16 August 2010 (Monday) - Facebook, Kites, Stuff

I had a really good weekend. And so, as always, Monday came hard. I quite like the late start when I do a late shift on a Monday. Or that is I like the late start when “My Boy ^TM ” is also on a late start. Unfortunately that didn’t happen today. He woke me (and half the county) as he left for work “as quiet as a mouse” (!) at 5.30am this morning, and I couldn’t get back off to sleep after that.

I got up an hour or so later, but in retrospect I wasted the morning. First of all on Facebook, where “The Chilli Bar” wants to be my friend. From our mutual friends, I can only deduce that “The Chilli Bar” is either something to do with kite flying, or is a shop in Brighton. Either way I’ve no idea who or what it is, and so the request got the old heave-ho. This prompted me to have another look through my Facebook friends list – I wish I knew how I did it. I have to authorise people to be on my list, and I found eighteen people on my list that I have no idea who they are.

I also had an invitation to join the “Kite Flying Lovers Association” (sic); a bunch of some three thousand people based in the University of the Punjab who are trying to overturn a kite ban which has been imposed somewhere in Pakistan. The implication of the message I received that was my clicking to accept membership would in some way count as a vote against this ban. I can’t see that myself, and more electrons went into the recycle bin.

On further research I find myself agreeing with this kite ban. Kite fighting is well and good – an established tradition and something I’ve done myself. But when it’s being done in so reckless a fashion that innocent passers by are being slashed and killed by kite lines which are coated in glass, then surely something has to be done. There have been kite bans in the UK – in the past I was rather vociferous about them as being knee-jerk over-reaction from the authorities. But in Lahore I think the authorities are right to ban the lot. When I go to a kite festival I have fun. But I don’t need a weapon to express that delight. However, apparently that would seem to be de-rigueur at the banned Basant Kite Festival, where it’s not unknown for people to get shot by “celebratory gunfire”.

And then I wasted some time in NeverWinter – it would seem that ghosts have overrun the sewers. I would have thought they might have found somewhere more salubrious to haunt, but what do I know? And then to Tescos to pick up some lunch. I really should leave more time for lunch shopping – the place was swarming with old biddies – an empty coach outside the supermarket led me to believe a coach party of the things had arrived. And not one had any urgency about its shopping; pootling along with all the time in the world as my blood pressure went through the roof. Do they really need to pick up every apple in the shop before eventually selecting the first one they saw? Surely they are capable of walking more than four steps in any one direction before stopping and heading off at right angles? Do they do this deliberately?

Having asked that, I know I would…

15 August 2010 (Sunday) - Going Underground

Regular readers of this drivel may recall an entry a few weeks ago where we walked across the White Cliffs between Folkestone and Dover and found some tunnels left over from the war. Totally neglected and having been left to decay, we felt the need to spend some time giving them the attention they deserved. Not having enough time on our walk a few weeks ago, today we staged a return visit to the White Cliffs.

After quite a bit of faffing about in B&Q this morning, we set off to Folkestone to meet up with the rest of the archaeological expedition. Four of our party proceeded in the Batmobile, whilst Stevey and me got the bus. We’d arranged where to meet, but something about the bus journey left us rather disorientated, and the bus stop was by a pub, so we popped in for a swift half whilst we checked the map.

Map checked, routes planned, pints downed, me and Stevey then set off in entirely the wrong direction. I was sure I knew where we were going. But eventually we met up with the rest of our party. We had hoped we’d got away with our crafty pint, but “Daddies Little Angel ^TM ” had asked the man in the pub if people answering our description had been in, and we got blabbed on.

Suitably chastised we found our way to the cliff top and to the first set of holes. The first hole led to a very long corridor in which we found evidence of previous explorers – the boxes of binoculars and torches were left lying around. And then panic set in. We had a role call, and couldn’t locate the Rear Admiral. Having visions of his falling in the darkness an d laying unconscious somewhere, we went through the tunnel time and again trying to locate him. Only to eventually find he was sitting outside the hole waiting his turn to go in once he’d helped others get out. In retrospect this was a sensible thing to do. Generally these tunnels are far easier to get into than they are to escape from.

The second hole was rather tight to get into, but with a little judicious scrubbling I got into the hole. In fact there was only one hole all day that I couldn’t get into. Provided you were prepared to get mucky, and didn’t mind scrabbling on hands, knees, bums, and various sundry bits of your anatomy, practical archaeology was easy. Having scrubbled the skin off my elbows I got into the second hole, which was a disappointment. A rather small room. Scrubbling back out of the hole was fun, but not as much fun as watching others scrubble out of that hole.

“Daddies Little Angel ^TM ” then engaged “egg-laying mode”, and with good cause. There was a feeling that some tunnels were accessible from the cliff face, and we clambered around the tops of the cliffs looking for candidate burrows. The closest we came was an old railway vent and a set of overgrown concrete steps leading from the top of the cliffs. I must admit that this was perhaps the scariest part of the day – the drop down the White Cliffs is quite a way down. And then we found the hole we’d visited last time. In the last few weeks that hole has got rather damp and muddy, but we had a good root around anyway.

The third tunnel was amazing. Next to a disused cowshed we found what looked like a rusty manhole cover. Stevey and I managed to heave the cover off, and we found a vertical shaft with an old metal ladder going down. Now it’s pretty obvious that the sensible thing to do would have been to put the cover back on the hole. But we didn’t – we climbed down the ladder and found a small tunnel going off horizontally some ten metres underground. Having clouted my head on the ceiling a few times we found another ladder leading down into a larger room, and in here was something amazing. In the total darkness we found there was a shrine to those who’d served in these tunnels during the war. On the wall of this room so far underground there were photographs from the period, letters from servicemen, and even a couple of recent poppies. And at the bottom of this wall was a visitor’s book for anyone finding it to leave a message. And whoever had set up this shrine had even left two biros for the visitors book. Truly amazing – so many people would walk past this every day and have no idea it was there. And what was also amazing was that there were recent entries in the visitors book. We weren’t the only people to have been down the hole. A future mission to this hole may well involve taking power tools to put up a shelf for the visitors book.

The last tunnel we explored had a rather tricky entrance. Rather narrow at the top, but wide and deep further down. Getting in was somewhat tricky, but once in, this was the longest tunnel of the lot. Having explored the tunnel I had a problem – I couldn’t get back out again. I tried various angles and scrubbles, but it wasn’t happening. In the end the Bat and the Rear Admiral grabbed each of my arms and physically hoiked me out.

Such an exertion was traumatic for all; hoikers, hoikee and audience, so we adjourned to the pub for a crafty half before getting the bus back to civilisation. Or Folkestone, at any rate. We will be returning. If any of my loyal readers are up for it, check the “Dates for the Diary” section to find out when….

14 August 2010 (Saturday) - Iden

I have been criticised for many things over the years. One of which is my approach to practical astronomy. There are those who sit shivering in darkened fields whilst waiting for a break in the clouds through which they might see a star. And there are those who call up pictures on Google Images. I know which approach I favour – after all, no matter how much your telescope might have cost, there’s no way it can compete with the orbiting Hubble Space Telescope, is there? Last night my convictions were again confirmed. With the most brilliant meteor shower of the year predicted; in between the clouds I saw one satellite in the general vicinity of Cassiopeia. What a waste of my time – there will be pictures of the things clearly visible in the warmth of the astro club in a week or so.

Whilst scoffing brekkie the door bell rang – the postman had a recorded delivery letter. For me (!) From Renault (!!) Postie joked that they wanted my car back. I opened the envelope to see that postie was right. There was an urgent safety recall – apparently it would be possible for the electronic parking brake to activate whist driving. But then I realised they had the registration number of my car wrong. They were recalling the car I’d sold back to them three months ago. At first sight I thought this was an understandable administrative error, but the letter said they’d got my details as registered keeper of the vehicle from the DVLA. That was rather worrying, so I phoned the local dealership, who told me they’d look into it on Monday. I suppose all the time my current car’s not recalled, I’ll not worry too much.

The day’s plan was originally to go for a bike ride, but heavy rain put paid to that idea. Instead we designated a driver (bless her) and set off to a pub we’ve never visited before. The Bell in Iden had a good website, so we thought we’d try it out. It was a little off the beaten track, and for one of our number this involved the first trip of his life to another county, but it was a good choice. Six (and a half!) of us sat down to some of the best home-cooked food we’ve ever tasted. And three ales, none of which are that common too. Certainly a pub to re-visit.

On the way home we popped into Swallow Aquatics and went gooey over their geckoes, frogs, Koi and various assorted animals. And whilst we were at it I bought a new set of innards for the fish pond filter. That didn’t come cheap, but then keeping Koi isn’t a cheap thing to do anyway. Perhaps I should have had goldfish.

And then we wasted five minutes in the fishing tackle shop – a forthcoming camping event will feature some fishing, so it never hurts to be prepared. And then I turned down the chance to take part in a pub quiz in favour of a quiet night watching the telly. Every so often even I have a bit of peace and quiet…

13 August 2010 (Friday) - Stuff

Up with the lark to see to a week’s worth of ironing. A dull job, but someone’s got to do it. And that someone was me. I got half of it done; I shall come back to the rest of it later. And then to work, which was much the same as ever, and home again to find my new kettle has been delivered. With a capacity of a gallon and a lid that actually comes off, it will certainly come in handy on our next camping trip. Washing up water doesn’t heat itself, you know. I just hope it lasts longer than the last two kettles. Washing up and ironing: welcome to my world.

In a novel break with tradition, this evening we sat down and watched telly – six episodes of “Man vs Food”. I’ve been recording it somewhat faster than I’ve been watching it. A wonderful program showing the culinary restraint of our American cousins. I *so* need to go to the US for dinner…

12 August 2010 (Thursday) - Copyright

Yesterday there was an interesting article on the radio that has made me think. There was a discussion about the illegal redistribution of copyrighted materiel, both on the Internet and through pirated videos and DVDs. Fergal Sharkey was on the panel, representing the views of the UK music industry, and there was also a chap whose company had recently been sued for millions because of their file-sharing technology. The thrust of the program was that blagging films and music off of the internet was a bad thing. Illegal, yes. But bad? I don’t know…

As a child I would buy records from time to time, as would all of my friends. And we would all lend each other our records so we could copy them onto cassette tape for ourselves. Absolutely everyone did it. It was illegal then, as it (probably) still is, but the panel on the radio show admitted that no one in authority was ever that fussed about a few boys swapping records in the classrooms. Apparently things today are different. The next generation of kids aren’t swapping records in the classroom; they are swapping records over the internet. The amount of copying remains the same; it’s just done over a larger distance. But the principle remains the same, surely? I can’t see how my hypothetical copying of a record belonging to a mate who lives down the road is any different to my hypothetical copying of a record of someone I’ve never met who lives in Aberystwyth.

Or can I? It is very difficult for those involved with tracking copyright theft to crack down on kiddies swapping music in the classroom. Or anywhere, come to that. There was once a sci-fi shop in Canterbury that did a roaring trade in iffy Star Trek VHS videos, and the Ashford computer fair had the “hooky DVD” stall. Both were in business for years. Admittedly one is now closed, and the proprietor of the other (so I’ve heard) did get nicked, but it took some time for them to get caught. File sharing on the internet is so much easier to track down, and is a much easier “nick”.

Now I’ll admit that this sharing of media is illegal. I said as much in today’s first paragraph. But is it a bad thing? In my book, (and this is my book), “illegal” is a very different thing to “bad”. It was the view of some of those on the radio show’s panel that file sharing denies income to the various music and film industries. One of the most vociferous members of the panel was a poet complaining that people shouldn’t be able to download her poetry for free; if people wanted her poetry then they should pay for it. After all, this was her livelihood. Professional poetry. I can feel my blood boiling at the thought of it, but I shall endeavour to remain objective. I suppose they are entitled to their income, even though my gut reaction is that the professional poet might be better advised to get a proper job. (Sorry to any professional poets reading this, but that’s how I feel).

I can’t help but wonder how much money the professional poet makes. I can make a reasonable guess at how much the professional musician makes. In February I went to see a live band – a good band, but not in the league of those who are complaining about copyright infringement. Tickets for the show I saw were fourteen quid each, and the theatre had 231 seats (I’ve looked it up). Not all were sold, but from what I can remember, and from what I’ve seen on the theatre’s website I think it’s fair to say that the band went home with a clear profit of over two thousand quid that night. There were six of them, and from their website I see that they are performing twice a week. This gives them each an (estimated) annual wage of over thirty thousand quid. I don’t think anyone would begrudge them that, even if they are only doing half a day’s work twice a week to earn that wage. However when you look at the big boys – for example some of the bands playing at the O2 arena, it’s a bit different Tickets are fifty quid each, and the attendance is measured in the thousands. With the profit they are raking in from live performances, they can hardly claim poverty. And are they really losing any more money to file sharing than they lost to me and my mates copying records all those years ago?

Or take the film industry, which is really suffering (apparently) from the revenue lost to the video pirates. The radio show told us that there are a lot of people behind the scenes that we don’t think about – camera men, sound men, producers, best boys, etc. All of whom will be out of a job if the film doesn’t make money. But is the film industry that strapped for cash? To take one example, if the star of the film was to take a pay cut and be paid merely twice that which the British Prime Minister earns for the years’ work rather than the millions she was paid, then the cash saved would pay a very decent year’s living wage to over one thousand other people.

Meanwhile firemen who actually deserve a decent wage get a pittance. And (somewhat closer to home) lifeboat crews do it for free. Perhaps those who should benefit from the monies legally due to them because of copyright law have been benefiting just a little bit too much…?

11 August 2010 (Wednesday) - Bored?

Back to work, after a few days off. It wasn’t my idea to go back, and (quite frankly) I didn’t want to. There was a time a few years ago when I loved my job; now it pays the bills until I retire. Which is a great shame.

After work we watched the second film in the “Twilight” series - “New Moon”. At first thought I wasn’t overly impressed, but on reflection I love the film. I now have a cure for my chronic insomnia.

And I’ll end today’s entry with a bit of a whinge. I’m planning to get my bike out and have a cycle ride this coming Saturday. Starting from my house at 11 a.m. (ish) I (and anyone who wants to come along with me) intend to cycle along the river where I might just possibly see pike and trout. Along by the rugby club there are usually greenfinches, which are a bird you rarely see. And then we’ll pick up National Cycle Path 18. Whilst it’s nominally a road, I’ve hardly ever seen any cars use the thing. We’ll go along here, through some wonderful scenery and after a really good fun downhill whizz, we’ll find the Honest Miller. This is a pub in a nearby village which has a cracking ale selection, a really friendly landlord, and the best food you ever did scoff. From here, once suitably replete, we will cycle up into Wye for a pint of afters, before taking National Cycle Path 18 home again; to be back home for mid afternoon.

I’ve mentioned this idea to a few people. Some are up for it. Some would like to come, but cannot because they are working. And there are a few who have dismissed the idea entirely because they would rather spend the day “chilling”. “Chilling” – I detest that phrase. Just hearing it makes my blood boil. What does it mean? Someone intends to refrigerate something? I have done “chilling” before, under expert supervision; I was fed up with it within fifteen minutes. From what I can see, “chilling” involves sitting about, deliberately wasting the few precious years we have left in a deliberate attempt to do nothing. Boredom comes often enough in life – why go actively seeking it out?

Rant over – going to lie down now...

10 August 2010 (Tuesday) - A Day Off Work

Much as I like going camping, you can’t beat sleeping in your own bed. One of the best bits of my own bed is getting out of it. You climb down onto the floor, rather than (when camping) climb up off of the floor; so much easier. And talking of camping, over the weekend we managed to break two kettles. The original plan was to take them back to the shop yesterday afternoon and go fishing today. But yesterday afternoon I couldn’t be bothered to go to the shops, and today was raining so I wouldn’t have gone fishing anyway.

Batty arrived at 10.30am, and we collected Martin and set off to Camping International in Gillingham. The woman on the till’s face fell when she saw me walking in with what were obviously faulty goods. I commented to her (in a cheery tone) that she must get fed up with people bringing things back to complain. Bearing in mind her face would probably have cracked if she had smiled; she grunted and called for the manager, who arrived (seemingly) some six weeks later. He took one look at the kettles, rolled his eyes in despair, and didn’t even quibble. Would I like a refund or exchange? I suggested I had a credit note against what I was going to buy this morning, and that idea was greeted with amazement – no one had ever come up with that one before. But the manager was very happy with the plan, and I had money off of my bill. So we pootled around the shop, and bought a replacement poles bag for “Brown and Smelly” (our communal cookhouse tent), two new kitchen knives, some camping gas and a pink wasp trap.

We thought we might visit Whitstable, so we took the A2 east through Rainham. This is probably the road with the slowest moving traffic in the world, but eventually we were in Whitstable. The idea was lunch, so we visited a pub – the Ship Centurion Arminius. This is a pub which is regularly nominated for CAMRA awards, and has been the Kent Pub of the Year before. However, despite a decent ale selection, I’ve never been impressed with it. The food menu is rather basic, and it’s clearly a “local pub for local people”. So we had a quick pint and moved on to the kite shop.

I’ve this plan to cover the tops of the banner poles with rubber bungs to stop them ripping through the tops of the banners, so “Kites and Things” was the ideal place to get the rubber bungs. Whilst there I got a rather attractive hanging banner for a fiver, and my eye was taken by a large windsock. A very pretty windsock. The chap behind the counter didn’t know how much the windsock cost (he was covering the shop during the owner’s holiday). So I showed him a smaller windsock which was up for sale for a tenner, and I offered him twenty quid for the bigger one. He seemed happy with my offer, and at that bargain price, so was I (!) The only thing remotely similar I can find on eBay is priced over fifty quid.

Our next port of call was W.M. Camping in Sturry where we looked at the stuff and came out without spending anything. Which was probably for the best. Realising that it was now gone 3pm we grudgingly conceded that most pub kitchens would be closed, so after quickly visiting Argos to try to buy tables they no longer sell, we adjourned for McLunch. And then home, where eBay came up trumps with a kettle which holds eight pints of water. Let’s hope the thing arrives before the end of the month…