7 October 2010 (Thursday) - More Stuff

Our new coalition government is beginning to let us know about the cuts it intends to make. Some I agree with. The whole question of child benefit needs to be reviewed. We quite happily took child benefit for our two children. In retrospect I would like to have had more children to claim for, but I knew that a third bub would be beyond our budget, and so we didn’t go for a third child. It would have been nice to have had more, and the state would probably have funded more (hypothetical) children to an extent, but I believe I should pay my way. Much as it pains me to admit it, I’m in agreement with the Culture Secretary who says that people who breed like rabbits should pay for breeding like rabbits.

Mind you I don’t agree with Lord Hutton who’s reviewing public sector pensions. He may well feel it unfair that pensions are based on a person’s final wage, and that individuals are contributing far too little to the pension funds. It could well be that pensions based on a career average wage with higher contributions may well be a better way forward for the economy. However I for one am paying into the scheme as it was sold to me some thirty years ago. Am I alone in thinking the government’s being a bit cheeky by trying to move the goalposts when I’m almost three quarters of the way through paying for my pension?

Meanwhile this evening I’m “home alone”. ‘er indoors ^TM has gone to the scout group’s annual general meeting. I’ve been thinking all day about whether or not I should go. On the one hand I’d like to see some old friends and find out what’s been going on in the two years since I left the group. On the other hand I’m still rather insulted that the chap who does nothing but collect the subs got a formal award for his services to scouting, and rather miffed that after thirteen years of my being a leader they gave me a five years service certificate. Also I know that if I went along tonight I’d be asked to start helping again, and that I would feel that I couldn’t say no. Even though I don’t want to help again.

Meanwhile, following on from yesterday’s nostalgia, I’ve found my holiday snaps from the Boys Brigade camp in 1983 and have put them on Facebook. Somewhere there are photos from even earlier Boys Brigade stuff. If only I could find them…..

6 October 2010 (Wednesday) - Another Day...

Up early (as usual) and then off to Asda to get lunch (as usual) and off to work (as usual). All rather dull really. Whilst at work I popped up to the surgical ward to visit the malingerer. On my first two visits he was fast asleep, but he seemed quite chirpy when I went back for the third time. (Sometimes working in a hospital can be quite handy) He’s had his operation, had various tubes coming out of various places, and was wearing a rather fetching dress. Normally I would have photographed the dress, but it’s not fair to photograph cross dressing when people are poorly and not at their best.

The radio had an interesting article today. The Duke of Devonshire has had a clear out and is staging an attic sale. Presumably His Grace has a larger attic that the average punter, as he has some twenty thousand bits of tat he’s trying to shift. There’s no denying that I’d like to have a sale of all the unwanted tat cluttering up my house. Perhaps I could persuade ‘er indoors ^TM  to follow His Grace’s lead?

And (apparently) more of England is currently forested now than has been for the last two hundred years. Presumably there is money in planting trees, and large tracts of what was once fields is now managed forest. I always think that it is quite a shame that the old camp site in Smarden (from my days in the Boys Brigade) has been planted as a forest. Today’s radio program made me dig out some old photographs and then I got busy with the scanner. What appears as open land in that album is now all trees...

5 October 2010 (Tuesday) - Crumble, Carpet

Normally I’m not too late to bed when there’s work the next day, but last night I made an exception. “My Boy ^TM ” came crashing through the front door at 10.30pm having been doing some late night scrumping. He had more apples than sense, and loudly announced that he was going to make an apple crumble. There was a frantic clattering in the kitchen for ten minutes, and then he bellowed up the stairs asking how one actually makes an apple crumble. Being somewhat vague on the subject myself I suggested he peeled the apples, stewed them and then baked them under some light pastry.

He seemed happy with this idea and went back to his crashing about, but after five minutes he roared up the stairs to ask how vital the peeling was: he’d lost interest in peeling the apples. I wasn’t going to peel them for him, so I suggested he leapt straight to the stewing stage. He asked how one stewed apples. I don’t know why he thought I was the culinary genius. I told him that it was like stew but without the dumplings. Then he bellowed up the stairs. Would I turn the taps for him because he had got raw pastry on his hands. I say “pastry” – he’d bodged something out of milk and a tub of Utterly Butterly and he wanted to wash his hands before rolling it out. I hadn’t the heart to tell him I didn’t think we had a rolling pin. He soon found out this sad fact for himself, but improvised with a can of underarm deodorant. Judging by the noise, there was then a most enthusiastic bout of washing up, and then our thoughts turned to custard. I’ve never heard custard cooked quite so loudly before, but he confidently boasted that it was going to look like custard, so I must admit my hopes were high.

Eventually he dished up shortly after midnight. Surprisingly the apple crumble and custard was worth the wait. Mind you, this episode probably explains why I spent today feeling very tired and with a nagging guts ache. And talking of nagging guts aches, I popped up to see Glenn today. Having had his appendix out last week, he’s now back in hospital with complications. I didn’t actually get to see him – when I visited he was actually in the operating theatre. So I chatted with Sue for a bit before making my excuses and coming home. I would have liked to have stayed and waited for him, but if I was coming out of surgery I wouldn’t want to have me visiting. And also I knew the Rear Admiral would be at home, and I had this plan that he could help me lay my new bit of carpet.

Laying the carpet was painless enough: we hoiked up the old carpet, hovered round, laid down newspaper and the put the new carpet down on the newspaper. I’m not sure what the newspaper was all about, but whenever I’ve lifted up carpet, there’s always been newspaper underneath it. Perhaps it’s the rules: I don’t know. But who am I to break with tradition?

And then for the Tuesday gathering. This time at Matt’s where we say a “Duncan Norvelle” train set in which two digital toy trains were playing “chase me!” There was also talk of a Dorian Grey basement, but after the train set, all else pales into insignificance…

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…