14 September 2010 (Tuesday) - Radio, Reviews, Tattoos

I had a wonderful day at work, in a room on my own. I had the radio on (via the Internet). I love Radio Four. There was an interview with girl who had been held captive by a madman for eight years. There was a feature on the problem of increasing promiscuity in the older generation - they catch manky knob-rot and other such diseases, but because of their age and sensibilities they are loathe to get antibiotics for it.

We were warned to check our compost bins for grass snakes. In many parts of the country these unfortunate reptiles are in decline, but by setting up a compost bin we can give them somewhere to live and breed.

There was the tale of the accidental contamination of a batch of beer in 1900 which led to the poisoning of thousands of people (many of whom croaked) in the Manchester area.

There was an amazing program about the problems that authors face when they feel they want to kill off their own fictional creations. Apparently Conan Doyle had terrible problems getting his publisher to allow him to do for Sherlock Holmes. It transpired that Christie wanted to put the kibosh on Poirot for years before finally doing so. And more recently the author Colin Dexter got rather a lot of abuse for killing off his character of Inspector Morse.

And following the media furore about a schoolchild being expected to walk twenty yards to a bus stop, there was an article about how children get to school. In 1971 80% of seven to nine year olds got themselves to school. By 1990 that figure was down to 9%. The fruits of my loin both walked to school. As did I. Kids of today…!

Mind you, the radio wasn’t all good. There was some frankly dire drivel about “Ma Vlast” (some classical music dirge) which was composed by someone going by the moniker of Bedrich Smetana. Apparently this racket has become an integral part of Czech culture. All I can say is that I hope it don’t catch on over here (!) And having that dull article being followed by “The Archers” was just adding insult to injury.

And then the news made me think. For some time I’ve been a roving reporter for a couple of pub reviewing websites – “Beer in the Evening” and “Pubs Galore”. It’s something I’ve enjoyed doing and in my (nearly) two hundred reviews I’ve attempted to be honest. If a pub is good, I’ll say so. Similarly if a pub is awful, I’ll say so. Over the years I’ve read other peoples reviews which are clearly not so impartial. Many are singing the praises of a pub which can only be described as “mediocre” at best. It doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to spot a landlord who is bigging up his own pub. There are also reviews which are utterly slating pubs which frankly don’t deserve the criticism. When you also consider the rate at which pubs change hands these days, reviews of pubs aren’t always the most reliable things you’ll find on line anyway.

Pubs aren’t the only things reviewed on the Internet. Hotels and restaurants also get reviews: impartial and biased. One of the leading hotel review websites is facing legal action following allegations of it’s running defamatory reviews. I’ve been expecting this for some time. I wonder how much longer “Beer in the Evening” and “Pubs Galore” have got left?

And then on with the tattooing. It’s only two weeks since  “My Boy ^TM ” started his new hobby. He’s the first to admit he’s still got a lot to learn, but I’m pleased with his efforts so far. Even if doing me is like “tattooing a womble” (!) I quite like what he’s done to my arm, and the angel he did on “Daddies Little Angel ^TM ” is quite impressive…

13 September 2010 (Monday) - Earning

To Tescos to get some lunch. When I was a lad you got your food shopping from Tescos, and that was it. But over the years they have increased their range of products. So much so that you don’t need to go round a range of shops any more. They’ve done DVDs, music and clothes for some time. Over the summer they were doing camping gear. Today I saw they sold windscreen wipers and gloss paint. Is there anything they don’t do?

And so to work where I heard an interesting article on the radio. It has been said that money can’t buy you happiness. Research has shown that this isn’t entirely true. Apparently one achieves maximum happiness with an annual salary of about fifty thousand quid. One is miserable with an income less than that, but (apparently) earning more than fifty thousand quid doesn’t bring extra happiness. I’d be prepared to try it out, if any potential employers would like to participate in the experiment. After all, wasn’t it Groucho Marx who commented that in his life he’d been very rich and very poor, and preferred being very rich.

On the subject of earnings, Radio Four’s website has an interesting toy at the moment. You get to choose various professions and guess their wages. Some are paid far more than others. The others are (on the whole) worth far more than some. And still the lifeboat men do it for free...

12 September 2010 (Sunday) - Ducks

Amazing! I went to bed at a sensible hour last night and was woken by ‘er indoors ^TM at 9.30am. I don’t think I’ve slept so well for ages. ‘er indoors ^TM was off to an arky-ologee club dig. I was toying with the idea of going along, but to be honest, I’m not a fan of practical arky-ologee. Firstly the scrubbling around in the dirt leaves me aching for days afterwards. And secondly I can’t work up much enthusiasm for unearthing dull bits of broken pots. Were they worth having, some dead Roman wouldn’t have thrown them away in the first place.

I could have gone to Challock Goose Fair today. The astro club were putting on a stall there. But if I’d gone along and helped, then I’d have to talk knowledgably to the normal people. I can blag my way at astro club meetings; noisily selling the raffle makes me obviously “a character” in the eyes of the general public there, and I can cover up my ignorance with blather and get away with it. But out on show (like at the Goose Fair) is somewhat different. And I can’t help that it wouldn’t look good on the club when it’s painfully apparent I don’t know the first thing about telescopes. And being at the Goose Fair would tempt me to spend money when I’m trying to be frugal (i.e. downright mean!).

Another possible activity for today was a day in a beer garden. I had told one of my students I might call in at her engagement party. But the Fountain in Hythe isn’t the most accessible of pubs when one is using public transport, and I can’t afford an afternoon at the pub. I’ve done it before (occasionally!)  and I know what I’m like.

The original plan for the day was actually for me to be in France; at Dieppe Kite Festival. I went a couple of years ago and had a really good time. I had intended to go back this year, but I got my dates mixed up and thought next weekend’s birthday was this weekend. So having had so many other plans for the day, what did I actually do…

I read on Facebook that a fellow Blogger had possibly snapped an ankle bone following a visit to an osteopath. How appropriate (!) So I made a quick diversion up to the hospital to deliver the casualty. Rather than having her hobble across the car park, I went in to ask if they had a spare wheel chair. They did, so I took it, loudly announcing to all the punters in the casualty waiting room that I was going to sell it on eBay. Not one cracked a smile. Miserable bunch. Mind you, I suppose that each and every one of them probably had better things to be doing with their time rather than sitting around a hospital on a Sunday morning.

Having deposited Heather to the tender mercies of the Accident and Emergency department I set for to the Bat-Farm to help with ducks. Following a swift (leisurely) cup of coffee we rounded up the ducks, caged them, and took them on a car ride across several fields to their new pond. We had fun making the pond fox-proof by putting up an electric fence, and even more fun using the electric fence to electrocute each other. Then, having trimmed a landing stage where the ducks can get in and out of the pond easily, we released the ducks into their new home. Well, I say “released” – we opened the cage door and stood back to see their reaction to their new environment. There was no reaction; they wouldn’t come out of the cage. We waited for ten minutes before forcibly chivvying them out, and then we again sat back to see what they would make of the pond. And again they didn’t make much of it, merely milling round making quiet quacking noises. There was a moment’s excitement when one of the ducks fell in the pond by mistake, but he quickly scrabbled back out of the pond with a very indignant quack. We gave the ducks another fifteen minutes before we got bored with them, and then we attempted to chase them into the pond. I wonder if any of my loyal readers have ever attempted to chase a duck. They are relatively easy things to chase. But chasing them with a specific destination in mind takes some doing. They were going absolutely everywhere except into the pond. So we gave up and left the ducks to it. And as we got to the Land Rover to drive back to the farm, we heard some splashing; they’d finally found the pond.

We were by now a tad peckish, and so we adjourned to the Mundy Bois, one of the better local pubs. Clive had offered to treat us all to a light salad, as the “Rear Admiral” wasn’t very hungry. The first course of the light salad was pate. Very nice pate. For my main salad course I was hoping for pork (!), but they’d had a rush on, and had run out of pork. I could sympathise with that and so I settled for beef. It was a cracking bit of dinner, and we all struggled to get it down. I would have stopped at that point, but I was reliably informed that not eating the pudding course of a light salad is rude, so I had a cheesecake. There were those greedy ones amongst us who had a fruit crumble; the ingredients of which were shrouded in mystery. The “Rear Admiral” said it was a very nice apricot crumble. The waitress and chef said it didn’t have apricot in it. What did he actually eat? Other than the fact that it was smothered in custard, we shall probably never know.

Back to the farm where we thought we’d take a stroll up to see how the ducks were doing; we felt we could do with walking off the light salad. It transpired that the ducks were doing very well, so we fed them (some more) and we then took a stroll round the other ponds, before trying to find a shortcut home. “Trying” being the operative phrase. I have this theory about short cuts. If they really were shorter, then they wouldn’t be called a short cut. They would be called “The Way”.

And so home to find that my fellow Blogger had torn some ligaments (ouch!), and that ‘er indoors ^TM had had a wonderful time at the arky-ologee club dig. As well as unearthing several manky bits of broken crockery, they’d found a subterranean wall, and Mossop (the arky-ologee club’s resident Riddler) had found a new friend. Which was nice for Mossop. I think the next time the arky-ologee bunch do a dig I shall again see how the ducks are doing….

11 September 2010 (Saturday) - Gardening

I went to bed far too late last night. Having set up another blog elsewhere, I’ve been playing with the settings. This blog is set up pretty much how I want to it be. But the other blog isn’t a blog as such, it’s (going to be) more of a searchable archive. With that in mind, things like being able to search the blog for text and for specific post labels are going to be the priority. And I’ve gained a whole new respect for the Blogger software. I already follow several Blogger blogs (see the list), all of which are very different in appearance, and now I’ve created another. So far, so good… But having got that blog just right, I then spent too long fiddling about on another work-related project. It’s amazing what silly little bits of htm can stuff up alignment of a web page, and even more amazing how long it can take to put such problems right. And despite the late night I was (again) up and ironing before 7am.

To work. I’m not usually that keen on working Saturday mornings, but since management made the announcement that we don’t have to take time off in lieu of time worked on Saturdays but we can be paid (at time and a half!) I’ve been somewhat keener to work Saturday mornings. Normally I take in doughnuts oat the weekend, but I did that yesterday.

I did my bit, and came home. After a quick sandwich and an episode or two of SpongeBob we set off and met the Folkestone contingent in Chris’s garden. I say “garden” – I can clearly remember a day in May 2002 when a gaggle of us gave that garden what can only be described as a tidying it would never forget. Or so we thought. Despite the fact that the shock of our combat gardening actually killed several trees, the garden itself survived, and over the intervening eight years did learn to forget. So today we went back to tidy that jungle. I got out my electric hedge shears and didn’t take any nonsense from the undergrowth. ‘er indoors ^TM  and “Daddies Little Angel ^TM ” collected blackberries, and the “Rear Admiral” chucked the carnage over a fence in a manner very reminiscent of how he did exactly the same some eight years ago. Pausing only briefly to rip a tree out of the ground (with my bare hands!), we made good progress, and in two hours we made the difference that you can see in today’s blog photo. The garden fence is somewhat dishevelled in places, but that will be a job for another day.

And then home. Just as I was about to walk in the door the phone rang. It was work with a minor catastrophe. Was I free to help out as things had gotten a tad busy in the three hours since I’d come home. So ten minutes later I was back in harness. I thought there might be an hour’s work. I stayed for three hours; the place was that busy this afternoon. I eventually left sometime after seven o’clock. I don’t mind helping out – I’d rather someone phoned to say they needed help rather than finding out some time later that they’d been struggling. And more overtime is always good. Boilers don’t pay for themselves, you know.

I came home via a pub to check all is in order for next week’s festivities (which it is) and then having scoffed a rather decent bit of tea, I fell asleep whilst watching SpongeBob.

10 September 2010 (Friday) - Stuff

I had an idea that I would be going to see the doctor this morning as my leg wasn’t getting any better yesterday. But when I got up this morning it was better. Not perfect; I still have all my aches and pains, but the sensation of pins and needles certainly seems to have gone. Which is probably the best I can hope for.

Being on a late start gave me some time to muck about. So instead of mucking about I did some work. Dull, I know. The trouble is that in order for me to carry on in my job I have to stay on the State Register. In order for me to stay on the State Register I have to keep up to date with scientific and technical and educational developments, with a view to improving both myself and the service I offer my “service users” (for want of a better term). And document that I have done so. This is a legal requirement. Unfortunately there is no legal requirement for my employer to support me in this, so I just have to suck it up and do it myself.

Yesterday one of the girls at work was trying to sell software to help with that documentation. She wanted twenty quid (from each person at work) for some corporate-produced rubbish that was no better than Microsoft Word. In half an hour with the use of the free blogger software and Google calendar I came up with something I feel is much better. Regular readers are welcome to peruse my ramblings on that site, but I feel it only fair to give the warning that seeing how it’s (probably) going to be formally inspected at some point, knob jokes will be few and far between.

And so to work via Tescos for celebratory doughnuts. Today marks the twenty sixth anniversary of my starting at the place. Twenty six years, eh? That’s a lifetime. Whilst at work I overheard an interesting conversation. Two ladies with rather exaggerated ideas of their own social standing were discussing a chap of their acquaintance. The chap was obviously of the lower orders, as they described him as being “the sort of man who drinks beer in a pub”. Obviously a kindred spirit…

Meanwhile the bill for my new boiler has arrived. A few days ago I speculated on the economies I might have to make to pay for it. I wonder how much I might get for one of my kidneys on eBay? It’s a shame that I only have one child currently at home that I could sell….

9 September 2010 (Thursday) - Stuff

A rather restless night. Last night as I got out of my car I nearly fell over – my leg had gone to sleep. And it remained snoozing all night. This morning it was functioning as a leg, but still not feeling right. And I’ve been hobbling about on it all day. I wonder what’s up with it? If there’s no improvement by the morning I might just go visit the doctor.

This evening we drove down to Hastings – today was a day of birthdays and seeing how we are double booked for the birthday party in a few days time we thought we’d go down for the actual birthday (today). The plan was to make a flying visit: in the event we stayed for nearly three hours…. (hic!)

And meanwhile in America I see a bunch of crackpots are going out of their way to offend and upset a minority. Whilst it’s no secret that the vast majority of Muslims the world over are peace loving people, it’s also no secret that some of the world’s most wanted terrorists subscribe to that religion as well. All that burning sacred texts will do is to upset the innocent and give the crackpots more ammunition for their war of hate.

8 September 2010 (Wednesday) - New Boiler

The boiler man called last night to say he’d do us today (oo-er!). And so I lay awake most of the night worrying about all sorts of “what-ifs”, and having visions of it all going horribly wrong, and us being without water for six months. The chap arrived promptly this morning and I left him installing our new boiler and I set off to work perhaps somewhat earlier that I needed to. I spent most of the day with visions of unforeseen problems and catastrophes in my mind. I suppose I was worrying because I don’t know the first thing about plumbing.

I came home to find the new boiler in place and it seems to be quite happily doing whatever it is that boilers do. (Boil, presumably?) I suspect it will take me a while until I am confident that it has settled in and that it won’t go berserk. Admittedly there must be a limit as to how far amuck a new boiler can run, but I do worry.

Paranoia is something I might manage to ignore. A more tangible concern is paying for the thing. In retrospect I suppose I could have taken out boiler insurance. I could also have taken out insurance on the drains, the household electricals, the fish pond filter, the double glazing… There is only so much insurance one can take out, and after all is said and done, if the insurance policy isn’t (eventually) more expensive than a new boiler anyway, then they wouldn’t be offering it.

I’m hoping I’ve managed to scare up the cash to pay the boiler man. He hasn’t actually asked for payment yet, but he will do soon. I did have money earmarked for car services and road tax, TV licences and gas bills. Not any more. I’ve also grovelled at the bank to see about overdrafts. But what bothers me most is the economies I’m going to have to make over the next few months. The Brick Lane curry festival, the Eastbourne ice-cream extravaganza and at least one of the fireworks parades are likely candidates for savings I probably should make. And although it’s still three months away, I’m already thinking of dropping out of a couple of planned Xmas parties. I suppose that one of the advantages of excessive ale consumption as a hobby is that it can double up as a (relatively) easy economy to make when economies are needed. And wasting whole days in NeverWinter or at the fishing pond are cheap enough things to do instead.

But I can’t complain really. ‘er indoors ^TM assures me that we have had the old boiler serviced at least once. I can’t remember that. The thing was installed nearly twenty years ago, and has done its job flawlessly during that time. I *could* have run it to destruction; it might have had another year in it. It might have exploded tomorrow. I just need to remember to get the new one serviced regularly. And if I bung ten quid aside each month, when its time comes the cost of replacement shouldn’t be anywhere near the shock I had this time…