4 October 2010 (Monday) - Twenty Four Years...

One of my carpets fell apart this morning. For some years the seal on the back door hasn’t been quite what it might have been, and when it rains heavily we need to pull the carpet away from the door. Because if we don’t, through the wonders of capillary action the carpet gets sodden. Last night we took the dripping wet carpet and put it on the radiator to dry out. Today the carpet was dropping bits off of itself. You can only dry a carpet so many times.Time for a new one.

I phoned the carpet shop who said they had an off-cut which sounded to be about the right size, so on the way home I picked it up. As I carried the thing back to my car I was harangued by a passing local. This chap started blaming me for all the failings of the Shepherd Neame brewery. I can’t say they are my favourite brewer. But they are a long way from being my most hated. Personally I quite like a drop of “Late Red”, and their porter is nectar. I smiled politely at this chap whose ranting was becoming more and more vitriolic. When he paused for breath I asked why he didn’t have a go at the brewery directly. The reason was that he was telling me to my face.

It was only as I drove off that I remembered I was wearing my Shepherd Neame tie. I received the tie as a birthday present in 2008. Seeing my tie, I can only imagine that this plank must have thought I was connected with the company.

Having obtained a replacement carpet, I realised that I needed to cut the thing to shape. I also realised that this new carpet will get wet too, unless I do something about the door seal. So I popped into B&Q. First of all to get a Stanley knife. I couldn’t fine one, so I asked the nice man. He muttered something about them being over the way, and he waved his hand in what I assumed was the general direction. I tried to ask him about door seals, but his attention was clearly elsewhere. I eventually found the Stanley knifes and asked three other assistants about door seals. One had never heard of a door seal, and two couldn’t care less about door seals. I found what I wanted myself, and grumbled as I made my way to the checkout. And who should I meet but a very good friend of mine who was giving the acting manager some stick about the poor quality service he’d received. So I joined in too. And having verbally crucified the poor sap we both gloated all the way home. For all the talk of credit crunch and recession, these companies don’t seem to want my money.

I really should do something about installing the new door seal and laying the new carpet. Maybe I’ll do that tomorrow…

There’s something familiar about today’s date. Didn’t something historical happen? In 1883 on this date the Boys Brigade was founded. In 1957 on this date Sputnik 1 was launched. And in 1986…?

I’m glad that Facebook reminded me that it was my wedding anniversary…

3 October 2010 (Sunday) - Stuff

Again I was up with the lark. I’d had a very disturbed night, having had a nightmare that we’d acquired a pet rabbit the size of a horse and was affectionately known as “Lamb Chop”. In my dream “Lamb Chop” would not be happy unless he was sitting on my head, morning, noon and night. I was resigned to spending the rest of “Lamb Chop”’s life (or my own, whichever would be the shorter) with a grossly oversized rabbit on my head. Waking up screaming at 4am came as a blessed relief, but for some obscure reason I couldn’t get back off to sleep.

I got up and had brekky whilst mucking about on some work-related projects. Over on Facebook one of my favourite cousins has told me off for doing so much work stuff in my own time, and she is probably right. Mind you, I’m only doing the bits of my job that I actually want to do in my own time. The more tedious bits can and will wait. I must admit that I am very jealous of people who absolutely love their jobs, and effectively get paid for doing their hobby.

I only did half an hour’s work, and then went back to NeverWinter. The spiders are cleared out of the crypt, but somehow or other I have become the High Priestess of a dragon-worshipping cult.

And then my mobile beeped: a text message. More house moving. First of all to Bilting to collect a bed and a mattress. And then to Kennington for chairs and wardrobes. And then to South Willesborough to go up and down stairs more times than you would think possible for the more rotund physique. After a quick cuppa to calm my nerves we put the bed together. The bed assembled easily enough, but the mattress was fun. The thing came packed: very tightly rolled. When we managed to cut the packaging the mattress literally flew out of the wrappings. In the aftermath of the explosion we found a scrap of paper fluttering down. It bore a whole load of instructions and disclaimers for what we should do before unwrapping the mattress. It actually said “Please test the mattress for comfort and size with the plastic bag still on. Only remove the bag if you are satisfied and you wish to keep the mattress.” Bearing in mind the thing came sealed and rolled up, one would have thought the manufacturers might have put these instructions outside the packaging, rather than wrapping it inside the curled mattress, but what do I know?

With the last of today’s removals done I had a quick shower then we went shopping. Usually Sunday is Lidl’s day, but for a change we had a look in Wilkinson’s. Wilkinson’s is probably best described as being like the pikey bits of Lidl’s, only ten times bigger. Personally I preferred Lidl’s. If only because they do parsnip crisps. And having got soaking wet in the rain whilst going to Wilkinsons I came home and watched the Sunday afternoon film. “Aces High” is something I can remember going to see at the cinema with a third cousin (from Orpington) many years ago. I can’t honestly say whether it’s improved over the years as I slept through most of it.

And then after a bit of tea “My Boy ^TM” announced he was bored, so I got that tattoo done that I’d been threatening to have done for some time. People often comment that I like having tattoos done. I do not. I like having tattoos. But the mechanics of having the things put on are entirely a different matter. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that tattoos don’t hurt…

2 October 2010 (Saturday) - Moving House

Up with the lark and off to work. Since I discovered that I can get paid overtime for working Saturday mornings, I’ve been rather keen to do them. Work was much the same as ever and then home for the business of the day. Today was one of those days when so much had been planned, and events had conspired against me.

Originally the idea was to go to London to the Brick Lane Curry Festival, but having had to shell out for a new boiler meant that economies had to be made. For the same reason we’d turned down an invitation to the South of England show. Instead we thought we might go visit a friend of a friend who keeps alpacas (a sort of mini-llama) but she was busy today. In the end we helped Chip move house. “Moving house” is one of those phrases which are so easy to type, but not quite so easy to do.

We set off from home to Chip’s with three cars between us, and on the way my mobile rang. I quickly checked to see who was calling. It was my mother. She never rings my mobile. But I couldn’t answer in heavy traffic, nor could I stop. As I tried to find somewhere to pull up, my mind was racing. Why would she be ringing my mobile? It must be something serious. When I finally pulled up I had resigned myself to there having been a death in the close family. I could honestly think of no other reason for my mother to ring me on my mobile. She answered the phone, and happily announced that they were going on holiday in a few days time. She’s been on holiday so many times, and has never told me about it before. What was so vital about this holiday? In retrospect I was relieved, but I could have wrung necks at the time.

And then ‘er indoors ^TM excelled herself. Having voomed off in front of everyone else, she arrived half an hour late, having been shopping for groceries. Eventually we loaded up five cars full of assorted stuff and drove off to his new domicile (!). No one told me he was on the second floor. I suppose that exercise is good for me, but there’s no denying that I did puff as I heaved stuff up those stairs. I dread to think what Chip’s new neighbours must have thought as they climbed over me as I lay down outside his new home for a breather.

“Daddies Little Angel ^TM ” brought a smile to her Daddies face. As she wrestled with “Arfur” (arf a table) the table won the fight by swinging out its extension and copping her a sixpenny one around the earholes. I have often said that there is never anything as amusing as someone else’s misfortunes.

After a smashing bit of tea I then backed up my blog to my archive, provided by the sterling fellow over at the Energize Group. I’d not actually done a backup for two months. Had Blogger and my home PC gone west, what a loss to humanity that might have been.

I spent the remainder of the evening in NeverWinter where I have been asked to retrieve a golden chalice from a spider-infested crypt. Moving house was more fun, but less tiring…

1 October 2010 (Friday) - Money Worries

I’ve been ranting quite a bit lately. Yesterday I was rattling on about how the media don’t take space science seriously. Yesterday science discovered something that might make the complacent media sit up and take notice – asteroid 2010 ST3 was discovered two weeks ago, and is on a collision course with us. Admittedly it won’t crash for a hundred years or so, but surely this will be taken seriously… No I don’t think it will be either. Which is a shame.

Another shame is the Irish economy. Or so I’m told. I don’t pretend to understand high finance, or the current economic depression. But I have a degree in mathematics so (with the help of a calculator) I can do sums. According to the figures given by the pundits, the Irish government have given or lent their banks a staggering forty five billion euros. Presumably because their banks are that much in hock. But there are only six million people in Ireland. So that works out that every single Irishman has shelled out over seven thousand Euros.

This made me think on a more personal basis. What about me? I’ve spent the last year or so listening to tales of doom and gloom about the British economy, but (I suppose) like most people, because I don’t really understand it I’ve ignored it. But I’ve done a bit of research. The hard facts are easy to find. The British debt is over nine hundred billion quid.  And that works out that each of us is in lumber to the tune of sixteen thousand quid.

How does that work? I never borrowed any of it. Who is it owed to? Can there be that much money in existence? I realise I’m a bit late to discover the reality of our country’s financial problems, but am I missing something vital here? Let’s go back a couple of sentences. I think I’ve glossed over the important point here. If we as a nation owe nine hundred billion quid, to whom do we owe it? And what would the consequences be of telling this (as yet) anonymous multi-billionaire to get knotted? Am I just a hopelessly naïve old commie to think this just illustrates the utter failure of the capitalist system.

Having said that, don’t expect me to provide an alternative. My own finances, whist probably streets ahead of that of the nation, aren’t as healthy as they might be. I spent a few minutes this morning going through my accounts. It’s probably as well that I do, but I know that I shouldn’t; it only worries me. And whilst I was at it I had a go at the contents of my letter rack too. Free broadband would seem to be a theme at the moment. PlusNet are offering me three months free. Sky are offering me six months free.

After all of last week’s fun and games finding out my electricity meter is broken, the leccie company has written to me asking me to read the thing (!) The same people, having just given me a refund of fifty quid from the gas bill also asked me to give them a gas meter reading and have put the price of gas up too. Just as well my new boiler is that much more efficient.

And after work I had a game of poker. Despite winning at least a dozen hands, I still managed to finish in last place. It’s just as well I don’t play cads for money…

30 September 2010 (Thursday) - More Ranting

Yesterday I ranted about the British Kite Flying Association. Having very rudely told me to get knotted some four years ago, they keep emailing me personally, and asking for my input. (Even though they told me to get stuffed.) I know I should just let it go, but even after all this time, they still wind me up. Why do I let them get to me? Because I still believe in the idea of the BKFA. In theory it’s a brilliant idea that anyone who likes kites should band together to stop councils (who don’t know any better) from banning kites for mistaken Health and Safety reasons. In practice it’s a load of very well-meaning people who’ve utterly lost their way.

To illustrate my frustration with them, this morning’s flurry of emails brought a message from their secretary. He is now working on a collaborative project with the Central Council for Physical Recreation. He asked if I would I tell the BKFA of any examples of “Sports clubs who have approached schools to use their facilities out of hours and been turned down by the school”, “Schools I know of that have good sporting facilities which are not being utilised to their full potential” or “Examples where sports clubs using out of hours school facilities works well for both the school and the club”.

Whilst this is probably a laudable enough endeavour, it has nothing to do with kite flying. Most schools don’t have premises that lend themselves to kite-flying. Why on Earth are the BKFA getting involved with this? Especially as yesterday’s email apologised for the fact that they’d done nothing with their website as no one has time for it.

Yesterday I also mentioned about going to the arky-ologee club. As the chairlady arrived last night she actually stopped dead in the doorway, amazed by what she saw. We were setting up a laptop and projector to illustrate the evening’s talk. High-tech indeed for a club whose speakers often employ no visual aids whatsoever; and the use of a slide projector is seen as new-fangled. With a membership of mostly retired gentlefolk, most of whom would seem to be quite content with such a low-tech environment, I was amazed by today’s news.

I can’t help but wonder if the club’s latest venture is doomed to failure. The arky-ologee club has joined Facebook. I could be wrong. Time will tell...

Meanwhile in outer space, science has found another exo-planet. Exo planets are planets which orbit stars other than our own. When I was a lad the entire concept of an exo-planet was firmly in the realms of science fiction. But now they are an established reality. At the last count there were nearly five hundred of the things known. Whilst many are huge, comparable in size with the planet Jupiter, more and more smaller ones are being found. This most recent discovery is only twenty light years away, and is perhaps the most Earth-like so far found.

It’s such a shame that those touting the news don’t take this seriously. Take for example the United Nations decision to start legislating in outer space. At first sight it’s maybe a daft idea. But at the moment, space is anarchy. Who owns the moon? What’s to stop some nation sending up rockets and annexing the entire moon for themselves? What’s to stop anyone and everyone beaming messages into the ether? Who represents humanity should First Contact be made?

The radio today gave this news story thirty seconds. They spent longer laughing about it than listening to it. It’s a shame that the news media choose to ridicule such questions whilst exerting so much effort on bringing us the “news” (for example today was the delegates at the Labour party conference); most of which will be wrapping chips tomorrow and all of which will be totally forgotten in less than a month…

A bit of a rant today, I know. My opinions are always in a minority…

29 September 2010 (Wednesday) - Lydden Spout

Regular readers may recall an entry from four years ago when I complained bitterly that the British Kite Flying Association was in serious danger of losing its way. Today’s haul of emails has brought proof that they have lost their way so much as to now actually be on another planet.

BKFA news update #14 runs to twelve sides of A4, and touches on such diverse subjects as the Civil Aviation Authority and the government’s scheme to use schools sports facilities when the schools aren’t using them. There was a lot of hot air about child protection legislation which showed a complete misunderstanding of the whole concept of child protection legislation on the part of the BKFA. There was another apology for the lack of progress; this time on their website. And there was loads about the procedural affairs concerning their forthcoming AGM. On the plus side, after five years they’ve finally sorted out their kite flying insurance policy.

I also see that they have got two more kite flying clubs to affiliate with them. With a total of seven constituent clubs, they have now re-written their constitution. It originally said the BKFA needed to have a minimum of eight member clubs. It’s interesting that the first part of their constitution says that the BKFA is “To be a representative, elected body to unify all aspects of British kiteflying…” With only fourteen per cent of UK kite clubs being represented after some six years of effort by the BKFA, perhaps it’s time the BKFA gave up. It was a good idea that simply hasn’t worked.

Mind you, they did tell me (in October 2006) that “my opinions are irrelevant”, “my questions are not important” and that “I have no status”, so I must be utterly mistaken to feel that BKFA news update #14 might actually have had some news about kite flying in Britain.

(Rant over…..)

Regular readers may also recall an entry on Sunday August 15^th when I went underground exploring the fortifications at Lydden Spout. At the time we got to crawl round the gun emplacements left over from the war, often in pitch darkness, and I was as excited as a kiddie playing “Smack Smack Bum”. So excited in fact that I didn’t actually listen to what Stevey was telling me about the history of the places we were crawling into.

This evening Stevey came to the arky-ologee club and gave a lecture on the history of the British coastal defences during the Second World War, with particular reference to where we’d been underground. Absolutely fascinating. And it’s criminal that these historical monuments are being left to rot.

Stevey has plans for us to go underground again. Can’t wait…..

28 September 2010 (Tuesday) - West Kent Skills Fest

A few months ago I had an email from the boss asking if any of our staff fancied manning a stall at the West Kent Skills Festival. I forwarded the email to my immediate colleagues. No one seemed keen on the idea, so I volunteered myself. A day sitting around talking to students about what I do for a living seemed a somewhat more attractive proposition than a day spent actually doing that living. Funnily enough, as I collected posters and exhibits for our stall during the preceding week, people seemed to be somewhat jealous about my forthcoming day out. All I can say is that maybe this is God’s way of saying read your emails next time (!)

I met up with a colleague from the Margate hospital, and we soon arrived in Tonbridge. Finding the Angel Centre was tricky, but we eventually found our reserved place. The idea of the day was to provide career choice information to local schools and colleges, and we were putting on one of seventy five stalls. We were next to a stall manned by staff from a nursery school on one side. On the other side we had an engineering firm who were offering students the chance to make and float Lego boats. Opposite us was a stall from Charlton Athletic football club (!) and nearby were stalls from Leicester University’s science department, Kent University’s maths department, Kent Highways, Kent police, the Army, and one featuring some rather foxy sailors (woof!). Also present were several other engineering firms, the Royal Air Force, my leccie provider (who gave me a free key-ring), and pretty much everybody and anybody. I don’t think the day could have been bettered for careers ideas

We set up our stall rather quickly, and we soon found ourselves faced with hoards of schoolchildren. At first I wondered if we would be able to hold our own against the competition, but in retrospect I think we gave a fair accounting of our profession. My colleague spoke very knowledgeably about the intricacies of blood groups and the excitement of urgent emergency blood transfusions. I spoke rather loudly, noisily and grossly about the fascinating subject that is human parasitology. (Students like that!) To illustrate my witterings we had a microscope rigged up to show microfilaria (the small blood-borne worms that cause sleeping sickness) and a foot-long dead round worm in a sealed pot (actually retrieved from a real patient’s bum). Between us we also touched on the automated analysis of blood, haemophilia, clinical (and other) uses of warfarin, antibiotics and bacteriology, cervical cytology, and histological examinations. I think we did ourselves proud – before long the students were telling their mates about us. Newcomers to the exhibition were asking the centre management where they could find the “Extreme Biology” stall. I quite liked being regarded as an “Extreme Biologist”.

We were told that there were over two thousand students who came to the exhibition. I don’t think we saw them all, but those that we did meet left our stall actually knowing what a biomedical scientist does and (I’d like to think) with some respect for the hospital biomedical scientist.

Or perhaps it’s fairer to say that most of them did. There was a small minority who flatly refused to even come near the stall because of the inherent squeamishness provoked by the subject matter. There was one young lady who was rather disparaging about the entire concept of biomedical science. She announced (rather patronisingly) that she intends to study at University to find out why people die.

And there was another blossom who asked (in a very shy voice) if she could be an air hostess. Bless….