went to the Buccaneer instead. A strange pub – whilst a free house it had very much a “Wetherspoons” feel about it. And although there was a choice of six ales, there wasn’t a single one that was in any way out of the ordinary, let alone unusual. But the soup wasn’t bad, and the cheesy chips went down a treat. Whilst scoffing, more family and friends arrived.

Once all were fed, it was over the road to the ice cream parlour to meet up with the birthday girl and the rest of our group. And once the Sevenoaks Massive had found out that I wasn’t joking when I said they were going to the wrong ice cream parlour and eventually arrived, there was nearly thirty of us. Ice creams were scoffed. And then more ice creams were scoffed. And whilst everyone else was still scoffing some of us thought that Charlotte might like to avail herself of the free wi-fi in the pub to download some i-games. So – to the pub (again), where I had a crafty pint. It would have been rude not to.

Thirty of us then had a stroll along the prom, played on the beach, scared the normal people, and even got a photo for CrackWatch. We looked at the gift shop tat, then mooched around the pier where we were intrigued by the Victorian Tea Rooms. At first sight nothing seemed Victorian about the place, but it was suggested that the tea was brewed in 1871, and that the scones came from the Great Exhibition. We had chips, and then strolled back along the prom, pausing only briefly to watch Simon nearly get run over on a zebra crossing. The silly old woman driving the car wasn’t paying attention and nearly ran him down. As luck would have it, this idiot driver then parked her car some twenty yards down the road, and when we tackled her about the incident, it was plain she had absolutely no idea that she’d nearly killed someone.

And then, all too soon, it was time to come home. With the bittersweet feeling that another of the year’s milestones has been passed…

9 October 2009 (Friday)

I shall complete this later

8 October 2009 (Thursday) - Multilingualism and KFC

I see the Scottish M.E.P.s have scored a victory. They now have the right to use Gaelic as an official language in the European parliament. This is good for those M.E.P.s whose first language is Gaelic. Which is none of them. Why on Earth did they go to the bother? How many people speak Gaelic as their first language anyway? In the twenty first century shouldn’t we be looking to a unified world, rather than enhancing the divisions caused by language?

Another late start meant another morning wasted in NeverWinter before heading in to work half an hour early. Just as well I was early; a surprise meeting was sprung on me. Getting in half an hour early meant that by mid afternoon I was only running an hour late. I’ve another meeting tomorrow. I’ve heard (third-hand) that I’m in line to take the blame for somebody else’s stuff-up. We shall see.

And then home to find that ‘er indoors ^TM had gone out flogging candles without leaving me any tea. I sent “Daddies Little Angel ^TM ” up the road to get some diet KFC. Diet KFC is substantially like normal KFC, just you have a bit less of it. I had diet chips too….

In the meantime, here’s some light reading. Pay close attention – I shall be asking questions…