19 July 2011 (Tuesday) - Baps, Overtime, and a Mixed Grill

A late start gave me time to check out what’s new on Google News. Here’s a sign of the times - Deborah Copaken Kogan’s son was rather ill, and she posted a photo of said flagging youngster on Facebook. From that photo a cyber-friend was able to diagnose what was up with the child, and immediate hospitalisation ensued. Perhaps I should do that with my maladies bearing in mind the problems I have with my GP surgery.

And then there were a million and one news items about football. It’s no secret that I don’t like football. Not only is the game somewhat simplistic, I simply cannot understand the fervour and excitement and hysteria it generates. Some Paraguisian fit bird has flopped “them” out simply because her favourite football team has won their game. And not to be outdone, a Dutch lady of loose morals has offered a slurp to all and sundry should her favoured football team win this weekend.

I really can’t understand the passion and excitement football inspires….

Following the “chesticles” theme, there was an article on the radio which made me smile this morning. A very dull chap from the Government’s biodiversity department was droning on about Biodiversity Action Plans. The interviewer soon got fed up with the phrase “Biodiversity Action Plan” and shortened it to the accepted acronym B.A.P. And the rest of the discussion was about baps. The schoolboy in me was sniggering about baps, and sniggering all the more as the very dull Government spokesman had absolutely no idea that a bap could be anything other than a “Biodiversity Action Plan”. The interviewer himself wasn’t missing an opportunity to bring baps into the conversation. It transpired that lots of bodies have baps, some baps are bigger than others, but the problem is that the public has very little awareness of them. The interviewer was obviously near hysterics himself when he suggested that everyone with baps should get them out in the open for all to see.

And people tell me that Radio Four is boring.

And so to work...

After work it was up to Wetherspoons – Chris’s birthday meal and a work event “Meat with Pete”. I shall do the Wetherspoons steak night again. Very tasty…..

18 July 2011 (Monday) - Archaeology

Here’s an interesting article. It would seem that due to all sorts of financial cutbacks the number of professional arky-ologists is falling. Therefore there aren’t enough qualified arky-ologists to go round. So whenever there is any hint of dead Romans having been skulking in the area, those who wonder what the dead Romans were up to are dependent on the likes of amateurs like me to scrubble about in the mud to retrieve the artefacts.

There are those who enjoy volunteering to scrubble about in mud trying to find artefacts. I am not one of them. There are various reasons for this. Personally I find the actual mechanics of practical arky-ologee to be boring. I don’t enjoy it. Also it hurts. I get severe and very painful backache after only a few minutes of scrubbling.

But most importantly I don’t want to do it because I openly admit I have not got the faintest idea of what I should be looking for. In the past whilst on arky-ological digs I have found what (to me) looks like Roman Samianware, only to be told it is last year’s flowerpot. I have then had a bit of genuine Roman Samianware put next to my bit of flower pot, and to me they both look exactly the same. Having me doing the digging is silly because I do not know what I should be looking for. For the sake of the historical record it is actually dangerous to have me on a dig if I cannot tell artefact from scrat, and I openly admit this fact. And I suspect this is true of a lot of amateur arky-ologists who also I suspect would never make this confession.

I can’t help but wonder how many significant finds have been missed because the well-meaning volunteer doesn’t know their arse from their elbow in an arky-ological context.

Scrubbling in the mud should be left to those who know what they are doing. However…. And there is always a “however”, isn’t there? It would seem that a few years ago the amateurs were discouraged from scrubbling after artefacts. And what happened? Rather than taking up stamp collecting or train spotting or drinking real ale or going fishing or flying a kite or getting a life, these amateurs bought metal detectors and just went off on their own to see what they could find.

And some of these metal detectorists seriously have done damage: here’s a link. And here’s another. And another. And if you’re still sceptical about how much destruction amateurs have done to sites of historical importance, I’d suggest just come along to the arky-ologee club; pretend you’ve got a metal detector, and see if you get out of the room alive.

So what’s the future of arky-ologee? Are potential dig sites to be left until the shrinking number of professionals can get round to them? Are the likes of me to be left to stuff up what’s under the ground? Should volunteer arky-ologists need some formal training or qualification before they are let loose? The obvious answer is to share out the professionals: let those who actually have got a clue supervise those of us who haven’t.

Or alternatively we might realise that if a piece of historical antiquity is actually of any value, some dead Roman wouldn’t have been so careless as to have dropped it in a ditch all those years ago…..

17 July 2011 (Sunday) - The Cellars of Winchelsea

I must admit to having a wry smile this morning as I pegged out the washing. Next door (the side who speak to us)’s dogs were staging a mini-riot. For all that the nice lady shouted and hollered at the dogs, they just carried on doing their own sweet thing until such time as it suited them to do something else. They do that a lot.

Whilst we were picnic-ing the other day we watched a woman demonstrating a similar level of (lack of) control over her dog. A month ago at Teston my brother’s dog bolted for no adequately explored reason and would not respond to any order or instruction. Many years ago my father’s dog decided to go off on a mission and was only stopped when (having been chased for a mile or so) the dog chanced to run past a friend who, on seeing the predicament, grabbed the dog.

Dogs don’t have to be like this. And not all are: I have seen dogs that are trained - trained well. Is it unreasonable to expect that all dogs have some basic level of training?

And then after a quick bite of McDinner we set off to Winchelsea. The village has loads of houses with cellars, and whenever we’ve walked around the place I’ve been intrigued by the cellars. So much so that I’ve often openly noseyed inside any which have been open.

Some time ago we saw that there were walks round the cellars organised by their local arky-ologee club, and so we planned to go there today. We had advertised the day at our arky-ologee club, and four club members turned up. I was disappointed at the low turnout from our club, but having said that, there were about forty people along for the tour anyway.

After a crafty half in the New Inn we all met up at the village pump, and the nice man who was our guide introduced himself, and gave a really good talk about the history of Winchelsea and the Cinque ports. The chap spoke with knowledge and enthusiasm, and really brought the subject to life as we walked round the village. We came to our first cellar, and all crowded in and listened to the chap tell us about how they were built. The poor speaker found himself having to ad-lib somewhat: just as we were about to leave, torrential rain started, and people were understandably reluctant to get soaked.

The monsoon passed, and we moved on to the second cellar, and then the third. It transpired that there are only two places in England with more medieval cellars than Winchelsea: Southampton and Norwich. And far from being used for smuggling (which I always thought they were); the cellars in Winchelsea were used as posh wine cellars from which merchants would sell wine.  

As is so often the case with any lecture it’s not the subject matter which captures the imagination; it’s the speaker. Today’s chap was really good, and the two hours flew by. The photos of the day are on line here.

We’re already thinking of going on a larger organised tour of Winchelsea itself. If any of my loyal readers are up for it, do let me know.

It was a shame that we couldn’t have spent longer, but as luck would have it the last cellar we investigated was next to the village tea rooms. So we popped in for coffee and cake. And then wandered up to the church to have a look at Spike Milligan’s gravestone.

We had a shock – it wasn’t there. We checked, and checked again. It’s gone! We came home and checked the Internet – nothing! So we phoned the organiser of today’s tour who told us that Mrs Milligan had recently died, and so the stone is being revamped accordingly.

And so home where I got the washing off the line – thanks to the rain it was far wetter than when I pegged it out. I popped it in the washing machine to spin it off; that washing machine doesn’t sound very good. I suspect that will need replacing soon. And then the evening was spent ironing. Dull, but then life isn’t all beer and skittles.

Except for ‘er indoors ^TM , who’d gone ten pin bowling for the evening….

16 July 2011 (Saturday) - More Stuff

I woke to find a very wet morning outside my window as I checked the Internet over a spot of brekkie. I had been asked to go camping this weekend at Eastbourne Extreme; I’m glad I turned the offer down. Having said that, it would seem that most of the kiting gang are posting to Facebook from somewhere in Herefordshire, so I’m not sure what’s going on there.

Whilst on Facebook, I saw my father in law was up to his old tricks again. Having taken to drinking bleach for supposed medicinal purposes back in April, he’s now banging the drum of another bag of crackpot quackery.

When considering alternative medicine here’s a tip: if an alleged cure actually does work, then it will be a standard cure, treatment or drug offered by mainstream medical practitioners. If the alleged treatment is only available over the Internet or at very expensive clinics or seminars, then it’s a scam. No ifs, or buts. If your GP don’t offer it, it is a scam that doesn’t actually work.

For those of my loyal readers who’d like to pursue the matter, I’ve done this rant before – you can find it here. However I’d suggest that for the sake of my blood pressure we take the rant as done.

I have a new contact on Google Plus – the Rear Admiral has “gone Google”. I now have nine people in my circles. I’m hoping Google Plus will pick up as my circles grow – at the moment it’s a bit sad (as “My Boy ^TM ” would say).

Staying with Google, I checked Google News. I see the 1980s pop group Bucks Fizz are in the news. Three of them are squabbling with the fourth as to who actually owns the name “Bucks Fizz”. The whole sorry argument has been taken to the Intellectual Property Office who will apparently be “making their minds up” some time over the next six weeks. Six weeks (!) Perhaps working in an acute hospital environment has given me an unnaturally heightened sense of urgency about life?

As I wandered round Asda on the way in to work I saw a CD on offer – “Best of Bucks Fizz”. Having read about them on the news I thought that this was fate telling me to buy the CD. So I did. I shall have words with fate – it owes me a fiver. Bucks Fizz were rubbish thirty years ago, and haven’t improved over the years.

Mind you, I was amazed at how busy Asda was. I often pop in on the way to work during the week. At 7.30am on a weekday the place is all but deserted. At 7.30am on a Saturday the place was heaving with people. Don’t these people have better things to do on a Saturday morning?

After work I came home via Argos, and then spent an hour or so going through one of my student’s homework. This is probably something I should be doing in work time, but I enjoy it. And seeing how it was raining we’d decided against going out for a walk anyway. Instead once I’d gone through homework (and set her another six months worth of stuff to do) we went round to Chip’s for coffee and cake, before having a crafty McFlurry.

The weather forecast for the day had predicted the rain would stop in the late afternoon, and it did. So I loaded up the car with my fishing gear and set off to the pond. I beat the Folkestone contingent there by five minutes and so I had the pick of where to set up. Rather than fishing in my usual spot, I set up where I’d fished last week and had some success. However it didn’t take me long to realise I’d set up in Sheep-Dung-Central. The fishing was good, but it was being done in wall-to-wall sheep turds.

Still, I can cope with sheep turds. I got on with the fishing as the Rear Admiral dropped his chair in the pond and Stevey relocated to where he could fish without catching trees. There was a very dodgy five minutes when “Daddies Little Angel ^TM ” announced she’d dropped her phone in the pond. And an even dodgier five minutes when she realised she hadn’t and couldn’t work out what it was that had made the splosh.

Disgorgers cunningly fashioned from twigs, crucian carp in the landing net, everyone having bigger fish than me, even a couple of bites on the ledger rod. It was a really good evening. It was a shame about the wind, but my new fishing umbrella (courtesy of Argos) did well. It was a bigger shame about the temperature. I really don’t expect to be shivering in the early evening in mid-July…..

15 July 2011 (Friday) - Stuff

On the way home from work I stopped off at Invicta Tackle. In the past I’ve had issues with that shop. I say “shop” – I don’t think that’s the right word. “Shop” implies somewhere where all and sundry can buy the offered merchandise. Invicta Tackle usually features two or three oddballs crowded around the counter gossiping with the assistant; all of them making it very clear that you are intruding in their personal space.

Today was much the same: I arrived to find only one oddball at the counter gossiping with the assistant. They were very loudly gossiping about “Shouty Pete”; a fellow who apparently is rather vociferous whilst he fishes a local lake. It would seem that “Shouty Pete” lives camped out at this lake; he has little else to do with his time. He is one of only two people to have caught a 40+lb carp from said lake. I was quite intrigued by the life and times of “Shouty Pete” and was keen to find out more, but after waiting for ten minutes to get served, the assistant and the oddball suddenly noticed me, both glared, and the assistant asked what I wanted. His tone was much the same tone that you might use to ask someone much smaller than yourself if they want a fight.

I got my maggots for a possible weekend’s fishing session, and slowly made my way out of the shop. Unfortunately no more gossip about “Shouty Pete” was forthcoming.

The news amazed me today. In Switzerland a political party has decided it wants to ban Microsoft’s PowerPoint. And they aren’t alone in this -   a growing number of people are sick to death of PowerPoint presentations. Suddenly today the world is full of anti-PowerPoint sentiment. Type “PowerPoint” into Google News and you’ll get loads of websites realy lambasting the program.

Personally I think PowerPoint is brilliant. What did we have before it? Blackboards and chalk. And overhead projectors with transparencies were the height of technology.

I can’t see why Microsoft is held to be at fault here. PowerPoint is just a tool to get a job done. If a presentation is dull, or needlessly over-flashy it’s not Microsoft’s fault.

Unless you’re sleeping through one of my lectures….

I had another fiddle about with Google Plus this evening. I can’t say that I don’t like it; perhaps I just need to get used to it. It’s new – I don’t do “new” very well. And I’m not alone in that.

Bing (Microsoft’s answer to Google) is losing cash hand over fist. Why? Because it doesn’t do anything that Google and countless other search engines don’t do already.

I really can’t see what Google Plus does that Facebook doesn’t, and Facebook is losing customers…  

14 July 2011 (Thursday) - Google Plus

I woke up feeling refreshed and raring to go. As I bounced out of bed I looked at the clock: 3.20am (!) I tried to go back to sleep, dozed a little, and felt like death warmed up when I was actually supposed to get up.

To work, which was rather productive for a change. And then home again to find two separate invitations to join Google Plus. I say “to find” – I saw a good friend talking about Google Plus on Facebook, and I sulked until he sent me a request to join. So I followed that request to find I’d been invited by another friend already.

At the moment you can only join Google Plus by invitation only. And so now I’m part of the elite. Having said that, if they will take me they will take anyone.

So – what is Google Plus like? In principle it’s much the same as Facebook or Yahoo Messenger or MySpace, really. You tell the world whatever banal pettiness you want to tell them, and you read about the mundane trivialities of your friends’ lives.

It has a feature in that you can arrange your friends and contacts in “circles” and so you can lump together all your friends from one part of your life into a separate circle from your friends from another part of your life. Rather than sharing every bit of triviality with everyone, you get to choose who sees what particular bit of drivel you’re spouting. Effectively it’s a partitioned version of Facebook.

This is a “feature”, and is clearly using the I.T. definition of the word. Personally I’d rather hear more from someone than only about that which we initially think we have in common. If all I spoke about was kites, I’d never know that my mate was also keen on astronomy, reptiles and poker.

I suppose with less than a dozen “friends” on Google Plus (as opposed to hundreds on Facebook) it’s rather early for me to dismiss Google Plus out of hand…. But …

The other day two good friends independently told me they had no idea that next Friday is Canterbury Beer Festival. I take a lot of time and put in a lot of effort to make sure my Google Calendar (accessible through this blog) is up to date and is visible to the world. And the very people for whom this calendar is intended don’t even look at it.

I have sent people messages via Facebook over the last few weeks. Despite their constantly posting stuff on Facebook, they insist they’ve not logged on to the thing for months.

People tell me they’ve sent me emails and texts that I’ve never received. Skype, Yahoo messenger, ICQ, MySpace have all come and gone. Trying to contact people via email and mobile phone is an ultimately frustrating pursuit as everyone changes mobile phone number and email address so often.

So here we are – Google Plus. Yet another way to try to keep in touch. Will it be any more effective that that which has gone before? To be fair to Google Plus it is still very early days. But I really don’t see what advantages it has over what is already available. Having said that, currently communications don’t work so it can’t hurt to give the thing a fair trial. If any of my loyal readers would like to join the elite over on Google Plus, just drop me a line.

Having said that, the first person I attempted to induct into the elite has told me she’s just had a reply back saying “Exceeded Field Trial Capacity”…..

13 July 2011 (Wednesday) - Back to Work

After a long weekend it was back to work for me. And within half an hour of being back, it was as though I’d never been off. I don’t dislike my job: I’m bored with it. Over the last thirty years I’ve left home and subsequently moved house three times. I got religion, found Jesus, got confirmed, realised it was all a load of old tosh, renounced the lot and become a minister in the Church of the Apathetic Agnostic. I’ve got married and had children. I’ve obtained a degree, and post-graduate qualifications. Hobbies have come and gone; and in many cases come again and gone again.

But the job remains constant, day in, day out. Year in, year out. I suppose I shouldn’t complain – in these uncertain times there are many people who would like the certainty that a job provides. But I’m bored.

Mind you, work isn’t without its little moments. One such happened today when a colleague came in limping. He announced he thought he’d broken his toe, having “dropped a bender” on it. He hastened to add that a “bender” was a metallic implement for bending other lumps of metal, but I didn’t believe him. I know what a bender is (!)

After a rather dull day I came home to find the forecast rain hadn’t happened, so I set about the garden. I strimmed and mowed the lawn, and saw red with next door’s overgrowth. On one side (the neighbours who speak to us) there is a fence. Just a fence. On the other side (the side who hate us) is what I can only describe as a jungle. An assortment of clematises, roses, vines and all manner of climbing plants pour over the fence. Periodically I prune them back, but I hadn’t so far this year. The clematis, blowing in the breeze, was actually half way across our garden. So I got the hedge trimmers and stripped it back to six inches from my side of the fence. He won’t like it, but if he truly wanted to be neighbourly he’d prune back his overgrowth himself….