There are too many doughnuts in my home. I bought some doughnuts last night, coming home from the office Christmas party. There's a little doughnut shop at the train station. They sell doughnuts, as you would expect. So, since I do not regularly enjoy doughnuts very often at all, last night I thought I would pick up some to bring home.
The hungry traveller can buy a selection box of the variously-topped doughnuts, which seems very convenient. Looking at the price list, I see that if you buy one box, you can get a second box at a discount. This seems like good value for money. After all, doughnuts are expensive. Good, but expensive.
What I did not realise, not being a seasoned doughnut purchaser, is that a box of doughnuts is not six doughnuts, it is twelve. Which, by the way, is more. This means that the second box of doughnuts is also not six, it is another twelve, making a total of 24 doughnuts. Plus, as it was late at night, because they would otherwise have gone to waste, because I have a nice smile, or perhaps because they thought I was homeless, they gave me a third box on the house. And a free bag to put them all in.
This is 36 doughnuts, which, by the way, is too many for one person to eat in a sensible timeframe, and a full three times as many as the already too many 12 doughnuts I had been expecting. The result being that I have 30 doughnuts in my fridge (yes I know, I'm a bad boy) still waiting to be eaten. I have a feeling that the remainder may go hard - or off - before I reach them. What is a boy to do?
In recognition of my valued custom and my single-handed attempt at proping up the doughnut economy, they gave me a voucher, which entitles me to 12 more free doughnuts, if I buy another 12 doughnuts in January. By that time, I expect to have learnt my lesson - that even 12 doughnuts is too many doughnuts to purchase at once, let alone buy 12 get 12 free. Either that, or I will have had my Christmas enlivened by one or more heart attacks. In which case, I will probably be in no mood for doughnuts, unless I have to spend any more time in hospital with a "Nil By Mouth" sign over my bed. Which, by the way, is how I spent a couple of days a few weeks ago - but that's another story which I'll tell you later.
Wednesday, 10 December 2008
King Of Postage 4
Another vigorous and successful eBay session at the weekend means that I have some packages to post. Most of this weekend's sales fit easily into jiffy bags and therefore straight into the nice little postbox at the end of my road, but when things get larger and more complicated, inevitably it eventually becomes time for the King of Postage to pay another visit to the Post Office.
So it was today that I braved the icy cold outdoors, trekking across land and sea to make my way to my local office of post. Coming indoors I found it not only to be surprisingly warm, but full of people. In marked contrast to my previous visit, no less. Clearly they were not expecting me, but no matter. I took my place in the queue, observing the ordinary people all around.
Amongst the ten people ahead of me, old ladies, large burly men, people looking dangerously like they wanted to renew their car tax, a tattooed skinhead, and a lady with glasses and crazy hair not entirely unlike my own.
What is more, this lady knew her stuff. She had multiple packages, wrapped up in those blue metallic mailing bags so favoured by eBay sellers. I know, because I had some myself, not so long ago. Obviously a professional.
Behind me, I am distracted by the sounds of sellotape. Someone has clearly not finished wrapping their item, and is finishing off the job in the queue behind me. Maybe they had to come to the post office to pick a suitably-sized jiffy bag off the shelves, and are wrapping things up while they wait. A serious breach of etiquette, not least because it's rude to use a jiffy bag before you have paid for it. The poor fool. But the sounds of sellotaping continue, on and on and on, such that I am forced to turn my head and casually regard the scene unfolding behind me.
It is a horror show. Someone appears to be trying to post a box of chocolates, by wrapping it in multiple layers of sellotape. Round and around, over and over, until it might be in a postable condition. This is amateur packing at best, and I am not impressed. Then I notice how the package is being labelled. The destination address is written on a piece of lined paper, also being furiously sellotaped to the box. Lined paper! Handwritten addresses, on LINED PAPER, being sellotaped around a box!
It is an INSULT. An insult to the King of Postage, directly behind me, in my Royal presence. A lesser man would have objected to such shoddy packaging behaviour, but I maintained my regal stateliness and instead turned back to regarding the crazy hair lady in front of me.
This lady transports her packages in a large striped laundry bag. Oh my. I've done this in my time as well. I look at the address labels on the packages. Handwritten, in a bold but clear handwriting style. Nice touch. And... wait! What is this! She has Royal Mail Recorded Delivery stickers ALREADY ON HER ITEMS! A challenger to the King of Postage! Urgently, I scan her packages for stamps... none there. I maintain superiority, but it is a close fight with a well-prepared foe.
As we shuffle closer to the counters, the lady steps to one side. "You can go ahead of me, I need to go to the window." Aha! A false move! There is no need to wait for the window if you have packages - the main counter can accomodate you as well. I graciously step ahead and make my way to the counter, where I hand over my multiple packages which already have stamps on.
I also have an item to send by Special Delivery, so to give the ladies a treat I decide that I will allow them to process this item as if I were a normal person who did not know how to pre-prepare an SD package. Shiny labels are retrieved from counter drawers, and affixed to my package. The address is checked and is found to be correct - as if there would be any doubt. It'll be £5.05 then, please, and the King is ready with exact change, King-style, because that is how we roll.
I wonder if the nice counter lady could even have been aware that she was not just serving the King of Postage, but also the mighty international Changemaster, lord of all small coins and the necessary 5p pieces which are such a large part of a £5.05 transaction.
Our business transacted, we exchanged mutal thanks and I ventured back out into the icy wind and snow.
"Hail to the King", I am sure I heard someone say, although it might have been lost in the hoo-hah and outrage when the crazy sellotape lady tried to post her box of chocolates.
So it was today that I braved the icy cold outdoors, trekking across land and sea to make my way to my local office of post. Coming indoors I found it not only to be surprisingly warm, but full of people. In marked contrast to my previous visit, no less. Clearly they were not expecting me, but no matter. I took my place in the queue, observing the ordinary people all around.
Amongst the ten people ahead of me, old ladies, large burly men, people looking dangerously like they wanted to renew their car tax, a tattooed skinhead, and a lady with glasses and crazy hair not entirely unlike my own.
What is more, this lady knew her stuff. She had multiple packages, wrapped up in those blue metallic mailing bags so favoured by eBay sellers. I know, because I had some myself, not so long ago. Obviously a professional.
Behind me, I am distracted by the sounds of sellotape. Someone has clearly not finished wrapping their item, and is finishing off the job in the queue behind me. Maybe they had to come to the post office to pick a suitably-sized jiffy bag off the shelves, and are wrapping things up while they wait. A serious breach of etiquette, not least because it's rude to use a jiffy bag before you have paid for it. The poor fool. But the sounds of sellotaping continue, on and on and on, such that I am forced to turn my head and casually regard the scene unfolding behind me.
It is a horror show. Someone appears to be trying to post a box of chocolates, by wrapping it in multiple layers of sellotape. Round and around, over and over, until it might be in a postable condition. This is amateur packing at best, and I am not impressed. Then I notice how the package is being labelled. The destination address is written on a piece of lined paper, also being furiously sellotaped to the box. Lined paper! Handwritten addresses, on LINED PAPER, being sellotaped around a box!
It is an INSULT. An insult to the King of Postage, directly behind me, in my Royal presence. A lesser man would have objected to such shoddy packaging behaviour, but I maintained my regal stateliness and instead turned back to regarding the crazy hair lady in front of me.
This lady transports her packages in a large striped laundry bag. Oh my. I've done this in my time as well. I look at the address labels on the packages. Handwritten, in a bold but clear handwriting style. Nice touch. And... wait! What is this! She has Royal Mail Recorded Delivery stickers ALREADY ON HER ITEMS! A challenger to the King of Postage! Urgently, I scan her packages for stamps... none there. I maintain superiority, but it is a close fight with a well-prepared foe.
As we shuffle closer to the counters, the lady steps to one side. "You can go ahead of me, I need to go to the window." Aha! A false move! There is no need to wait for the window if you have packages - the main counter can accomodate you as well. I graciously step ahead and make my way to the counter, where I hand over my multiple packages which already have stamps on.
I also have an item to send by Special Delivery, so to give the ladies a treat I decide that I will allow them to process this item as if I were a normal person who did not know how to pre-prepare an SD package. Shiny labels are retrieved from counter drawers, and affixed to my package. The address is checked and is found to be correct - as if there would be any doubt. It'll be £5.05 then, please, and the King is ready with exact change, King-style, because that is how we roll.
I wonder if the nice counter lady could even have been aware that she was not just serving the King of Postage, but also the mighty international Changemaster, lord of all small coins and the necessary 5p pieces which are such a large part of a £5.05 transaction.
Our business transacted, we exchanged mutal thanks and I ventured back out into the icy wind and snow.
"Hail to the King", I am sure I heard someone say, although it might have been lost in the hoo-hah and outrage when the crazy sellotape lady tried to post her box of chocolates.
Wednesday, 3 December 2008
Coming Soon
I've been a little negligent in not updating my blog recently. Anyone reading this would think I've been sick for weeks and weeks! Actually that's not too far from the truth, but I'm much better now (thank-you for asking) and I'll write lots more about that soon.
I've just been making my arrangements at work about the huge amount of holiday time that I have to use up before the end of the year. I've managed to transfer some days to next year, but I'll still need to spend most of December on holiday. Which should at least leave me with lots of time to write more blog entries. And who wouldn't be delighted by that?
Back soon with more. :)
I've just been making my arrangements at work about the huge amount of holiday time that I have to use up before the end of the year. I've managed to transfer some days to next year, but I'll still need to spend most of December on holiday. Which should at least leave me with lots of time to write more blog entries. And who wouldn't be delighted by that?
Back soon with more. :)
Thursday, 6 November 2008
Ant is sick
I am sick! I have been felled, like the once mighty buffalo. Yesterday I sneezed lots and lots, and today my whole body aches. I am too hot and too cold at the same time, and I can't sleep.
I am typing this on my phone with just one finger, so weak am I. Whatever evil it is that I have succumbed to, I hope it goes away soon. My brain is still working but I can barely speak a few words without coughing myself silly. And you know how that puts a crimp on a boy's social life.
Maybe I should go take a hot lemon or something.
I am typing this on my phone with just one finger, so weak am I. Whatever evil it is that I have succumbed to, I hope it goes away soon. My brain is still working but I can barely speak a few words without coughing myself silly. And you know how that puts a crimp on a boy's social life.
Maybe I should go take a hot lemon or something.
Wednesday, 29 October 2008
King Of Postage and eBay
Oh my, I am prolific right now. This weekend I sold no less than 70 items on eBay. Yes, seventy items. Nothing of any great importance - the odd DVD here, the occasional pair of ski trousers there, a 2001 calendar, and so on - but I remain very pleased (and slightly surprised) at the worldwide demand for my bits and pieces.
Spain, Germany, Czechoslovakia (as was), Australia, Russia. The demand for my items is universal. It is a wonderful thing. Since I sold most of these items for 99p plus postage, it's not really about the money (although a few items did go for a surprising amount), it's really about the space which these items are no longer taking up in my home. And that has to be a good thing, since if I don't put a move on I'll be crossing the two-year anniversary of "tidying up", and that really would be going on a bit long.
In any case, whenever a large number of items need to be posted, the King of Postage swings into action. And today your King has been vigorous, wrapping up parcels and packets aplenty. Many once-used jiffy bags were re-used, in order to save the many dolphins of the rainforest. Much brown paper was used in the wrapping up of the larger items. Sticky labels and sellotape in all directions, a veritable whirlwind of activity has been seen here for the past few days.
On Monday and Tuesday, many smaller items - the ones that fit in a postbox - were dispatched on their way to the eagerly waiting buyers. Today, it was time for the King to take the bigger parcels and packages to the Post Office.
Normally, the Post Office is a dismal affair, as much time is spent queueing behind ordinary non-Kingly people, often clogging up the place with non-postage related activities. People wanting travellers cheques, renewing their car tax, a confluence of nuisance and delay.
But today, upon entering the establishment... no queue. In fact, no customers at all. Clearly the place had been cleared in advance of the King's arrival, in order to ensure that business was transacted without delay. I very much approve of this situation. I walked straight to the counter (without even having to walk around the little maze-style queuing system around the back of the shelves of cardboard rolls and birthday cards) and offered my regal instructions.
"These all have stamps on already, apart from one," I said. The ladies behind the counter flushed red with obvious excitement at being in such proximity to such an accomplished King of Postage. I began handing my packages across the counter. A small faux-pas as one of the ladies made a motion to move one of the packages onto the weighing scales -- as if they were going to put all of my regal items THROUGH THE TILL LIKE SOME KIND OF COMMONER! Her more experienced colleague shot her a swift glance to indicate that this would not be good for anyone. I pretended not to notice this clear breach of Royal protocol, and did so with good humour, since it is of course not everyone who is accustomed to such Kingly procedures.
Package after package after package, and then, finally... the one item to be stamped. A clear honour for the postage staff, as you can imagine. "Small packet, Airmail, International Signed-For, please." An expensive high-rolling request at the best of times, but in the presence of the King, a once in a lifetime opportunity. Both ladies blushed with pride (and perhaps arousal) at being called to my imperial service in this fashion. Nonetheless they were able to secure the required sticky labels and barcodes, and even managed to type the crazy foreign address into their automatic computer.
Our business conducted, I thanked the ladies very much for their time, and bade them farewell.
"Hail to the King!", I am sure I heard one of them say, as I left.
Spain, Germany, Czechoslovakia (as was), Australia, Russia. The demand for my items is universal. It is a wonderful thing. Since I sold most of these items for 99p plus postage, it's not really about the money (although a few items did go for a surprising amount), it's really about the space which these items are no longer taking up in my home. And that has to be a good thing, since if I don't put a move on I'll be crossing the two-year anniversary of "tidying up", and that really would be going on a bit long.
In any case, whenever a large number of items need to be posted, the King of Postage swings into action. And today your King has been vigorous, wrapping up parcels and packets aplenty. Many once-used jiffy bags were re-used, in order to save the many dolphins of the rainforest. Much brown paper was used in the wrapping up of the larger items. Sticky labels and sellotape in all directions, a veritable whirlwind of activity has been seen here for the past few days.
On Monday and Tuesday, many smaller items - the ones that fit in a postbox - were dispatched on their way to the eagerly waiting buyers. Today, it was time for the King to take the bigger parcels and packages to the Post Office.
Normally, the Post Office is a dismal affair, as much time is spent queueing behind ordinary non-Kingly people, often clogging up the place with non-postage related activities. People wanting travellers cheques, renewing their car tax, a confluence of nuisance and delay.
But today, upon entering the establishment... no queue. In fact, no customers at all. Clearly the place had been cleared in advance of the King's arrival, in order to ensure that business was transacted without delay. I very much approve of this situation. I walked straight to the counter (without even having to walk around the little maze-style queuing system around the back of the shelves of cardboard rolls and birthday cards) and offered my regal instructions.
"These all have stamps on already, apart from one," I said. The ladies behind the counter flushed red with obvious excitement at being in such proximity to such an accomplished King of Postage. I began handing my packages across the counter. A small faux-pas as one of the ladies made a motion to move one of the packages onto the weighing scales -- as if they were going to put all of my regal items THROUGH THE TILL LIKE SOME KIND OF COMMONER! Her more experienced colleague shot her a swift glance to indicate that this would not be good for anyone. I pretended not to notice this clear breach of Royal protocol, and did so with good humour, since it is of course not everyone who is accustomed to such Kingly procedures.
Package after package after package, and then, finally... the one item to be stamped. A clear honour for the postage staff, as you can imagine. "Small packet, Airmail, International Signed-For, please." An expensive high-rolling request at the best of times, but in the presence of the King, a once in a lifetime opportunity. Both ladies blushed with pride (and perhaps arousal) at being called to my imperial service in this fashion. Nonetheless they were able to secure the required sticky labels and barcodes, and even managed to type the crazy foreign address into their automatic computer.
Our business conducted, I thanked the ladies very much for their time, and bade them farewell.
"Hail to the King!", I am sure I heard one of them say, as I left.
Sunday, 26 October 2008
Up Rather Early
From my window I see a wet and rainy city skyline. And I seem to be up rather early. I can only attribute this to the miracle of the clocks going back, but even so, being up at 8am is really like being up at 9am, so actually I guess that's still good.I expect I'm going to be walking around, mentally adjusting for what time "it realy is" for a good few days.
Saturday, 25 October 2008
Temporary Informational Posting
I think I'd go so far as to say that the move from AOL Journals is now complete! The posts from January 2007 and earlier that were missing their pictures are now no longer - missing their pictures, that is. And while I'm here, I've tidied up a few other bits and pieces, and changed the colours to something less nasty more pleasing too.
Only a few days of the old AOL Journals blog pages to go, then they disappear into a black hole in space. Perhaps the rest of AOL will join them before too long as well. Not that I'm bearing a grudge, or anything. Blogger (and Wordpress) have always been much better. :)
Only a few days of the old AOL Journals blog pages to go, then they disappear into a black hole in space. Perhaps the rest of AOL will join them before too long as well. Not that I'm bearing a grudge, or anything. Blogger (and Wordpress) have always been much better. :)
Tuesday, 21 October 2008
Urgent Action Required
I have become aware that my eating habits are costing me a fortune. Not directly, that is, but indirectly, in a sneaky and altogether entirely hidden manner, by way of my apparently innocent-looking fridge and freezer.
Between the two of them, these household appliances are costing me £220 a year in electricity. No kidding.
My kitchen appliances had escaped me and my power meter as I walked around the house earlier in the year, thereby avoiding my thorough audit of energy use. But now I have them brought to rights. I have now plugged in my little meter, and now I have the data, oh yes.
My little chest freezer uses 95 watts. All the time, apparently. That's not good. My big fridge-freezer uses 135 watts. All the time, apparently. That's even less good. Long story short, this is costing me money.
Even though these appliances were "A" rated for energy efficiency in their day, that was a long time ago. Nowadays, an "A" rated fridge freezer, or even an A+, which is new, could use as little as 250kWh/year. (In non-geek speak, that's about £30 a year of electricity.)
£30 instead of £220 gets my vote. If I actually went out and bought a new freezer, it'd pay for itself in about a year. Well, if it was a cheap one, anyway. Maybe a couple of years for an expensive one.
I suspect, though, that I may have to curb my free-wheeling international playboy two-freezer lifestyle if I am to save as much money as possible.. er.. I mean, if I am to save the environment as much as possible. After all I do care about the toucans and the monkeys and the dolphins.
Can a man live with just one freezer? I wonder. And what am I to do with the old ones, which apart from being complete oil-burning hogs of things, are otherwise perfectly good and have absolutely nothing wrong with them?
Sunday, 19 October 2008
Amazing mobile blogging test thang
I am posting this from my phone. Soon no part of my day will remain unblogged. Good eh?
Friday, 10 October 2008
How To Move
One of the annoying things about AOL UK is that they're often just not very good at things. For example, on the news that AOL Journals was closing down, the best advice they could offer was "how about you copy and paste your blog into Microsoft Word?".
Happily in other parts of the world, they try a little harder. So it is over at AOL America where they've actually partnered with the nice people at Blogger to offer an almost completely automatic, super-simple-to-use way of moving your blog from AOL to Blogger all in one go. It even saves all the comments that people have left on your blog, too. The especially good news is that even though they've not told anyone in the UK about it, it actually works just fine for our blogs too.
Pay a visit to http://www.peopleconnectionblog.com/2008/10/08/transferring-your-aol-journals-blog-to-blogger-com/ to read more. And don't forget to bookmark our new home at http://antnoise2000.blogspot.com
Happily in other parts of the world, they try a little harder. So it is over at AOL America where they've actually partnered with the nice people at Blogger to offer an almost completely automatic, super-simple-to-use way of moving your blog from AOL to Blogger all in one go. It even saves all the comments that people have left on your blog, too. The especially good news is that even though they've not told anyone in the UK about it, it actually works just fine for our blogs too.
Pay a visit to http://www.peopleconnectionblog.com/2008/10/08/transferring-your-aol-journals-blog-to-blogger-com/ to read more. And don't forget to bookmark our new home at http://antnoise2000.blogspot.com
Friday, 3 October 2008
Warning! Warning!
I'd just like to apologise for being a moron and pointing everyone towards the wrong web address for where this blog is moving to after the no-good heels and bums at AOL close everything down on October 31st.
So, that new address for all your balloon-loving adventures is http://antnoise2000.blogspot.com/ and not the other one which I got wrong a few days ago. (Blush.)
If you pay it a visit right now, you'll see about two month's worth of most-recent entries from here, and the even older entries will be moved over during the next few weeks. Enjoy. :)
Wednesday, 1 October 2008
Right Said Fred
In recent weeks I have become the subject for much unjust and unfair criticism due to my curtain choices. May I present, exhibit A:
Yes! Garfield. All hail Garfield. All hail the curtains of Garfield, pictured above. Although they are a bit faded, and as you'll see from the picture above, kind of hung in a less than excellent way.
I don't care if anyone else likes my curtains. Criticism of my styling choices only reinforces my desire to keep them. So I was not swayed by anyone in any way when I decided that it was time to replace these curtains with something else. I was already planning on doing so. Yes.
So I began scouring the internet for alternatives. First I checked eBay. And I found these!
These curtains would be nothing less than fantastic, I'm sure. They are also Garfield, but probably less faded and altogether equally as excellent. However, in these modern times I must think not only of myself, but also of other people. After all, if I bring several fantastically hot supermodels home, and they insist on sharing my bed, as is to be expected in line with my obvious sex god status, the Garfield curtains may kill the mood. Perhaps I need something more neutral.
And so it was that I set out into town, determined to buy some new curtains. And also some curtain hooks, which are also important. Happily, while scanning the carefully-laminated pages of the Argos catalogue in my local emporium, I found some excellent curtains. I also took the time to pick up an electric screwdriver, a foot-pump (for blowing up some inflatable furniture which I found while tidying up - but that's for another time), and some curtain hooks (described as 'suitable for all curtains and curtain rails', and how could that be bad?)
The sounds of the great Bernard Cribbins began playing in my mind as I returned home and began my quest to replace my existing curtains with new ones.
"Right said Fred, both of us together, one each end and steady as we go...
Tried to to shift it, couldn't even lift it, we was getting nowhere
And so, we, had a cup of tea..."
First problem. These curtain hooks "suitable for all curtains and curtain rails" don't fit my curtain rails. It turns out that what I have isn't a curtain rail, it's a curtain track, which, by the way, is different. Now I KNOW that I have the right hooks for these rails somewhere around here.. I'm just not sure where.
"Right said Fred, give a shout to Charlie, up comes Charlie from the floor below...
After straining, heaving and complaining, we was getting nowhere
And so, we, had a cup of tea..."
But then.. success! After looking through every drawer in the house, eventually I find the correct curtain hooks in a carrier bag at the back of a cupboard in the kitchen. And apparently they're not called curtain hooks, they're called curtain "gliders". Which, by the way, is different. But no matter, because I've found them. And so, back upstairs we go.
"Charlie had a think and he thought we ought, to take off all the handles...
And the things what held the candles... but it did no good, well I never thought it would..."
I very carefully attach the 'gliders' onto my new curtains, and try to get them onto the curtain rail.. And suddenly... disaster! No good! These 'gliders' are for a curtain rail which is ever-so-ever-so-ever-so-slightly smaller than the curtain rail already screwed to the top of my window!
I could give up right here, resolve to visit my local hardware shop tomorrow, and buy curtain "gliders" of the ever-so-ever-so-ever-so-slightly larger size.. But that would mean admitting defeat. And I already have hundreds of perfectly good gliders which it would be a shame to waste.
No problem. I happen to have a spare curtain rail. It's been stuck underneath the stair bannister for the last ten years as I couldn't find anywhere better to store it. But I still have it - ready for just such an occasion. So I just need to replace the rail. Easy.
"OH right, said Fred! Have to take the feet off, to get them feet off wouldn't take a mo...
Took its feet off, even with the seat off, should've got us somewhere, but no...
So Fred said let's have another cup of tea and we said right-o."
The rail doesn't fix onto the wall using the same fixings as are holding up the current rail. So I'll need to change those fixings as well. Not a problem, I actually have some fixings of the correct size, because they were in the same bag as the curtain hooks. I am nothing if not organised.
"Right said Fred, have to take the door off, need more space to shift the so and so...
Had bad twinges taking off the hinges, and it got us nowhere
And so, we, had a cup of tea.."
Soon, the old fixings are removed, and the new fixings are up in their place. Of course this isn't a hard job for someone of my DIY expertise, and so this is swiftly followed by the rail going up. And it looks marvellous, just ready for my new curtains and the 'gliders' which are already attached to them. Nothing can go wrong.
"Right said Fred, have to take the wall down, that there wall is gonna have to go...
Took the wall down, even with it all down, we was getting nowhere
And so, we, had a cup of tea..."
Turns out that there curtain rail which I've just spent ages screwing firmly into place is UPSIDE DOWN, which, by the way, means that the curtains won't go on! Unless I too hang them upside down, and that doesn't sound like a plan at all. Time to unscrew the whole lot, turn it around, and screw it back up again.
"Charlie had a think and and he said "Look Fred, I've got a sort of feeling...
If we remove the ceiling... with a rope or two, we can drop the blighter though!"
With the curtain rail fixed to the wall the right way up, the gliders slide onto the rail very nicely. I screw the end-bits firmly into place (which stops the curtains from sliding off either side of the rail) and step back to admire my handywork. The curtains open and close very nicely. Apart from the one on the right which is hanging a little strangely... why is that? Oh, I see, it's because some of the gliders actually aren't on the rail at all, they're hanging off... No, that's fine, I'll just unscrew the end pieces, take the curtains OFF the rail - again - and then put them back ON the rail - again.
"Right said Fred, climbing up a ladder, with his crowbar gave a mighty blow...
Was he in trouble, half a ton of rubble, landed on the top of his dome
So Charlie and me had another cup of tea and then we went home."
And after all that, it was actually fine. Look:
"I said to Charlie, 'We'll just have to leave it standing on the landing that's all.'
You see the trouble with Fred is he's too hasty.
Now you never get nowhere if you're too hasty."
I probably will buy those Garfield curtains as well, just in case I change my mind in future.
Yes! Garfield. All hail Garfield. All hail the curtains of Garfield, pictured above. Although they are a bit faded, and as you'll see from the picture above, kind of hung in a less than excellent way.
I don't care if anyone else likes my curtains. Criticism of my styling choices only reinforces my desire to keep them. So I was not swayed by anyone in any way when I decided that it was time to replace these curtains with something else. I was already planning on doing so. Yes.
So I began scouring the internet for alternatives. First I checked eBay. And I found these!
These curtains would be nothing less than fantastic, I'm sure. They are also Garfield, but probably less faded and altogether equally as excellent. However, in these modern times I must think not only of myself, but also of other people. After all, if I bring several fantastically hot supermodels home, and they insist on sharing my bed, as is to be expected in line with my obvious sex god status, the Garfield curtains may kill the mood. Perhaps I need something more neutral.
And so it was that I set out into town, determined to buy some new curtains. And also some curtain hooks, which are also important. Happily, while scanning the carefully-laminated pages of the Argos catalogue in my local emporium, I found some excellent curtains. I also took the time to pick up an electric screwdriver, a foot-pump (for blowing up some inflatable furniture which I found while tidying up - but that's for another time), and some curtain hooks (described as 'suitable for all curtains and curtain rails', and how could that be bad?)
The sounds of the great Bernard Cribbins began playing in my mind as I returned home and began my quest to replace my existing curtains with new ones.
"Right said Fred, both of us together, one each end and steady as we go...
Tried to to shift it, couldn't even lift it, we was getting nowhere
And so, we, had a cup of tea..."
First problem. These curtain hooks "suitable for all curtains and curtain rails" don't fit my curtain rails. It turns out that what I have isn't a curtain rail, it's a curtain track, which, by the way, is different. Now I KNOW that I have the right hooks for these rails somewhere around here.. I'm just not sure where.
"Right said Fred, give a shout to Charlie, up comes Charlie from the floor below...
After straining, heaving and complaining, we was getting nowhere
And so, we, had a cup of tea..."
But then.. success! After looking through every drawer in the house, eventually I find the correct curtain hooks in a carrier bag at the back of a cupboard in the kitchen. And apparently they're not called curtain hooks, they're called curtain "gliders". Which, by the way, is different. But no matter, because I've found them. And so, back upstairs we go.
"Charlie had a think and he thought we ought, to take off all the handles...
And the things what held the candles... but it did no good, well I never thought it would..."
I very carefully attach the 'gliders' onto my new curtains, and try to get them onto the curtain rail.. And suddenly... disaster! No good! These 'gliders' are for a curtain rail which is ever-so-ever-so-ever-so-slightly smaller than the curtain rail already screwed to the top of my window!
I could give up right here, resolve to visit my local hardware shop tomorrow, and buy curtain "gliders" of the ever-so-ever-so-ever-so-slightly larger size.. But that would mean admitting defeat. And I already have hundreds of perfectly good gliders which it would be a shame to waste.
No problem. I happen to have a spare curtain rail. It's been stuck underneath the stair bannister for the last ten years as I couldn't find anywhere better to store it. But I still have it - ready for just such an occasion. So I just need to replace the rail. Easy.
"OH right, said Fred! Have to take the feet off, to get them feet off wouldn't take a mo...
Took its feet off, even with the seat off, should've got us somewhere, but no...
So Fred said let's have another cup of tea and we said right-o."
The rail doesn't fix onto the wall using the same fixings as are holding up the current rail. So I'll need to change those fixings as well. Not a problem, I actually have some fixings of the correct size, because they were in the same bag as the curtain hooks. I am nothing if not organised.
"Right said Fred, have to take the door off, need more space to shift the so and so...
Had bad twinges taking off the hinges, and it got us nowhere
And so, we, had a cup of tea.."
Soon, the old fixings are removed, and the new fixings are up in their place. Of course this isn't a hard job for someone of my DIY expertise, and so this is swiftly followed by the rail going up. And it looks marvellous, just ready for my new curtains and the 'gliders' which are already attached to them. Nothing can go wrong.
"Right said Fred, have to take the wall down, that there wall is gonna have to go...
Took the wall down, even with it all down, we was getting nowhere
And so, we, had a cup of tea..."
Turns out that there curtain rail which I've just spent ages screwing firmly into place is UPSIDE DOWN, which, by the way, means that the curtains won't go on! Unless I too hang them upside down, and that doesn't sound like a plan at all. Time to unscrew the whole lot, turn it around, and screw it back up again.
"Charlie had a think and and he said "Look Fred, I've got a sort of feeling...
If we remove the ceiling... with a rope or two, we can drop the blighter though!"
With the curtain rail fixed to the wall the right way up, the gliders slide onto the rail very nicely. I screw the end-bits firmly into place (which stops the curtains from sliding off either side of the rail) and step back to admire my handywork. The curtains open and close very nicely. Apart from the one on the right which is hanging a little strangely... why is that? Oh, I see, it's because some of the gliders actually aren't on the rail at all, they're hanging off... No, that's fine, I'll just unscrew the end pieces, take the curtains OFF the rail - again - and then put them back ON the rail - again.
"Right said Fred, climbing up a ladder, with his crowbar gave a mighty blow...
Was he in trouble, half a ton of rubble, landed on the top of his dome
So Charlie and me had another cup of tea and then we went home."
And after all that, it was actually fine. Look:
"I said to Charlie, 'We'll just have to leave it standing on the landing that's all.'
You see the trouble with Fred is he's too hasty.
Now you never get nowhere if you're too hasty."
I probably will buy those Garfield curtains as well, just in case I change my mind in future.
I'd just like to say how much AOL sucks
I've never been a great fan of AOL, especially not since they got bought up by Carphone Warehouse and that Charles Dunstone fellow whose oily salesmen attracted my ire a few years back. Now if it isn't the cherry on the cake that they go and announce "Hello everyone, you know your blogs? Well we're deleting them all in 30 days. If you want anything you've written then you'd better back it up - we hear copy and paste is good. Ta-ta."
Needless to say, this means a new home must be found for my important writings. Personally I've always liked Blogger, so in future make sure you check http://antnoise2000.blogspot.com for all your Balloon-Loving adventures.
At the time I write this, there's only going to be this post there, but I'll copy over all my old posts during the next few days. Trust me, it'll be much better, really.
Friday, 26 September 2008
Thursday, 25 September 2008
Spiffy
My wall is no longer adorned by nasty brown patches. No! For these patches have now been covered up by not-quite-matching but still really quite similar squares of brighter, whiter wallpaper.
I'm not very good at wallpapering, but happily it seems that modern technology allows any fool with a paste brush to slather paste all over the wall, shove some paper in roughly the right place, and achieve a pleasing result. With the result that I am indeed pleased.
Carpet tiles next. Wa ha ha hah. :)
I'm not very good at wallpapering, but happily it seems that modern technology allows any fool with a paste brush to slather paste all over the wall, shove some paper in roughly the right place, and achieve a pleasing result. With the result that I am indeed pleased.
Carpet tiles next. Wa ha ha hah. :)
Wednesday, 24 September 2008
Dirty Ant
Eururrrrgh!!
Well, it's all happening. I decided this afternoon that it was time to get rid of my old bed. It has been providing good service for ten years or so (and wasn't even brand new then!) but just recently it has been lumpy and bumpy, the matress going all weird and poking my bottom with its springs in protest. But today is the end. It is all part of the plan. Old broken-down double bed leaves, lovely carpet tiles go down, new box-fresh freshly assembled single bed is replaced on top. All is well.
At least the first part of that is out of the way. But here's the thing, if you ever get a chance to touch an old bed, don't. It really is very disgusting. I mean, my bed was fine for the purposes of laying down on, but once you start moving and lifting its parts, nothing but filth and grossness is found. Dust, fluff, crumbs, long-lost pairs of socks, newspapers, magazines, pens, floppy discs.. and more dust. And more fluff. And loads and loads of general 'ick'.
Unpleasant, yes indeed. Having moved the bed I notice that my wallpaper has nasty stains on it from where my body (and mostly my greasy head) has been near it. Nasty patches of discolouration and more ick. Gross gross gross gross gross!
I may have to replace the wallpaper before the carpet tiles go down. I had a look through the cupboards and found that the old "never throw anything away" mantra paid off nicely, as I found some offcuts of the wallpaper used for this room some ten years ago. I probably don't have quite enough to remove and re-lay the whole floor-to-ceiling parts, but I've probably got enough square bits that I could kind of paste over the brown bits. I'm sure it won't come through or anything like that.
It seems that I stain everything I go near. This leaves me feeling really rather unclean. Perhaps I should try living in a plastic bubble instead. Although that might make it hard to buy wallpaper paste, which I think I should try doing tomorrow.
Well, it's all happening. I decided this afternoon that it was time to get rid of my old bed. It has been providing good service for ten years or so (and wasn't even brand new then!) but just recently it has been lumpy and bumpy, the matress going all weird and poking my bottom with its springs in protest. But today is the end. It is all part of the plan. Old broken-down double bed leaves, lovely carpet tiles go down, new box-fresh freshly assembled single bed is replaced on top. All is well.
At least the first part of that is out of the way. But here's the thing, if you ever get a chance to touch an old bed, don't. It really is very disgusting. I mean, my bed was fine for the purposes of laying down on, but once you start moving and lifting its parts, nothing but filth and grossness is found. Dust, fluff, crumbs, long-lost pairs of socks, newspapers, magazines, pens, floppy discs.. and more dust. And more fluff. And loads and loads of general 'ick'.
Unpleasant, yes indeed. Having moved the bed I notice that my wallpaper has nasty stains on it from where my body (and mostly my greasy head) has been near it. Nasty patches of discolouration and more ick. Gross gross gross gross gross!
I may have to replace the wallpaper before the carpet tiles go down. I had a look through the cupboards and found that the old "never throw anything away" mantra paid off nicely, as I found some offcuts of the wallpaper used for this room some ten years ago. I probably don't have quite enough to remove and re-lay the whole floor-to-ceiling parts, but I've probably got enough square bits that I could kind of paste over the brown bits. I'm sure it won't come through or anything like that.
It seems that I stain everything I go near. This leaves me feeling really rather unclean. Perhaps I should try living in a plastic bubble instead. Although that might make it hard to buy wallpaper paste, which I think I should try doing tomorrow.
Monday, 22 September 2008
Words and Pictures
I am feeling busy and efficient. Witness my astonishing progress:
Parcels.. sent!
Bedroom carpet... planned!
Environment - saved! (The red line is how much electricity I used last year, the towers are how much I used this year - which is less!)
Good lord, I am productive today.
Sunday, 21 September 2008
Jazzed
I can't believe I've left it nearly three weeks without writing a blog entry. Well, actually I can, because I've been kinda busy. But in a good way.
While it's not a particularly interesting subject, I feel compelled to chronicle just how jazzed I am feeling about my recent activities. I've sold quite a lot of stuff on eBay, and also found some people to give lots of other stuff to. This week I posted off no less than 29 items which I sold on eBay at the weekend, and as I write there are five very LARGE boxes of tat (mostly video tapes) downstairs by the door, waiting for a courier to take them all to good homes tomorrow.
Upstairs, life is good. I have more floor space than ever. I still have boxes, but at least they're neat, and diminishing by the day. I even have two spares right now which don't immediately have anything to fill them with. Yesterday I threw away a very old TV 'Pong' game, without even trying to see if I could sell it on eBay. (Although I did check later just to make sure it wasn't valuable - and it doesn't look like it is.) So that's good.
I have further tidiness plans for the week, too. On Tuesday, my old double matress with the springs which point outwards and unexpectedly surprise me in the night -- well, it shall be gone. Away down to the dump it is going. Followed shortly by the rest of the double bed. This will be followed by a few days sleeping on the floor, no doubt, until my nice new carpet tiles finally arrive. Once laid, the carpet tiles shall be augmented by having a brand spangly new bed installed on top of them. A single bed, what is more, on account of how it takes up less room. And there will be space underneath to put some plastic storage boxes too, which I am already busily filling.
The moment of victory is approaching. I shall soon be tidy and carpeted. There is still much to do, but I'm getting there. If everything goes well and I can keep up the momentum, I might even be done by Christmas. I guess two years isn't too bad for tidying up 20 years worth of accumulated 'stuff', after all...
Monday, 1 September 2008
Spoiling It For Everybody
Up and down the country, in the supermarkets of this land, are express checkout queues where entrance (and subsequent checkout) is permitted only to those people who have "ten items or less".
This is obviously no good for the interfering nuisances at the Plain English Campaign, who think that this should be stopped.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/business/7590440.stm
"Ten items or less" is clear, and has no ambiguity. So therefore, it must immediately be changed to something else, like "Up To Ten Items" instead.
[The Change] "is easy to understand and avoids any debate," said a spokesman for the notorious hippies and nogoodniks at The Plain English Campaign.
Avoids any debate? I don't think so. "Up to 10 items.." so does that mean that 10 is OK, or can you only have UP TO but not including 10? So 1 item, 2 items, 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 items, all OK.. but ten items.. Is ten items the maximum allowed, or the minimum disallowed? Room for disagreement there.
If only they could introduce some clearer wording which leaves no room for doubt. How about "Ten items or less" ? And the bespectacled geeks who come out of the woodwork and say "Ah, I think you'll find that actually it should read ten items or FEWER" can go back to their empty lives and their collection of leather-bound dictionaries which are the closest they will ever get to sleeping with an actual woman.
Just so long as I'm not saying anything controversial, right?
This is obviously no good for the interfering nuisances at the Plain English Campaign, who think that this should be stopped.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/business/7590440.stm
"Ten items or less" is clear, and has no ambiguity. So therefore, it must immediately be changed to something else, like "Up To Ten Items" instead.
[The Change] "is easy to understand and avoids any debate," said a spokesman for the notorious hippies and nogoodniks at The Plain English Campaign.
Avoids any debate? I don't think so. "Up to 10 items.." so does that mean that 10 is OK, or can you only have UP TO but not including 10? So 1 item, 2 items, 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 items, all OK.. but ten items.. Is ten items the maximum allowed, or the minimum disallowed? Room for disagreement there.
If only they could introduce some clearer wording which leaves no room for doubt. How about "Ten items or less" ? And the bespectacled geeks who come out of the woodwork and say "Ah, I think you'll find that actually it should read ten items or FEWER" can go back to their empty lives and their collection of leather-bound dictionaries which are the closest they will ever get to sleeping with an actual woman.
Just so long as I'm not saying anything controversial, right?
Monday, 25 August 2008
Boxes
It has been a day of tidying. A day of boxes. Moving things around, in the eternal jigsaw puzzle that is "the tidying-up project", in order to properly ascertain, in a correct and scientific way, the things which I can live without, and those things that I must continue to keep forever and ever and ever.
Progress has been good on the boxes of old videotapes. Nobody seems to want them on eBay but I have found a few people online who might take them off my hands.
I have, therefore, been studiously going through the tapes. There is method to my madness. Tapes which are not of a regulation length - anything less than E180 - get watched, dubbed (if necessary), and dumped. Progress here is so good that my upstairs bin is overflowing with video tapes. Tapes which are E180 or above get watched (in fast forward), classified appropriately (old and uninteresting, old and interesting, new and interesting, tapes in need of advanced dubbing, tapes to be held for further examination at a later date...) and so on.
The upshot of this madness is that I can, at least, persuade myself to let go of a few hundred bulky tapes which were otherwise taking up space, and what is more, that I can do so in a way which does not trigger huge massive anxiety and feelings of loss and regret. Stop looking at me like that, I am not crazy. This is science. I am dealing with my excess hoarding in a scientific manner. Speaking of which:
See this? These are R-Kive/Fellowes Bankers Box cardboard storage boxes, the very type about which I blogged with such enthusiasm some months ago. I hasten to add that the boxes in the photo above are not mine, but in fact those of noted dead film director Mr Stanley Kubrick. This is his "archive", full of old notes and letters which he wrote or received.
It is comforting to know that I am in good company. Although if I was Mr Stanley I probably wouldn't have got rid of them either - after all, future generations and historians would find them ever so interesting. That said, I disposed of most of my paper storage a long time ago, scanning everything into neat little PDF files on my computer. Mr Kubrick really should have bought a scanner.
But truly it is a triple-play day when it comes to boxes, for today I have also been thinking about "food miles", and the hippy eco-warrior idea that it's not good to buy carrots from Tesco that have been shipped thousands of miles around the world, sometimes on proper aeroplanes and everything. This is very bad for the monkeys and the toucans and the dolphins in the rainforest, who get heated up by the carbon, and such. So, "local food" is the way to go.
I am a man of means, and I like my groceries one way - delivered. Happily it turns out that I can have delivery and save the planet at the same time, thanks to a new idea of "food boxes", whereby local farms and such all club together and deliver boxes of food to people in the local area. Eating food that has been grown right on your doorstep - well, not right on your doorstep, my doorstep is a bit mucky but I don't think you could grow vegetables there - anyway, it's very good for the enviro mint because the carrots only travel a short distance in a van, rather than thousands of miles in first class.
I visited a website, typed in my postcode, and was delighted to discover that they deliver in my area. The driver's name is Dave, and he already passes my door every Thursday. If I order next week, I could have a box filled with organic bananas, potatoes, beetroots, a butternut squash, whatever that is, and more besides.
I am almost beside myself with joy. All round, it has been rather a nice day.
Progress has been good on the boxes of old videotapes. Nobody seems to want them on eBay but I have found a few people online who might take them off my hands.
I have, therefore, been studiously going through the tapes. There is method to my madness. Tapes which are not of a regulation length - anything less than E180 - get watched, dubbed (if necessary), and dumped. Progress here is so good that my upstairs bin is overflowing with video tapes. Tapes which are E180 or above get watched (in fast forward), classified appropriately (old and uninteresting, old and interesting, new and interesting, tapes in need of advanced dubbing, tapes to be held for further examination at a later date...) and so on.
The upshot of this madness is that I can, at least, persuade myself to let go of a few hundred bulky tapes which were otherwise taking up space, and what is more, that I can do so in a way which does not trigger huge massive anxiety and feelings of loss and regret. Stop looking at me like that, I am not crazy. This is science. I am dealing with my excess hoarding in a scientific manner. Speaking of which:
See this? These are R-Kive/Fellowes Bankers Box cardboard storage boxes, the very type about which I blogged with such enthusiasm some months ago. I hasten to add that the boxes in the photo above are not mine, but in fact those of noted dead film director Mr Stanley Kubrick. This is his "archive", full of old notes and letters which he wrote or received.
It is comforting to know that I am in good company. Although if I was Mr Stanley I probably wouldn't have got rid of them either - after all, future generations and historians would find them ever so interesting. That said, I disposed of most of my paper storage a long time ago, scanning everything into neat little PDF files on my computer. Mr Kubrick really should have bought a scanner.
But truly it is a triple-play day when it comes to boxes, for today I have also been thinking about "food miles", and the hippy eco-warrior idea that it's not good to buy carrots from Tesco that have been shipped thousands of miles around the world, sometimes on proper aeroplanes and everything. This is very bad for the monkeys and the toucans and the dolphins in the rainforest, who get heated up by the carbon, and such. So, "local food" is the way to go.
I am a man of means, and I like my groceries one way - delivered. Happily it turns out that I can have delivery and save the planet at the same time, thanks to a new idea of "food boxes", whereby local farms and such all club together and deliver boxes of food to people in the local area. Eating food that has been grown right on your doorstep - well, not right on your doorstep, my doorstep is a bit mucky but I don't think you could grow vegetables there - anyway, it's very good for the enviro mint because the carrots only travel a short distance in a van, rather than thousands of miles in first class.
I visited a website, typed in my postcode, and was delighted to discover that they deliver in my area. The driver's name is Dave, and he already passes my door every Thursday. If I order next week, I could have a box filled with organic bananas, potatoes, beetroots, a butternut squash, whatever that is, and more besides.
I am almost beside myself with joy. All round, it has been rather a nice day.
Tuesday, 19 August 2008
Happy Hippo: Stay or Go?
There comes a time in every busy declutterer's life when the truly hard decisions need to be made. This is one of those times. In nearly 18 months of throwing things away, (or rearranging the things I can't get rid of just yet) I have never faced such a dilemma.
That dilemma is this:
Observe - a blue hippo. I bought this on eBay because it looked lonely and life really is too short to allow hippos to lead an unhappy life. It's a very nice hippo. It is blue, and as the original auction described, it is "made of pottery".
But alas, the hip hippo has remained in its original packaging almost ever since I received it. And we are now at the point where Mr Hippo is, in fact, taking up room that could be better filled by some free space instead.
But is it right to throw it away? It is a happy looking hippo, after all. Surely I should be ruthless and show no mercy, though. And, what is more, it is slightly imperfect. Observe:
Yes, that little pinkish bit is the underlying pottery, of which the hippo has been made.
So... happy hippo - stay or go? You decide, because I can't. Please vote by leaving a comment, won't you?
That dilemma is this:
Observe - a blue hippo. I bought this on eBay because it looked lonely and life really is too short to allow hippos to lead an unhappy life. It's a very nice hippo. It is blue, and as the original auction described, it is "made of pottery".
But alas, the hip hippo has remained in its original packaging almost ever since I received it. And we are now at the point where Mr Hippo is, in fact, taking up room that could be better filled by some free space instead.
But is it right to throw it away? It is a happy looking hippo, after all. Surely I should be ruthless and show no mercy, though. And, what is more, it is slightly imperfect. Observe:
Yes, that little pinkish bit is the underlying pottery, of which the hippo has been made.
So... happy hippo - stay or go? You decide, because I can't. Please vote by leaving a comment, won't you?
Monday, 18 August 2008
I Must Blog All Day Long
I can't help but notice that I've not been blogging as much recently. Clearly, with millions and millions of readers hanging on my every word, this will never do. So today I shall attempt to break the writer's block (actually that sounds a bit grand, so let's just call it "block") by live blogging about my fantastically interesting day.
As I speak, men with hammers are downstairs making changes to my window ledge, which used to be very good until an enormous crack appeared and I could see the outside through it. I hear sounds of plaster and mastic being mixed and applied and smoothed all over the place.
I am not observing them in person, for that would probably be annoying and/or awkward. I am content to leave them to their industry.
More live updates as the day progresses!
UPDATE: 12.01pm. Men have left. Windowledge all better, although it needs a plastics expert to come and finish it off. This will happen at a time and date of their choosing. What mystery! Now considering what to have for lunch.
UPDATE: 4.13pm. Had lunch, wrapped up some parcels (sold some things on eBay at the weekend, so the King of Postage was in court once more), received a parcel I'd ordered from America. Starting to think that all this does not necessarily make for interesting blog reading, though.
UPDATE: 10.15pm. Finished work, bummed around for most of the evening. Listened to a motivational audiobook, but not convinced by it, really. Decided to have a bath. For no reason. I'm not even going out tomorrow or anything. Thinking about going to bed.
As I speak, men with hammers are downstairs making changes to my window ledge, which used to be very good until an enormous crack appeared and I could see the outside through it. I hear sounds of plaster and mastic being mixed and applied and smoothed all over the place.
I am not observing them in person, for that would probably be annoying and/or awkward. I am content to leave them to their industry.
More live updates as the day progresses!
UPDATE: 12.01pm. Men have left. Windowledge all better, although it needs a plastics expert to come and finish it off. This will happen at a time and date of their choosing. What mystery! Now considering what to have for lunch.
UPDATE: 4.13pm. Had lunch, wrapped up some parcels (sold some things on eBay at the weekend, so the King of Postage was in court once more), received a parcel I'd ordered from America. Starting to think that all this does not necessarily make for interesting blog reading, though.
UPDATE: 10.15pm. Finished work, bummed around for most of the evening. Listened to a motivational audiobook, but not convinced by it, really. Decided to have a bath. For no reason. I'm not even going out tomorrow or anything. Thinking about going to bed.
Thursday, 3 July 2008
(I Don't Like Your) Country Music
In these modern times, it's easy to assume that our new action heroes - Jack Bauer, Chuck Norris, Steven Seagal and the like - are relatively modern phenomena of a kind that they just didn't have back in the fifties. After all, if a hoodlum was tearing up the street on otherwise engaging in some kind of ill behaviour, who would have dispensed some instant justice? Bill Haley and his Comets? I don't think so.
But in fact, if you had placed any credence in such a careless opinion, you would undoubtedly be wrong. There are plenty of black and white action heroes as well, and none could be more actionous than the one and only Mr. Bernard Cribbins.
Perhaps best known for appearing in various Carry On Movies, starring as the incompetent sculptor who log-jammed not only the word "erection" but the even more worse word "pubic" into the otherwise perfectly sedentary comedy "A Home Of Your Own", and of course a long stint looking after Humpty and the dollies on "Play School", the great BC's talents were many. But it was through music where Saint Bernard revealed his no-nonsense attitude towards anyone who failed to respect his authority.
To assume that The Cribmeister's works began and ended at the song "Right Said Fred", a searing expose of cowboy builders, would be a gross over-simplification. He had, in fact, many albums, and on those albums many songs, where anyone intending to step to Mr C with intent to diss, would find themselves served with attitude. (I hope you're still following this, my cool friends tell me it's very authentic.)
Perhaps nowhere is it made clearer than in the song "Hole In The Ground", a made-up tale - or so we are led to believe - involving an industrious workman who is, indeed, digging that aforementioned "Hole In The Ground" despite the best attempts of red-tape and bureaucrats to stifle his creativity.
"There I was
a-diggin' this hole
Hole in the ground,
so-big and sorta round it was,
and there was I,
digging it deep,
it was flat at the bottom and the sides were steep"
As is so often the case, the toil of the working man is soon halted by interference from a bowler-hatted chap, who looks down the hole and has words of wisdom to offer.
"Do you mind if I make a suggestion?...
Don't dig there - dig it elsewhere,
you're digging it round and it ought to be square.
The shape of it's wrong, it's much too long
and you can't put a hole where a hole don't belong."
"Nearly bashed him right in the bowler", comments Cribbins-as-workman. If it had been Chuck Norris digging the hole, that's probably how the story would have ended right there. Perhaps he might have stroked his beard a bit. But our workman is made of sterner stuff, and will not allow bowler-hatted nuisancery to interfere with the industrial progress of our great nation.
"Well there was I,
stood in me 'ole,
shovellin' earth for all that I was worth I was,
and there was him, standing up there
so grand and official with his nose in the air"
Few men could tolerate those kind of conditions. If Steven Seagal had been digging the hole, that's probably how the story would have ended right there. Perhaps he might have handed out the odd karate chop or two. But our heroic workman has a riposte for the suited man.
"I just couldn't bear
to dig it elsewhere
I'm digging it round 'cause I don't want it square,
and if you disagree it doesn't bother me
... that's the place where the hole's gonna be."
A grateful nation rises to its feet and applauds. Common sense prevails. If Jack Bauer had been digging the hole, that's probably how the story would have ended right there. Perhaps he might have got shot again for no reason, just to keep the story going. But there's a footnote.
"Well there we were, discussing this 'ole,
Hole in the ground,
so-big and sorta round it was,
it's not there now, the ground's all flat
and beneath it is the bloke in the bowler hat.
.. and that's that."
HE BURIED THE OFFICIAL UNDER THE PAVEMENT!! In the SIXTIES! My west coast friends would describe such a course of action as "harsh" to be sure. Even Chuck Norris and Jack Bauer wouldn't have gone that far. Even Steven Seagal thinks this is unduly violent treatment and would have no part of it, returning to his luxury trailer and three-bean salad in protest. Not everyone can reach the kind of no-nonsense attitude practiced by the Cribbinator - truly, a new hero for our times.
But in fact, if you had placed any credence in such a careless opinion, you would undoubtedly be wrong. There are plenty of black and white action heroes as well, and none could be more actionous than the one and only Mr. Bernard Cribbins.
Perhaps best known for appearing in various Carry On Movies, starring as the incompetent sculptor who log-jammed not only the word "erection" but the even more worse word "pubic" into the otherwise perfectly sedentary comedy "A Home Of Your Own", and of course a long stint looking after Humpty and the dollies on "Play School", the great BC's talents were many. But it was through music where Saint Bernard revealed his no-nonsense attitude towards anyone who failed to respect his authority.
To assume that The Cribmeister's works began and ended at the song "Right Said Fred", a searing expose of cowboy builders, would be a gross over-simplification. He had, in fact, many albums, and on those albums many songs, where anyone intending to step to Mr C with intent to diss, would find themselves served with attitude. (I hope you're still following this, my cool friends tell me it's very authentic.)
Perhaps nowhere is it made clearer than in the song "Hole In The Ground", a made-up tale - or so we are led to believe - involving an industrious workman who is, indeed, digging that aforementioned "Hole In The Ground" despite the best attempts of red-tape and bureaucrats to stifle his creativity.
"There I was
a-diggin' this hole
Hole in the ground,
so-big and sorta round it was,
and there was I,
digging it deep,
it was flat at the bottom and the sides were steep"
As is so often the case, the toil of the working man is soon halted by interference from a bowler-hatted chap, who looks down the hole and has words of wisdom to offer.
"Do you mind if I make a suggestion?...
Don't dig there - dig it elsewhere,
you're digging it round and it ought to be square.
The shape of it's wrong, it's much too long
and you can't put a hole where a hole don't belong."
"Nearly bashed him right in the bowler", comments Cribbins-as-workman. If it had been Chuck Norris digging the hole, that's probably how the story would have ended right there. Perhaps he might have stroked his beard a bit. But our workman is made of sterner stuff, and will not allow bowler-hatted nuisancery to interfere with the industrial progress of our great nation.
"Well there was I,
stood in me 'ole,
shovellin' earth for all that I was worth I was,
and there was him, standing up there
so grand and official with his nose in the air"
Few men could tolerate those kind of conditions. If Steven Seagal had been digging the hole, that's probably how the story would have ended right there. Perhaps he might have handed out the odd karate chop or two. But our heroic workman has a riposte for the suited man.
"I just couldn't bear
to dig it elsewhere
I'm digging it round 'cause I don't want it square,
and if you disagree it doesn't bother me
... that's the place where the hole's gonna be."
A grateful nation rises to its feet and applauds. Common sense prevails. If Jack Bauer had been digging the hole, that's probably how the story would have ended right there. Perhaps he might have got shot again for no reason, just to keep the story going. But there's a footnote.
"Well there we were, discussing this 'ole,
Hole in the ground,
so-big and sorta round it was,
it's not there now, the ground's all flat
and beneath it is the bloke in the bowler hat.
.. and that's that."
HE BURIED THE OFFICIAL UNDER THE PAVEMENT!! In the SIXTIES! My west coast friends would describe such a course of action as "harsh" to be sure. Even Chuck Norris and Jack Bauer wouldn't have gone that far. Even Steven Seagal thinks this is unduly violent treatment and would have no part of it, returning to his luxury trailer and three-bean salad in protest. Not everyone can reach the kind of no-nonsense attitude practiced by the Cribbinator - truly, a new hero for our times.
Sunday, 1 June 2008
"There's A Smile On My Face"
I find myself feeling old. I’ve been feeling old quite a lot recently, and it’s not just the passing of another year that does it.
I guess everyone feels old from time to time, but when, like me, you start finding that you feel permamently old, I guess that’s a sign that maybe there’s something deeper going on. I was thinking about it today and I think I may have got somewhere.
On the face of it, you might think the things that set me off are the constant realisations that things that seemed like only yesterday – e.g. leaving school, listening to Wham! on the radio, etc – were actually more than 20 years ago. But I don’t think it is that. Time passes, and that’s a fact. In itself it’s not a surprise and it’s not the numbers themselves that make me feel old. Not really, I don’t think.
I was tidying up again earlier and ploughing through a box of old videotapes, where I came across some television programmes that were made about the place where I used to work. They brought back a lot of memories. I couldn’t really get over the feeling of what great people I used to work with, what a good group we were, what good things we did. I used to work with brilliant people who were actual proper heroes and – although I can’t truly claim any heroism of my own – I find that I do miss the association. Standing next to greatness is still pretty great… and I seem to notice it more now that it’s gone.
It got me to thinking about what could have happened – and I noticed emotions and regrets very simlar to those which come out when I’m “feeling old”. The things I could have been – should have been – but which now seem out of reach. I’m too old now, the things I’m reaching for are paths I should have set out on long ago if I wanted to make it in time. As it stands, I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and just went where the wind took me. A fine philosophy, it seemed at the time – but with my now aged wisdom I wonder if it wasn’t a miscalculation. Having “no plans” was literally no plan at all. And that’s when the big question has to be answered. Have I wasted my life?
But then I started joining the dots, and came to a bit of a realisation. These feelings, these regrets, can only have any validity if I accept an unstated premise – that the best moments of my life are strictly in the past. Surely that could only be true if I believe that my life will never get any better. It’s not exactly bad now, but if all the ‘good times’ are in the past, there must be something about the present that isn’t giving me what I need.
The present, of course, is something I can change. I just need to decide what it is that I want from life, and then “go get it”. And maybe there is the problem, because those are two things that I’m really not too good at – making decisions (or actually “wanting” something for myself) and then doing whatever kind of ‘hard work’ might be necessary to actually go get it.
I could have hundreds of great friends and a social life if I wanted one. I could go climbing mountains, hurling myself out of planes (with a parachute, obviously), sign up with the Open University or go to medical school and become the world’s oldest junior doctor… but that’s such a lot of effort. Even if I wanted to, I’m not sure I could do it. And even if I put all that work in, would it really take me to the place that I want to be, when I can’t even identify where that place is?
Even if I’m not sure where the future leads, it has served as a timely reminder that maybe my clinging to the past is for no other reason than I need to change the present. Perhaps my hoarded boxes of old magazines and tapes are a very real indication of how I can’t let go of the past while it seems like the best of my life is still there. “Spending our money, filling our house with the things we hope will bring us happiness… again.”, as T’Pau put it in the song Only The Lonely.
They had more to say, actually. “Making your mind up – it never did anyone no good, for how do you touch what you can’t have? You cover the hurt, pretend you don’t care – it’s living, I guess, but it hardly compares.”
“Hiding your poor heart, you wouldn’t think could be so hard, from the roaring giant of love. Oh, but he won’t leave, and so you keep silently screaming, filling your head with a love song that no-one will ever want. And yes, we are keeping up resistance to a good time, in case we fall – put up a wall you can’t overcome, well I believe every home should have one.”
“We cover our empty hearts up with a full smile, but it has no joy – put up a wall you can’t overcome, to cover the hurt, pretend you don’t care, I see a world that is empty out there.”
Maybe that’s getting a bit morose. It’s a very good song, though. On which ‘note’ (ho ho) I actually bought some singles tonight, just like an actual proper hip young swinging cat. Of coursewhen I say I “bought" some "singles", actually I downloaded them from iTunes, so at least I’m not entirely stuck in the past, even if I did select six tracks from the late 80s that I’d completely forgotten about (and rediscovered today on an old “songs recorded off the radio” tape.) But it wasn’t all in the past – I also bought the ‘new’ one from Mint Royale. (Well done, George.) So it does at least seem that I have one foot in the now, and I guess that buying the song that’s bound to be next week’s number one is at least some kind of indicator that perhaps it’s not time to bury me just yet.
But it seems pretty clear that I really need to find something to do with my life. Of course I’ve got all kinds of ideas – entirely unrealistic ones – about things I’d like to do, if I were to somehow come into a ridiculous enough amount of money that I’d be willing to burn on making myself happy. Even the most avaricious venture capitalist would probably consider that a rather poor investment, and since I don’t play the lottery the chances of it happening are slim. So I need something realistic to aim for. I wonder if that isn’t harder still.
I’d better think about it some more.
I guess everyone feels old from time to time, but when, like me, you start finding that you feel permamently old, I guess that’s a sign that maybe there’s something deeper going on. I was thinking about it today and I think I may have got somewhere.
On the face of it, you might think the things that set me off are the constant realisations that things that seemed like only yesterday – e.g. leaving school, listening to Wham! on the radio, etc – were actually more than 20 years ago. But I don’t think it is that. Time passes, and that’s a fact. In itself it’s not a surprise and it’s not the numbers themselves that make me feel old. Not really, I don’t think.
I was tidying up again earlier and ploughing through a box of old videotapes, where I came across some television programmes that were made about the place where I used to work. They brought back a lot of memories. I couldn’t really get over the feeling of what great people I used to work with, what a good group we were, what good things we did. I used to work with brilliant people who were actual proper heroes and – although I can’t truly claim any heroism of my own – I find that I do miss the association. Standing next to greatness is still pretty great… and I seem to notice it more now that it’s gone.
It got me to thinking about what could have happened – and I noticed emotions and regrets very simlar to those which come out when I’m “feeling old”. The things I could have been – should have been – but which now seem out of reach. I’m too old now, the things I’m reaching for are paths I should have set out on long ago if I wanted to make it in time. As it stands, I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and just went where the wind took me. A fine philosophy, it seemed at the time – but with my now aged wisdom I wonder if it wasn’t a miscalculation. Having “no plans” was literally no plan at all. And that’s when the big question has to be answered. Have I wasted my life?
But then I started joining the dots, and came to a bit of a realisation. These feelings, these regrets, can only have any validity if I accept an unstated premise – that the best moments of my life are strictly in the past. Surely that could only be true if I believe that my life will never get any better. It’s not exactly bad now, but if all the ‘good times’ are in the past, there must be something about the present that isn’t giving me what I need.
The present, of course, is something I can change. I just need to decide what it is that I want from life, and then “go get it”. And maybe there is the problem, because those are two things that I’m really not too good at – making decisions (or actually “wanting” something for myself) and then doing whatever kind of ‘hard work’ might be necessary to actually go get it.
I could have hundreds of great friends and a social life if I wanted one. I could go climbing mountains, hurling myself out of planes (with a parachute, obviously), sign up with the Open University or go to medical school and become the world’s oldest junior doctor… but that’s such a lot of effort. Even if I wanted to, I’m not sure I could do it. And even if I put all that work in, would it really take me to the place that I want to be, when I can’t even identify where that place is?
Even if I’m not sure where the future leads, it has served as a timely reminder that maybe my clinging to the past is for no other reason than I need to change the present. Perhaps my hoarded boxes of old magazines and tapes are a very real indication of how I can’t let go of the past while it seems like the best of my life is still there. “Spending our money, filling our house with the things we hope will bring us happiness… again.”, as T’Pau put it in the song Only The Lonely.
They had more to say, actually. “Making your mind up – it never did anyone no good, for how do you touch what you can’t have? You cover the hurt, pretend you don’t care – it’s living, I guess, but it hardly compares.”
“Hiding your poor heart, you wouldn’t think could be so hard, from the roaring giant of love. Oh, but he won’t leave, and so you keep silently screaming, filling your head with a love song that no-one will ever want. And yes, we are keeping up resistance to a good time, in case we fall – put up a wall you can’t overcome, well I believe every home should have one.”
“We cover our empty hearts up with a full smile, but it has no joy – put up a wall you can’t overcome, to cover the hurt, pretend you don’t care, I see a world that is empty out there.”
Maybe that’s getting a bit morose. It’s a very good song, though. On which ‘note’ (ho ho) I actually bought some singles tonight, just like an actual proper hip young swinging cat. Of coursewhen I say I “bought" some "singles", actually I downloaded them from iTunes, so at least I’m not entirely stuck in the past, even if I did select six tracks from the late 80s that I’d completely forgotten about (and rediscovered today on an old “songs recorded off the radio” tape.) But it wasn’t all in the past – I also bought the ‘new’ one from Mint Royale. (Well done, George.) So it does at least seem that I have one foot in the now, and I guess that buying the song that’s bound to be next week’s number one is at least some kind of indicator that perhaps it’s not time to bury me just yet.
But it seems pretty clear that I really need to find something to do with my life. Of course I’ve got all kinds of ideas – entirely unrealistic ones – about things I’d like to do, if I were to somehow come into a ridiculous enough amount of money that I’d be willing to burn on making myself happy. Even the most avaricious venture capitalist would probably consider that a rather poor investment, and since I don’t play the lottery the chances of it happening are slim. So I need something realistic to aim for. I wonder if that isn’t harder still.
I’d better think about it some more.
Tuesday, 20 May 2008
Tops and Bottoms
They say that it takes two to tango, and so it was this weekend, as I was minding my own business, enjoying a quiet cup of tea, when suddenly there is a loud bang and I find that I am moving. First I am unexpectedly leaning back, without warning. Then when I upright myself and lean forwards, I am left at an angle, and somewhat askew. Something is wrong. Then, before I have a chance to investigate further, the wheels come off entirely and I am placed at such an extreme angle that I fall out of my comfortable chair and onto the floor.
Yes, my chair has broken. The self-same chair which I blogged about not so long ago (See: Executive Leather) fell to pieces with a bang, dumping me out onto the floor in a most unwelcome fashion. Of course it turns out that "not so long ago" when I bought the chair was actually January 2007, so it's out of guarantee. My chair is gone, and I need a new one.
Temporarily making do with a fold-up wooden chair which I keep on hand for just such an occasion, I once again perused the Argos catalogue to notice that actually they do still sell my chair. For some reason it's more expensive now, a costly £29.99 instead of last year's £24.99, but I expect that'll be due to the increasing worldwide price of the luxurious and entirely genuine, perhaps, leather seat which forms such a large part of the whole chair thing.
But the top half of my old chair is still quite alright, really. It's really just the hydraulics and the struts on the bottom which have fallen to pieces. And that's when it hit me. All I need is a new bottom.
Off to Argos I went (eventually), forking over the required £30 (which I paid for once again with Nectar points - hooray!) to be served by a nice young lady, probably fresh out of school, not yet old enough to look very interested in anything, and with a name badge which revealed that her name was "Kylie". I realise that we are generations apart. Me, old enough to remember when 'Neighbours' first started on British television, and the prediction that in the coming years there would be lots of parents naming their new babies 'Kylie'. Her, the first wave of grown-ups from that Neighbours generation.
Kylie handed me my leather goods, and I took them home. That may be the only time in my life that I ever get to use those words in anything I write, but I'm glad that I did.
Once home, I thought back to those heady days of January 2007 when I assembled this first chair. I remember how much of a nuisance it was to get the top together. And since all I really needed here in May 2008 was a new bottom, I decided to put the old top on the new bottom. It was much faster. And now I have a spare top which I can put in the shed to store in case I should ever need to replace it one day.
The long and the short of this rather dull (but supremely well-written, and hence fascinating) story, is this. Same old top, brand new bottom, on which to place my same old bottom. Order has returned to the world.
Yes, my chair has broken. The self-same chair which I blogged about not so long ago (See: Executive Leather) fell to pieces with a bang, dumping me out onto the floor in a most unwelcome fashion. Of course it turns out that "not so long ago" when I bought the chair was actually January 2007, so it's out of guarantee. My chair is gone, and I need a new one.
Temporarily making do with a fold-up wooden chair which I keep on hand for just such an occasion, I once again perused the Argos catalogue to notice that actually they do still sell my chair. For some reason it's more expensive now, a costly £29.99 instead of last year's £24.99, but I expect that'll be due to the increasing worldwide price of the luxurious and entirely genuine, perhaps, leather seat which forms such a large part of the whole chair thing.
But the top half of my old chair is still quite alright, really. It's really just the hydraulics and the struts on the bottom which have fallen to pieces. And that's when it hit me. All I need is a new bottom.
Off to Argos I went (eventually), forking over the required £30 (which I paid for once again with Nectar points - hooray!) to be served by a nice young lady, probably fresh out of school, not yet old enough to look very interested in anything, and with a name badge which revealed that her name was "Kylie". I realise that we are generations apart. Me, old enough to remember when 'Neighbours' first started on British television, and the prediction that in the coming years there would be lots of parents naming their new babies 'Kylie'. Her, the first wave of grown-ups from that Neighbours generation.
Kylie handed me my leather goods, and I took them home. That may be the only time in my life that I ever get to use those words in anything I write, but I'm glad that I did.
Once home, I thought back to those heady days of January 2007 when I assembled this first chair. I remember how much of a nuisance it was to get the top together. And since all I really needed here in May 2008 was a new bottom, I decided to put the old top on the new bottom. It was much faster. And now I have a spare top which I can put in the shed to store in case I should ever need to replace it one day.
The long and the short of this rather dull (but supremely well-written, and hence fascinating) story, is this. Same old top, brand new bottom, on which to place my same old bottom. Order has returned to the world.
Thursday, 15 May 2008
Shadows
You're not paranoid if they're really out to get you. So the saying goes, at least. Only the innocent have nothing to fear. Another popular saying, I think - either that or I just made it up on the spot like some kind of modern-day Jean-Paul Satre, expressing in just seven words the full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree ennui of our modern times.
But anyway, my point, and I do have one, is this. It's easy to be paranoid, especially in the face of shadows and loose suspicion, the best kind of incontrovertible evidence that there is. There was a period back in 2004 when I idly wondered if I was under surveillance by 'the man'. I don't know which man, it's just a saying. (A sample of my early writings from the time are reproduced below, by way of illustration.)
'Enemy of the State' |
Alas, the envelopes of tenners never turned up. But anyway, just recently I've been plagued by a number of irresponsible japes by my irresponsible friends, saying all kinds of "hot words" on my phone line which, if the paranoid mantra is to be believed, is enough to cause lights to start flashing at MI5 and for your phone calls to be put under immediate surveillance, like the kind of dangerous subversive that you must be if you start talking about spy satellites and Zircon, Echelon, and that other one.. what's it called.. Ronseal, or something.
Now I am a law-abiding guy. I've served my country (by being badly paid to do essential filing for four years) and when it comes to the final tally, I'd like to think that I'm one of the kids who Santa will be including in the 'nice' column. But paranoia changes things - after all, I've seen all those films where innocent people get arrested without charge and hung upside down by their toes for six years just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And with this country becoming more of a police state by the day, the risk to a good boy's liberty from an innocent mix-up could be substantial.
So it was that a couple of phone calls this afternoon set off all my alarms. During a boring phone call with my colleagues, I was surprised to hear a high-pitched squeak, and then a regular beeping for about a minute or so. Then it went away. How strange, I thought. Obviously something wrong with the switchboard at work, or something. Or maybe they'd pressed the 'call record' button or something. But it went away after a while, anyway. I paid it no mind.
... until later. When I was talking to someone else, not from work this time. I'll change some names to protect the innocent but preserve the flavour of the narrative. So, anyway, it was noted supermodel Naomi Campbell, calling me from her carphone. She was on her way to a conference with the International Association of Supermodels but had left her notes at home. "Relax, baby," I told her, "just take a few minutes before the presentation to sketch out your prepared topics and everything will be fine."
She was very pleased with my solution to the problem, but in the middle of this phone call.. another high-pitched squeak.. and then another minute of beeping. Naomi of course could not hear it, and thought that I was some kind of raving lunatic once I started discussing the issue - at some length - since it was clear that something was very wrong and that this was a clear sign that I was absolutely under surveillance as a result of my stupid friends and their stupid spy satellite codewords. I would have to buy a trenchcoat and a funny hat, and go around talking in code. Farmer Brown Milks His Pigs By Midnight, don't you know.
What is a boy to do? It was quite a worry. I discusssed options with Naomi. Perhaps the International Association of Supermodels could hide me in their safe house. I could iron their underwear and make them egg on toast, in exchange for sanctuary. It wouldn't be such a bad life, after all. I'm sure I'd get used to it after a while.
It wasn't until about half an hour later that I realised.. I paid BT for 'call waiting' a few weeks ago. I've just never had a call that has needed to wait before. And today I had two - which is what all the beeping was. It means, "you have a call waiting, thicko."
Was my face red. Ignoring the fact that any kind of good surveillance and tapping of my phone line is going to be done in a rather more expert way than having lights and sirens and beeps going off while I'm talking (which is, frankly, rather a giveaway, and would be swiftly detected by even the most inexpert of master-criminals,) I was instead very pleased to find a good and true explanation for the previously unexplained strangeness.
I thanked Naomi for her cool head in this hour of crisis. "You need me," she said. And you know something? I think I really do.
Thursday, 8 May 2008
Max Power
I've braved delving around the dusty areas behind the back of my desk, in order to make some wiring changes that should help to save the planet.
After all, I care about the monkeys and toucans and dolphins of the rainforest, and I want to ensure that their valuable and vibrant homeland is preseved in a good state for many years to come. Plus, of course, electricity costs big money these days, so saving the planet saves the pound in your pocket. There's nothing not to like about that.
So tonight I indulged in a little re-wiring. I've got one of those "intelligent socket" things - had it for ages actually, but never done anything with it until now. Anyway, what it does, it's got six power sockets on it, and one of them is special, because if the thing plugged into the special socket is turned on, it turns all the other sockets on. And if the thing plugged into the special socket gets turned off, it turns off all the other sockets at the same time.
I've got my PC plugged into the special socket. So when I turn it on, all the other things turn on - the modem, the scanner, the laserprinter, the monitor, the network switch, the network storage drive, and some other network doodickeries that are too boring to talk about here.
So far so good. After all, turning all those things on has never been a problem before - but that's the point. Normally they're plugged in all the time. Which wastes electricity, even when they're not doing much.
Now, when I turn off the PC... boom! Out go the lights. Off goes the laser printer, along with the modem and the scanner and the monitor and the network switch and all the other things. It is very satisfying, and I now very much enjoy turning off my PC at any opportunity, in order to be filled with the frugal feeling of all the money that I'm saving. Oh, and the happy dolphins, of course.
This comes at a good time. After all, this time of year is traditionally a time when the sun puts its hat on and comes out to play all day, making everyone hot and sweaty. Very much a nuisance, and more so if you're in a room full of computers and laserprinters and network trouser presses which go heating the room up in a most unwanted fashion. So during this warm season I think I may try to turn my computer off at every opportunity, in order to keep cool while saving valuable pounds.
I'm just waiting for someone to come along and say "Oh, it's not good for electronics, turning them on and off all the time", but if that means my boxy old CRT monitor will finally go wrong so that I can replace it with a nice flat panel, then all the better. Who wouldn't be delighted with such a thing?
After all, I care about the monkeys and toucans and dolphins of the rainforest, and I want to ensure that their valuable and vibrant homeland is preseved in a good state for many years to come. Plus, of course, electricity costs big money these days, so saving the planet saves the pound in your pocket. There's nothing not to like about that.
So tonight I indulged in a little re-wiring. I've got one of those "intelligent socket" things - had it for ages actually, but never done anything with it until now. Anyway, what it does, it's got six power sockets on it, and one of them is special, because if the thing plugged into the special socket is turned on, it turns all the other sockets on. And if the thing plugged into the special socket gets turned off, it turns off all the other sockets at the same time.
I've got my PC plugged into the special socket. So when I turn it on, all the other things turn on - the modem, the scanner, the laserprinter, the monitor, the network switch, the network storage drive, and some other network doodickeries that are too boring to talk about here.
So far so good. After all, turning all those things on has never been a problem before - but that's the point. Normally they're plugged in all the time. Which wastes electricity, even when they're not doing much.
Now, when I turn off the PC... boom! Out go the lights. Off goes the laser printer, along with the modem and the scanner and the monitor and the network switch and all the other things. It is very satisfying, and I now very much enjoy turning off my PC at any opportunity, in order to be filled with the frugal feeling of all the money that I'm saving. Oh, and the happy dolphins, of course.
This comes at a good time. After all, this time of year is traditionally a time when the sun puts its hat on and comes out to play all day, making everyone hot and sweaty. Very much a nuisance, and more so if you're in a room full of computers and laserprinters and network trouser presses which go heating the room up in a most unwanted fashion. So during this warm season I think I may try to turn my computer off at every opportunity, in order to keep cool while saving valuable pounds.
I'm just waiting for someone to come along and say "Oh, it's not good for electronics, turning them on and off all the time", but if that means my boxy old CRT monitor will finally go wrong so that I can replace it with a nice flat panel, then all the better. Who wouldn't be delighted with such a thing?
Monday, 5 May 2008
Damn
OK, so now that makes three films which make me cry.
1. Edward Scissorhands.
2. Chaplin
3. As Good As It Gets
Bah.
1. Edward Scissorhands.
2. Chaplin
3. As Good As It Gets
Bah.
Saturday, 3 May 2008
Everybody Loves Carpet
I can't get over how difficult it seems to be to buy carpet tiles in nice colours. Today I found another picture of how I would like my bedroom floor to look. Stylish, no?
I can't find anywhere online that sells carpet tiles in such an excellent variety of colours, so I fear that once the bank holiday is over I shall have to actually pluck up the courage to make an outgoing telephone call and speak to real proper actual other human beings (eek) in order to achieve my goal.
Wish me luck!
Monday, 28 April 2008
LSO
It's not often that I have been sitting in quiet contemplation, only to rise to my feet having had an epiphany.
"I need to hire the London Symphony Orchestra!", I realised.
Then again, I probably couldn't afford them. So that's the end of that, then.
It's a very hard life being a creative genius. Wah!
"I need to hire the London Symphony Orchestra!", I realised.
Then again, I probably couldn't afford them. So that's the end of that, then.
It's a very hard life being a creative genius. Wah!
Thursday, 24 April 2008
Nights: Into Dreams
When I was much younger, I went through a very brief period of being able to tell when I was dreaming. I'm not quite sure what it was that alerted me to the fact that I was dreaming (and yet still asleep) but once it became clear, I would say "My name is -Jack Bauer- and I can fly!" - and indeed I could, in fact, fly. Clearly there was nothing else to do. After all, I was too young to realise the fun that could have been had if only I had changed it to "My name is -Jack Bauer- and I can hear the supermodels coming."
It came and went like the phase it was, but in the last few months I've been reminded of it, and I realise that this ability has a proper name and everything. It's called "Lucid Dreaming" and lots of people do it. Many people train themselves to recognise when they're dreaming, so that even in their adult life they still get a chance to fly around a bit, or perhaps even party with the aforementioned supermodels.
Of course, like all self-improvement, the idea of having to "work" hard to "learn" the necessary "skill" of being able to "train" yourself to do something... it all sounds like far too much hassle for a dollar. But this... this could actually be something where I might just want to put the hours in.
As ever, it seems that technology can help. Here's the coolest thing. Scientists tell us that dreaming occurs during "REM sleep" - not the pop group with that bald guy, but Rapid Eye Movement. It's not too difficult to make something that can tell when someone is moving their eyes. So you can make something that knows when someone is dreaming.
Secondly, you may well have had dreams where noises, smells or lights from the 'waking' environment around you have actually become a part of your dream. Ever had a song or a news bulletin from your bedside radio make its way into your dream? Even while dreaming you can still be influenced by the real world.
Thidly, an interesting observation. When you're asleep, your body releases all kinds of chemicals to stop your arms and legs moving around. Otherwise you'd be injuring yourself and jumping out of bed and crashing into things all the time while you were asleep. That's fine. But if you dream that you're looking up, or down, or around, then your eyes actually move in real life. (Even if they're shut, which, of course, they would be.)
So nowfor the Mad Scientist bit. If all those things are true, then not only can you make something that can tell when you're dreaming, but it can then use sounds and lights to let you know that you’re dreaming - without waking you up. What's more, once you get the message and realise that you're asleep, then you can signal back to it (perhaps by looking upwards twice) that you've got the message, and it can stop making those noises and flashing those lights now.
Now, admittedly, I didn't think all this up by myself. Other people got there long before I did. But not only is this possible, it actually works. Cool idea, huh. Imagine a dream where, right from the get-go, a familiar voice whispers in your ear, "You're dreaming.." What fun you could have.
Of course I jumped straight to the end there by picking up on the technological solution. But even without technology, lucid dreaming is quite possible once you know what to look for. Look at your watch. Is it sensible or just messed up? Look at it again. Is it the same time as it was before, or totally different now? Can you see any signs? Anything with writing on? Can you read that writing? If not, you might just be asleep.
Best thing of all, those recurring dreams that were such an annoyance, are now positively helpful! Late for school? You don’t go to school, you’re dreaming. And you can fly. Endlessly looking for a toilet? You’re asleep, you fool. Now go find those supermodels.
So for a while now, I’ve been looking out for signs that I’m dreaming. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Last night I spotted a recurring dream just in time to change direction, fly off to find someone, and give them a hug. Yes, I realise that does sound rather soppy. I’m not sure if I was totally in control of that dream (and strangely, I “woke up” from the lucid dream back into the normal dream rather than into the real world) but it’s little things like this that convince me I’m getting better at it. Practice makes perfect.
I can't help but feel like Dr Frankenstein, indulging in some dangerous experiment that could leave them permanently messed up, never quite sure if they're awake or asleep and constantly on the search for supermodels, or at least flapping their arms trying to take off. There's nothing to say that I might not like dreaming so much better than the real world that I might want to spend even more of my time there. I can well imagine completely coming offthe rails, a slave to a seductive fantasy world that only comes by night and makes everything else seem just unbearably ordinary.
Wish me luck!
It came and went like the phase it was, but in the last few months I've been reminded of it, and I realise that this ability has a proper name and everything. It's called "Lucid Dreaming" and lots of people do it. Many people train themselves to recognise when they're dreaming, so that even in their adult life they still get a chance to fly around a bit, or perhaps even party with the aforementioned supermodels.
Of course, like all self-improvement, the idea of having to "work" hard to "learn" the necessary "skill" of being able to "train" yourself to do something... it all sounds like far too much hassle for a dollar. But this... this could actually be something where I might just want to put the hours in.
As ever, it seems that technology can help. Here's the coolest thing. Scientists tell us that dreaming occurs during "REM sleep" - not the pop group with that bald guy, but Rapid Eye Movement. It's not too difficult to make something that can tell when someone is moving their eyes. So you can make something that knows when someone is dreaming.
Secondly, you may well have had dreams where noises, smells or lights from the 'waking' environment around you have actually become a part of your dream. Ever had a song or a news bulletin from your bedside radio make its way into your dream? Even while dreaming you can still be influenced by the real world.
Thidly, an interesting observation. When you're asleep, your body releases all kinds of chemicals to stop your arms and legs moving around. Otherwise you'd be injuring yourself and jumping out of bed and crashing into things all the time while you were asleep. That's fine. But if you dream that you're looking up, or down, or around, then your eyes actually move in real life. (Even if they're shut, which, of course, they would be.)
So nowfor the Mad Scientist bit. If all those things are true, then not only can you make something that can tell when you're dreaming, but it can then use sounds and lights to let you know that you’re dreaming - without waking you up. What's more, once you get the message and realise that you're asleep, then you can signal back to it (perhaps by looking upwards twice) that you've got the message, and it can stop making those noises and flashing those lights now.
Now, admittedly, I didn't think all this up by myself. Other people got there long before I did. But not only is this possible, it actually works. Cool idea, huh. Imagine a dream where, right from the get-go, a familiar voice whispers in your ear, "You're dreaming.." What fun you could have.
Of course I jumped straight to the end there by picking up on the technological solution. But even without technology, lucid dreaming is quite possible once you know what to look for. Look at your watch. Is it sensible or just messed up? Look at it again. Is it the same time as it was before, or totally different now? Can you see any signs? Anything with writing on? Can you read that writing? If not, you might just be asleep.
Best thing of all, those recurring dreams that were such an annoyance, are now positively helpful! Late for school? You don’t go to school, you’re dreaming. And you can fly. Endlessly looking for a toilet? You’re asleep, you fool. Now go find those supermodels.
So for a while now, I’ve been looking out for signs that I’m dreaming. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Last night I spotted a recurring dream just in time to change direction, fly off to find someone, and give them a hug. Yes, I realise that does sound rather soppy. I’m not sure if I was totally in control of that dream (and strangely, I “woke up” from the lucid dream back into the normal dream rather than into the real world) but it’s little things like this that convince me I’m getting better at it. Practice makes perfect.
I can't help but feel like Dr Frankenstein, indulging in some dangerous experiment that could leave them permanently messed up, never quite sure if they're awake or asleep and constantly on the search for supermodels, or at least flapping their arms trying to take off. There's nothing to say that I might not like dreaming so much better than the real world that I might want to spend even more of my time there. I can well imagine completely coming offthe rails, a slave to a seductive fantasy world that only comes by night and makes everything else seem just unbearably ordinary.
Wish me luck!
Wednesday, 23 April 2008
A Pattern of Behaviour
At the moment I'm listening to the audiobook version of Richard Dawkins' best-seller, "The God Delusion". Somewhere around 7 hours in, there's a brief discussion of the best-selling children's game "Chinese Whispers", sometimes known as "Telephone".
It reminded me of my own experiences of playing this game. I think I was introduced to it when I first went to school, so I guess I must have been five or six years old at the time.
The rules of the game were explained. About 10 or 20 of us sat in a circle, teacher would whisper a phrase or saying in the ear of child number one, who would then whisper that in the ear of child number two, and so on around the circle. At the end of the circle, the remaining phrase would be revealed, now entirely mangled and errored-up by the process of being whispered and passed on through the miniscule brains of five-year-olds who were, of course, so much less clever than I was.
This game did not strike me as at all interesting, although I immediately saw a weakness in its construction. Clearly the maximum humour would be obtained if the phrase at the output end was wildly at variance with that of the input. Instead of relying on the normal process of five-year-olds mishearing and/or misunderstanding the essential information that is being passed on for your yuks, why leave it to chance?
So it was that day that the game proceeded, thus:
1. "Jack and Jill went up the hill."
2. "Jack and Jill went up the hill."
3. "Jack and Jill went up the hill."
4. "Farmer Brown Milks His Pigs By Midnight"
5. "Farmer Brown.. what?"
Skilled readers may be able to guess where I was sitting, from the above text.
"Farmer Brown Milks His Pigs By Midnight" is absolutely, genuinely, the phrase I used. I'm not sure why I should still remember it, 30 years on. It is, of course, an entirely incongrous phrase. It doesn't come up on Google at all, which just goes to prove what an artistic genius I am, having had a phrase of my own since such a young age. I expect it's even my own personal copyright, and everything. So no printing it on T-shirts without my permission.
It might even make a good title for a book. Preferably a book all about me, with words and chapters that were written by me... Yes, I must be sure to write this down.
It reminded me of my own experiences of playing this game. I think I was introduced to it when I first went to school, so I guess I must have been five or six years old at the time.
The rules of the game were explained. About 10 or 20 of us sat in a circle, teacher would whisper a phrase or saying in the ear of child number one, who would then whisper that in the ear of child number two, and so on around the circle. At the end of the circle, the remaining phrase would be revealed, now entirely mangled and errored-up by the process of being whispered and passed on through the miniscule brains of five-year-olds who were, of course, so much less clever than I was.
This game did not strike me as at all interesting, although I immediately saw a weakness in its construction. Clearly the maximum humour would be obtained if the phrase at the output end was wildly at variance with that of the input. Instead of relying on the normal process of five-year-olds mishearing and/or misunderstanding the essential information that is being passed on for your yuks, why leave it to chance?
So it was that day that the game proceeded, thus:
1. "Jack and Jill went up the hill."
2. "Jack and Jill went up the hill."
3. "Jack and Jill went up the hill."
4. "Farmer Brown Milks His Pigs By Midnight"
5. "Farmer Brown.. what?"
Skilled readers may be able to guess where I was sitting, from the above text.
"Farmer Brown Milks His Pigs By Midnight" is absolutely, genuinely, the phrase I used. I'm not sure why I should still remember it, 30 years on. It is, of course, an entirely incongrous phrase. It doesn't come up on Google at all, which just goes to prove what an artistic genius I am, having had a phrase of my own since such a young age. I expect it's even my own personal copyright, and everything. So no printing it on T-shirts without my permission.
It might even make a good title for a book. Preferably a book all about me, with words and chapters that were written by me... Yes, I must be sure to write this down.
Sunday, 20 April 2008
Jigsaw
Progress is slow as The War on Clutter continues. I made a bit more space in my bedroom today, but it took several steps to get there.
1. Free up some space in the cupboard unit downstairs, by bravely and heroically throwing away a number of old videotapes. (Ruthless, huh.)
2. Move the CDs that I keep meaning to sell into the cupboard unit, thus emptying the plastic crate in the front room where I had been storing them up until now.
3. Move the plastic crate to the shed, leaving a space in the front room.
4. Finally sell the CDs, leaving space in the cupboard unit again. (Used up one cardboard box and many hoarded jiffy bags as packaging, as an extra bonus.)
5. Move CDs from CD Rack in bedroom to cupboard unit downstairs, leaving a space in the bedroom. Even if it is a bit dusty.
Saturday, 5 April 2008
Dullard's Diary
1. Got rid of three bags of rubbish.
2. Found somewhere for the spare duvet to go, instead of it being parked in the hall.
3. Dismantled the cardboard box I had been using as an upstairs rubbish bin.
4. Wandered around the shops down the road looking for a proper rubbish bin.
5. Came home having found none that I liked, so decided to use a leftover paper bin from a broken shredder as the new upstairs rubbish bin. It looks nice but is really very much smaller.
6. Rang up to cancel my broadband. "You mean you want a MAC code to transfer to another company?" - "No, I actually want to cancel my broadband completely, I don't want it any more." - Saving £25 per month, which is nice.
7. Thought of other ways to save money.
8. Wondered if having an opinion about rubbish bins is a sign of getting old.
9. Resolved to continue throwing things away tomorrow.
2. Found somewhere for the spare duvet to go, instead of it being parked in the hall.
3. Dismantled the cardboard box I had been using as an upstairs rubbish bin.
4. Wandered around the shops down the road looking for a proper rubbish bin.
5. Came home having found none that I liked, so decided to use a leftover paper bin from a broken shredder as the new upstairs rubbish bin. It looks nice but is really very much smaller.
6. Rang up to cancel my broadband. "You mean you want a MAC code to transfer to another company?" - "No, I actually want to cancel my broadband completely, I don't want it any more." - Saving £25 per month, which is nice.
7. Thought of other ways to save money.
8. Wondered if having an opinion about rubbish bins is a sign of getting old.
9. Resolved to continue throwing things away tomorrow.
Wednesday, 2 April 2008
Home Beautiful With Antnoise
All of a sudden, I find myself having more of an eye for interior design and the home beautiful. My attention gets caught by shows on Channel 4 like "Location Location Location Location Location Location Location" or whatever it's called, and suddenly the furniture section of the Argos catalogue has a purpose.
I must be getting old. Previously the only parts of the Argos catalogue which held any interest were the pages where the toys and electronics were housed. Those other pages - well, just silly really. Who knew? Perhaps I will buy a new bed to replace the slightly askew one which I currently sleep on, where springs leap out, their pointy ends surprising my fleshy behind. A new bed would indeed be nice.
A few days ago I went out and bought a laundry box. In which to put laundry in a tidy manner. It is pictured above, to the right. Isn't it nice?
In the past few days I have also started dismantling a rather unsatisfactory plastic cd/dvd rack which wobbles in the corner of my room. It has left a very pleasing space where it used to be. I am so enjoying this tidying-up business, it's going to be such a shame when it's over...
Sunday, 30 March 2008
Friday, 21 March 2008
Know Your Change
Lots of people know things which they think are true, or that they're sure they heard somewhere.. but not everyone knows the real legal deal. Today we take a look at a popular 'fact', that being:
"More than 20p in change isn't legal tender".
Is it true, or just made up? Well, this one is true - sort of. What is and isn't legal tender is, rather helpfully, defined by law, and particularly the Coinage Act 1971 (as amended by the Currency Act 1983). This tells us that, basically:
- Up to £10 in "big silver" (20ps, 50ps) is legal tender.
- Up to £5 in "weeny silver" (5ps, 10ps) is also legal tender.
- Up to 20p in bronze is legal tender.
More than that, isn't. So if you're thinking of paying your parking ticket in pennies just to be a nuisance, you're fresh out of luck.
"More than 20p in change isn't legal tender".
Is it true, or just made up? Well, this one is true - sort of. What is and isn't legal tender is, rather helpfully, defined by law, and particularly the Coinage Act 1971 (as amended by the Currency Act 1983). This tells us that, basically:
- Up to £10 in "big silver" (20ps, 50ps) is legal tender.
- Up to £5 in "weeny silver" (5ps, 10ps) is also legal tender.
- Up to 20p in bronze is legal tender.
More than that, isn't. So if you're thinking of paying your parking ticket in pennies just to be a nuisance, you're fresh out of luck.
Wednesday, 19 March 2008
Hippy Food Update
While on a renewed tidying kick this evening, I noticed I still had those two litres of soya milk in the fridge, back from last year when I mistakenly got the groceries destined for those hippies.
Noticing that the 'best before' date had now passed - 05.03.2008 apparently - I decided that it was time to test it or toss it. So I tested it - tasting, that is - and found it to be.. actually not that bad at all. So I have resolved to use it up before it goes completely off. After all, it would be a shame to waste it.
I suppose now I'm going to have to start growing my hair long. Oh, wait...
Noticing that the 'best before' date had now passed - 05.03.2008 apparently - I decided that it was time to test it or toss it. So I tested it - tasting, that is - and found it to be.. actually not that bad at all. So I have resolved to use it up before it goes completely off. After all, it would be a shame to waste it.
I suppose now I'm going to have to start growing my hair long. Oh, wait...
Tuesday, 11 March 2008
Business Update With Antnoise
Welcome to the Business Update with Antnoise. Our top story tonight.. that Northern Rock savings account I opened? Screwed! On Saturday the interest rate went down to 6.25%. Which, by the way, is less than the 6.49% it used to be. Bah.
Meanwhile, in energy news, a gas and electricity bill of £250 has arrived. I'm not sure if this is good or not. Helpfully, my energy supplier has drawn me some graphs showing the deleterious effect I am having on the environment. I am sure these will be useful.
Apparently I can offset my carbon emissions by spending £55 on solar panels for Africa. That said, if I had my own solar panels maybe I wouldn't be using so much electricity in the first place. Why should Africa have all the fun?
Meanwhile, in energy news, a gas and electricity bill of £250 has arrived. I'm not sure if this is good or not. Helpfully, my energy supplier has drawn me some graphs showing the deleterious effect I am having on the environment. I am sure these will be useful.
Apparently I can offset my carbon emissions by spending £55 on solar panels for Africa. That said, if I had my own solar panels maybe I wouldn't be using so much electricity in the first place. Why should Africa have all the fun?
Friday, 29 February 2008
Constantly Being Screwed
I have my mind on my money, and my money on my mind, as I believe someone once said. And why not, because it seems that if I didn't watch my finances like a hawk, I would constantly be getting screwed by banks and big businesses, all working together to part me from my pennies. It will not do.
I spend a lot of time looking at spreadsheets, constantly analysing, correlating, examining the performance of my many investments. I'm not into shares, I think they're a fast way to lose money (never mind my former colleague who has virtually retired on the millions he made from them) and I am not the type to put my capital at risk. No sir. I believe the proper term for this is "risk averse", and so I am, at least financially.
The problem is, even your friendly local building society is not to be trusted these days. Earlier this week I visited the website of my friendly local building society, which is in fact neither local nor friendly. I already have a modest deposit with them, and this week I noticed that they offer a savings account offering 6.4% interest. This is very good, so I applied for it. This morning I got the leaflet through telling me that everything had been opened. I logged on to check my account details and discovered that in the 5 days between my application and the account opening, the interest rate HAS ALREADY GONE DOWN and is now only 6.15%, which is less!
What a complete waste of time that was. But even then, the disaster was not over. No. For with the same society I also have an ISA. (Everyone should have an ISA.) Yesterday it paid me 5.65% per month. Which is a bit rubbish, but interest rates have been going down over the past few months. Today the website tells me that they offer 5.9% on ISA deposits. Whoo-hoo! An increase! More pennies each month for me. Or rather, not for me at all, because you see this ISA which pays 5.9% is a new, different ISA, and different from the crappy 5.65% ISA that I have. Which, by the way, now suddenly pays only 5.55%, as a further insult.
I bet they thought I wouldn't notice! Well I did. No good heels and bums and charlatans, all of them. How am I to retire by the age of 40 at this rate? They obviously know that ISAs are a nuisance to move around (you can't just take the money out and put it in somewhere else, you have to 'transfer' it so that it stays tax-free.)
Those bowler-hatted chaps at the Bradford and Bingley are on thin ice. But I may yet have the last laugh, because I've just opened a 6.49% savings account at.... Northern Rock. So that'll be interesting, eh.
I spend a lot of time looking at spreadsheets, constantly analysing, correlating, examining the performance of my many investments. I'm not into shares, I think they're a fast way to lose money (never mind my former colleague who has virtually retired on the millions he made from them) and I am not the type to put my capital at risk. No sir. I believe the proper term for this is "risk averse", and so I am, at least financially.
The problem is, even your friendly local building society is not to be trusted these days. Earlier this week I visited the website of my friendly local building society, which is in fact neither local nor friendly. I already have a modest deposit with them, and this week I noticed that they offer a savings account offering 6.4% interest. This is very good, so I applied for it. This morning I got the leaflet through telling me that everything had been opened. I logged on to check my account details and discovered that in the 5 days between my application and the account opening, the interest rate HAS ALREADY GONE DOWN and is now only 6.15%, which is less!
What a complete waste of time that was. But even then, the disaster was not over. No. For with the same society I also have an ISA. (Everyone should have an ISA.) Yesterday it paid me 5.65% per month. Which is a bit rubbish, but interest rates have been going down over the past few months. Today the website tells me that they offer 5.9% on ISA deposits. Whoo-hoo! An increase! More pennies each month for me. Or rather, not for me at all, because you see this ISA which pays 5.9% is a new, different ISA, and different from the crappy 5.65% ISA that I have. Which, by the way, now suddenly pays only 5.55%, as a further insult.
I bet they thought I wouldn't notice! Well I did. No good heels and bums and charlatans, all of them. How am I to retire by the age of 40 at this rate? They obviously know that ISAs are a nuisance to move around (you can't just take the money out and put it in somewhere else, you have to 'transfer' it so that it stays tax-free.)
Those bowler-hatted chaps at the Bradford and Bingley are on thin ice. But I may yet have the last laugh, because I've just opened a 6.49% savings account at.... Northern Rock. So that'll be interesting, eh.
Ant: The Movie
Having surveyed other "proper" blogs, I notice that every so often it is required to pick up on one of the popular internet phenomenons (or "meme"s) and make it yours. Therefore, I have tracked down the latest groove that's got all the cool cats swinging:
This one is based on the (totally and entirely true) idea that the 'shuffle' feature on iTunes (and/or your iPod Shuffle) is entirely psychic and can predict your future like some kind of Magic 8 Ball. Thus, when it comes to be time to make the 'movie of your life', your shufflesome friend can provide the soundtrack to fit.
Try it yourself. See what your iPod picks for your movie's Opening Credits, Song For A Winter's Night, Falling in Love, Breaking Up, Prom Song, Life's OK, Mental Breakdown, Driving, Flashback, Getting Back Together, Getting Married, Sex Scene, Shelter Song, Birth of 1st Child, Final Battle Scene (not sure what that's for, unless you are Ryu from StreetFighter II), Death Scene, Funeral, End Credits.
Here's what the mysterious appley forces predicted for me. This is totally true.
Opening Credits:
Rock With You - Michael Jackson
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7hK3Y1Ehv9c
Song For A Winter's Night:
Starchild - Jamiroquai
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5UifY4k1KNw
Falling in Love:
Raincloud - Lighthouse Family
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kzJcbvRxnrg
Breaking Up:
Whole Lotta Love - Goldbug
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8GmIFFVTbsE
Prom Song:
You're The Real Music - The Kids From Fame
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQhmOU_qHCo
Life's OK:
Universal Speech - The Go! Team
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ksmI9hnWJXc
Mental Breakdown:
Dreamer - Livin' Joy
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=86btbPOFfaE
Driving:
Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays - N*Sync
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c-vsmrTrL0w
Flashback:
Block Rockin' Beats - The Chemical Brothers
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vhFoYiBz0z0
Getting Back Together:
The Take Over, The Break's Over - Fall Out Boy
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zElEs8yw7fw
Getting Married:
Weakness - Stevie Wonder
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B1Mw7nX38qs
Sex Scene:
Mistake No. 3 - Culture Club
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h5o2mHtmzu4
Shelter Song:
Nervous Breakdown - Carleen Anderson
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CA_-DXem7kU
Birth of 1st Child:
Your Woman - White Town
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lVL-zZnD3VU
Final Battle Scene:
Sing It Back - Moloko
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GSgC969oUgo
Death Scene:
I Knew You Were Waiting For Me - Aretha Franklin & George Michael
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AuU0cJ_iW8w
Funeral:
You'll Never Stop Me Loving You - Sonia
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6nMp3YvL6mg
End Credits:
C'est La Vie - B*Witched
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eIJPPprDcVQ
Everyone knows that iPods are psychic, really. I wonder what this says about my future. Other than that I am clearly destined to die in some bizarre breakdancing contest. Which I suppose is not such a bad way to go - and at least my funeral will be well-attended by people dressed in snappy 80s fashions. Who wouldn't be delighted by such a thing?
Wednesday, 27 February 2008
Lies My Parents Told Me, Volume 2
I couldn’t have been more than about three years old when I began to take more of an interest in the great outdoors. And in particular, the enormous back garden of the house I grew up in. My memories suggest that the house too was enormous, but then again that perception might just be because I was awfully little at the time and so everything was comparatively bigger. A bit like Wagon Wheels. But I digress.
The back garden was home to many wonders of nature. Grass, flowers, plants of all shapes and colours and sizes. Much to interest a young mind – and of course, what toddler doesn’t want to help out and make sure that the garden is in good order?
The idea that it was possible to plant things in the soil, which would then turn into miraculous plants, flowers, space hoppers, and sturdy oak trees, was of course one which I found interesting. And so it was that I decided that I wanted my own patch of soil where I too could plant things.
I had become aware that it was possible to plant the tops of carrots in the ground, and that new carrots would grow as a result. I’m not sure how I obtained this knowledge, because I certainly don’t remember this ever happening. But nonetheless, the principle was good. Food comes from the ground.
My grandfather grew food in the greenhouse. This seemed like a good place for food to grow, but I was not always allowed into the greenhouse, so I would have to plant my food outside, in my own small patch of soil by the front door. My young mind saw no reason why these endeavours should not be equally successful.
Grandad grew tomatoes – or so I thought – in his greenhouse. I had not noticed them before, but one day, there they were. Since tomatoes must therefore be fast and easy to grow, I decided that I too would plant tomatoes. I don’t recall the exact mechanics of how I did this. Perhaps I asked for some seeds, perhaps I buried a tomato sandwich, or still more likely, maybe I just put a carrot top in the ground and expected it to become what I wanted. In those days I was used to things almost always turning out exactly as I expected.
I patted down the soil, watered it vigorously, and waited. Day after day I checked back, continuing the vigorous watering as I did so. (Plants need water, and hoses are fun to play with, so the double bonus rule applies.) But it seems that progress was slow in coming. A day is a long time when you’re three, so I’m quite sure that after three or four days, I would have been immeasurably upset and disappointed that my mighty tomato tree was not growing correctly. Perhaps it just needed more water.
I did not have much longer to wait, though, for it was not long after that my regular check of my heavily-watered patch of outdoor soil revealed that an entire tomato had grown, seemingly overnight. A very small tomato, admittedly, but a tomato nonetheless. Delighted with my horticultural achievement, I used my green fingers to expertly pick up the tomato from the soil upon which it laid. (Not, you will notice, any kind of vine. A professional tomato-grower would have noticed the absence right away.)
I proudly showed the tomato to the first available parent. I could tell that they were as impressed as I was, but apparently I had made an error in picking the tomato too soon – I was supposed to wait a while so that it would grow to be big and strong. We therefore returned the small tomato to the soil, watered it some more, and waited for another day.
The next day, the tomato had grown! Despite having been ‘picked’ from a vine that wasn’t there, an issue of minor detail which does not concern the busy three-year-old horticulturalist, my single tomato was coming along in leaps and bounds. I could tell that I had a fine career ahead of me. The following day, it was larger and larger still until I could take it no more and insisted upon consuming the tasty treat. As it turned out, I don’t think I liked tomatoes very much – that might have had something to do with being three years old, and quite a fussy eater even for that age.
Even so, my pride at having grown my own food was immense. I was pleased for many years afterwards.
It was not until a very long time later that the truth was discovered. My well-meaning parents had considered my constant visits to my well-watered patch of mud to be so endearing that they felt they could not leave me without the kind of result that my impatient young mind was seeking. And once again, my blissful naivety was targeted in another sinister operation.
A small cherry tomato was purchased from the supermarket, and placed in the corner of my budding allotment when I was not looking. The illusion that I had grown this was eagerly accepted. But how could the tomato continue to grow? Surely this was proof of my endeavours? No. Each day, again when I was not looking, probably when I was deep in blissful, ignorant, angelic sleep, the tomato of the day was switched with a slightly larger tomato.
Hook, line, and sinker. I didn’t find out for years.
I think I’m going to cry.
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