A Nice Night In

I'm not much of a fan of modern music - perhaps I just don't have the patience to listen through all the rubbish to dig out the good stuff that's - probably - sitting underneath somewhere. But every so often, something comes along that reminds me that it's worth paying attention.

And so it is that, while 2006 is almost over, I find myself indulging in what might be an end-of-year tradition. Because a sunny New Year's Eve evening is the one time when you can guarantee that the nice people at TMF break the habit of a lifetime and actually play some music videos. And you know something? When they put their minds to it, they're actually pretty damn good at it. They play videos for hours and hours and hours at a time, and you can sit through them all, and even enjoy most of them.

In a world where most radio stations and music video channels are entirely unlistenable, this is no mean feat. And so it is that December 31st is where I catch up on all the best music of the year, which I'd otherwise entirely missed out on.

Seems that this year I nearly missed a real gem. Now I'm sure that I'm much too old and much too alone to really have much time for a song like this, but right about now, I think this is the best thing ever. I wish I'd heard it back in August when it came out, although it would have been too late even then. Here, have a listen... In fact, courtesy of YouTube, you can even watch the video - although it's a bit odd. I'd just listen to it, if I were you:

Cut and Shut

I knew there was a reason why I never threw anything away. Boxes, old telephones, broken computer drives.. I lose track of the amount of useless stuff I keep "just in case it might be useful one day".

Today, oh yes, today I am vindicated. Because the curly cable thingy on my usual phone has become somewhat worse for wear over the past few months, coming to bits and generally making my phone calls rather crackly. But no longer! And for why? Well, while tidying up today, I found another phone just like my usual one. It was broken, stopped working several years ago, but I did not throw it away, in case it came in useful one day in the future.

Today was that day. Using my superior engineering skills, I was able to combine the working top part of my usual phone (which is white), with the working bottom part of the broken phone (which is green). The result, a fully working phone, in a delightful white and green combination which I choose to find pleasing.

I would take a photograph of it, but I can't find my camera. Or my camera phone. I think I've put them in a box somewhere. If I ever find them, I'll get snapping. And in the meantime, I've put away the broken top and bottom halves, in case they too may become useful one day.

Out Of Office

It’s Wednesday. Yes, just “Wednesday”. Alas, “Christmas Day” and “Boxing Day” have gone, and all that is left is a very ordinary Wednesday. But I don’t want Christmas to be over. I still have tinsel hanging up, I still have my little fibre-optic Christmas tree merrily twinkling away in the corner.. Christmas is not over. It can’t be.

So right now, my challenge is to stay festive and enjoy the rest of the two-week holiday I ended up booking out of the office, even in the knowledge that many people have already gone back to work and that, right now, things are probably happening in my office while I am not there.

I don’t care. I did check my email about half an hour ago, just to see if anything interesting was going on, but apart from an appeal for people to bring their letters and parcels to the mail room before 3pm, all seemed pretty quiet.

So today I am busy busying myself with things to do. I made a start on tidying up yesterday, so I’d imagine that’s going to keep me busy for a while longer. And checking my email this morning, I’m delighted to see that eBay is having another 10p day on Friday. So not only can I tidy up, but I can keep an eye out for things to sell at the same time. What fun.

Meanwhile, in the spirit of tidiness, I’ve also joined Freecycle, which seems like an awfully neat idea. Instead of throwing things away, you can let people in your local area know that you have something, and that they can come get it (for free) if they want it. Might be a useful avenue to get rid of things which don’t sell on eBay or which are just too large/awkward to remove by other means. Who knows?

There doesn’t seem to be anything on TV today, but there’s a good programme on the radio this afternoon between 3 and 6, so I think that, all things considered, I may have just about enough to keep me busy for today. And I’ll try not to keep checking my work email too often.

Author Unknown

Across Europe, many people believe that Christmas Eve is a particularly special time. On the stroke of midnight, all the animals of the land receive a strange and wonderful gift – for they become able to talk, to themselves, and each other, and even any humans who might be listening.

And so it was one Christmas eve in the farmhouse, in the deepest, darkest night, when the animals noticed that something was different. And slowly, they each heard their voices for the first time.

“I can talk!”, said the cow. “Oh! Don’t I have a lovely voice!”, she said, and began to sing merrily.

“I calk talk!”, said the dog, excitedly. “I can talk! I can talk! I can talk!”

“Maybe I can talk too?”, said the rabbit, startling himself when he heard. “Oh, my goodness!”

“If you can all talk, I suppose that I should be able to as well”, said the cat, who did not seem particularly surprised at all.

“And me too?”, said the mouse, timidly. “It must be because it’s Christmas! What Christmas present would you like to get, Cow?”

The cow thought for a few moments, and said, “I would like a whole field of grass for my very own. How about you, Dog?”

Dog was excited. “I’d like.. I’d like.. I’d like a great big bone! A great big bone! How about you, Rabbit?”

Rabbit shuffled her nose for a few moments, and said, “I’d like lots and lots of carrots. I like carrots very much. What do you want for Christmas, Cat?”

“I would like a nice bowl of cream”, answered Cat, quickly. “Or perhaps a nice juicy mouse.”

Mouse looked up with a start, and nearly ran away before noticing the mischievous smile on Cat’s face. “Well,” said Mouse nervously, “I’d like some extra-special cheese. If that’s alright with everyone, of course.”

Just then, a robin popped in, and landed on the straw by the animals. “Hello Robin”, said Cow. “We’ve just been thinking about the things we’d like for Christmas. How about you?”

“Oh, I don’t want anything for Christmas”, said the Robin.

“But whyever not?”, enquired the cat. “Everyone deserves a present at Christmas time.”

“I already have the best present there is.”, said Robin.

“Huh? Huh? I don’t understand. I don’t understand!”, said Dog.

“Why would I want for anything when I have good friends like you?”, asked Robin, “Why, Dog, you’re always so happy and excited. Being with you is always such fun.”

Dog turned his head to one side, confused, but listened as Robin continued. “And you, Mouse, we always have such interesting adventures together. You know all about the most exciting nooks and crannies of the farm.”

Mouse thought of the adventures they’d had, as Robin turned to look at Cat. “I never forget that you could always eat me for your dinner, if you wanted to. But instead, you always watch out for me, and protect me from the bigger animals.”

Cat gave a thoughtful look, while Robin carried on. “And you, Rabbit. You always seem to happy to see me, and I feel the same about you. You share the fur and straw from your hutch, and help me build my nest so that I may be warm in winter.”

Rabbit scratched her ears as Robin turned to address Cow. “You are so kind to me, Cow. You let me sit on your back when I am tired from flying, I travel all around the field with your help. And you shelter me from the rain when the weather is bad. You are always so kind to me.”

Cow thought of the times she had spent with Robin, but had not realized that it meant so much.

“So you see”, continued Robin, “there’s nothing at all that I want for Christmas – because I already have your friendship, and I wouldn’t swap that for anything.”

The animals all thought about the things that they had wanted, and soon decided that they did not seem as important as the friendship they all shared with Robin, and with each other. And so, as they settled down to sleep in the farmhouse, they all felt very happy indeed, to be so lucky to have such good friends as each other.

Duck Duck Goose

I don't really do grocery shopping these days. Modern times and the ceaseless advances of technology have eliminated my need to walk to the shops once a week, trudging up and down the aisles with my trolley, then lumbering home with armfuls of shopping bags weighing me down. I never was much good at shopping anyway, but the moment the world advanced enough for the supermarkets to say "Why don't you just tell our website what you want, and we'll bring it to you?", my shopping life changed forever.

Problem is, of course, it doesn't always work. For the past few weeks I've been trying to obtain my regular brand of easy-to-prepare frozen turkey. But, unusually, the nice people at Tesco have not had any. This is most upsetting. Their last chance was on Thursday, with my final "big delivery" before Christmas, and again... they didn't have any. Sensing the potential for Christmas-ruining error, I did take the precaution of ordering some Chicken as well. Which arrived with the health-saving warning "USE BY DECEMBER 24TH" on it. Now I'm sure that I can scoff at this date but not everyone agrees and I'd probably only get shouted at if I tried.

So, a victim of circumstance and perhaps my own inflexibility, I find myself just two days away from Christmas, staring down the barrel of not having any meat for din dins. It was, therefore, with some reluctance that I knew I would have to trudge down to an actual supermarket this morning to see if anything was available.

Despite shopping for meat, I found that somehow, lots and lots of chocolate products had already made their way into my shopping basket before I was anywhere near the frozen food section. But having arrived at the freezers, what did I see but... well.. really, not very much turkey at all. And specifically, none of Bernard Matthews' interesting circular-shaped frozen turkeys which I quite like, on account of them being very easy to cook and very hard to muck up.

In fact, the only circular turkeys I could find were not the luscious and sumptuous breast, but the less luscious and not as sumptuous "leg", whatever that is. I consider myself a breast man, so the leg is uncharted territory. Still, I am sure that it is quite alright, so I bought two, just in case.

It wasn't actually the shopping that took the time - oh no, what took the time was queuing up to actually pay for my little basket of items. Queues all over the place - six different queues (one per checkout) snaking all over and around the store. I joined one and waited about.. hm, what, half an hour?, before I finally paid and got out of there. The local boy scouts and girl guides were in attendance on each checkout, helping to pack people's shopping - which was awfully nice but as half an hour of queueing had proved, it wasn't speeding things up any.

Listening to the radio this evening, it seems that my local shop is not alone in having entirely sold out of turkey. Apparently this phenomena is occuring all over the country, and many Christmas shoppers are having to consider alternative birds - including duck, and even goose. I am sure both of them are nice, but in the true spirit of being as fussy as a four-year-old, I have had neither of them before, so therefore I obviously do not like them, thankyou very much.

Elsewhere in the Bernard Matthews stable, I'm not completely appalled by those circular frozen lambs which he manages to breed somehow. Sadly those too seemed to have sold out. I blame all those other people, crazily buying out entire stores worth of stock, as if Christmas meant that the shops would be closed for two weeks rather than two days.

While queueing I had a brief conversation with the lady queueing behind me. She was of the opinion that such delay was really not the done thing. I suggested that despite the often-quoted British prediliction for forming queues, it really wasn't something that we seemed to do very well.

On the plus side, my expedition to the shops did reveal that there are a few more fish and chip places down my street, and it's only the closest one to me which is closed until January. I was almost tempted to pick some up on my way home, but it was far too cold and after having had my super-hero energy sapped by such incessant queueing, I really just wanted to get back home.

So, Christmas is... well, around a day and a half away now, and all is safely gathered in. I have sprouts, and stuffing, and lots of pizzas (that's what happens when I go shopping on an empty stomach), as well as my slightly-less-excellent-but-still-turkey turkey. All that's left to do is to get on with enjoying the festive season. I think I'm starting to quite look forward to it now!

Warm

Thursday, 9.05pm Aah. I am once again warm and toasty.

It's surprising how much one's mood is improved by being warm. These past few days have been a bit of a nightmare. Let's review, shall we?

Tuesday was pretty much OK, although it was a bit tiring trying to clear a path to the radiator in my computer room (the most important room of them all, of course.) And then I had to sleep on the sofa because my bed was covered with displaced boxes and computer equipment.

Wednesday caused me to be up at 8am, which is no fun. In the cold. And for no reason since the Fixing Squad turned up two hours late. Not that I'm ungrateful because under ordinary circumstances I would be waiting until some time in late January to get this sorted out. So I'm grateful.

All of Wednesday is spent sitting, in the cold, on the sofa, with a permanent headache, trying to do some work on my laptop but not really getting much done, moving more bits and pieces around so that the guys can drain my radiators and change the bits on the end of 'em. The issue of the limited access "in the room with all the computers" is raised, but the guys are up for diving under the desk so we'll be fine. I realise just how much stuff I have in my place and how the whole house of cards comes crashing down when you have to move a few things around. I was planning another "big tidy-up" over Christmas anyway, but this timing wasn't really ideal. Anyway, despite the clutter, much work is done.

As the gentlemen leave for the day, I grab some hot food and go to bed - on the couch, again - at 8pm! Living large. 

Thursday morning rolls around, and this time I get no unexpected lie-in because they really do turn up at 8am. There's not too much left to do, which is nice, but some of it is kind of fiddly. I spend more time on the sofa. I more or less forget about doing any work, it's not likely to happen. I find myself watching the Jeremy Kyle show. I am still cold, and I still have that permanent headache, which I'm not sure is from the cold or from sleeping on the sofa. I also have about six visitors, and a delivery of Christmas shopping from Tesco, which I can't even find room for on the floor, let alone in the cupboards, which have had to be emptied in order to have holes and pipes drilled through them. I'm filled with this strange sense of dread - I just wish this was all over. I try to busy myself to make my mind off the discomfort of the situation.

Thursday afternoon and nearly everything is done. Generally speaking it all went pretty well, apart from some unexpected burn marks on the walls, but they'll be behind furniture so that's OK. The new deluxeomatic gas boiler is installed and fired up, and that sucker heats up the radiators pretty damn fast, which is nice. My idle enquiry about whether there should be quite such a smell of gas causes a small amount of running around, followed by an urgent shouted request from upstairs to "Aaargh turn the gas off!!"

Problem's swiftly solved, and job's a good-un. We have heat, as well as instant high pressure hot water, which I did not have before. It seems to go a funny milky colour after a few seconds, which I'm not quite sure about, but one thing at a time.

It's explained to me that there's some remaining electrical work to do, which of course must be done by a qualified electrician rather than the qualified gas guys who have been doing the job so far. (They themselves commented that they were only authorised to blow the place up with gas, not with electricity.) But a lashed-up extension cord and a spare plug which I had to take off an old TV will keep us going until tomorrow morning when the full monty of proper connections can be made.

Thursday evening - A few hours to decompress and it's surprising how much better I feel for being warm again. My headache is almost completely gone, and a few packets of crisps, a chocolate eclair and some cherry coke have gone down really quite nicely indeed. Life is good, and my mood is even sunny enough to write a blog entry.

I have heat, I have light, I have food, I have family. I feel human again. Although I may need to sleep on the sofa for just one more night - which hopefully might encourage me to begin serious efforts to throw away some of this junk sooner rather than later. After all, no sense in moving the same old junk back into the spaces I moved it out from, is there? Let's see.

I feel good. I feel better than James Brown. And there's nothing not to like about that.

Cold

1pm. Today is a very cold day. It is very cold outside, and the reason I know this is because I am currently sitting indoors, where it is also cold.

The reason that I am indoors, yet still cold, is because my gas boiler has packed up, and as of this morning is no longer heating my hot water or supplying me with the palatial all-rooms warmness to which I have become accustomed.

As I speak, there is a man downstairs, banging and crashing and attempting to restore proper order. No, wait, he has come upstairs to use the toilet.. OK, and now he has gone back downstairs again.

So far he has managed to remove pretty much every part of the boiler, and by a process of elimination it has been discovered that some rickety old fan thing is causing the problem. Sadly it is so totally rusted to the wall that he cannot remove it, which probably places us in "whole new boiler" territory. If this is required, it will not occur until some time in the new year, meaning that this Christmas will be a chilly affair indeed.

1.30pm Mr Fixer left momentarily, and has now returned with his boss, the two of whom are currently engaged in a high speed conversation which I am not completely following. At issue, apparently, is whether it is "22 mil" or not, where exactly does the pipe come in, will there be room for the scaffolding? Is there enough cromulence for the thrusterbusters? The existing location of the boiler is not acceptable, so that will need to be moved into the airing cupboard, and of course the hot water tank and all of those radiators will need to be replaced. Work starts tomorrow morning at 8am and will I be alright until then?

I am considering wearing a sweater, but then again I'm sure that will turn out not to be necessary on account of the huge amount of lifting and carrying and moving around that I will need to do in order to clean up the place enough for the nice gentlemen to have easy access to my radiators. Still, I guess it's a good reason to get started.. I may be some time.

2pm Apparently it's just the radiator taps that need to be replaced. I'll still need to tidy up a bit, though. T minus 18 hours and counting.

The Big List Of Things That Are British

It’s a slightly depressing sign of the times that matters of “immigration” and “illegal aliens” are such hot topics in our society. It seems that there are altogether far too many people who spend their days reading the often criminally stupid newspapers, or watching the equally criminally stupid TV news. Anyone exposed to these for more than a few days would be under the impression that our country is awash with tens of millions of illegal immigrants who will take our jobs, and our houses, and perhaps even our beloved garden gnomes, unless this menace is stopped.

 

Needless to say I don’t agree. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to seek a better life in another country. It may not be long before anyone with half a brain cell gives up on our fine British nation and moves somewhere which still has some culture left. I hear that Germany is nice. No, seriously – this weekend I listened to “Bayern 4”, a radio station from the nice people at Bayerisches Rundfunk in Germany, which was playing nice Christmas music from around the world. The problem with Germany, and German radio stations in particular, is that of course all the speaking is done in a different language. But you can’t fail to be impressed by the class of a country where radio and TV stations routinely start any announcement with the words “Meine Damen und Herren” – My Ladies and Gentlemen. It must be nice to live in a country where the media treats its audience with that kind of respect.

 

But my point, and I do have one, is this. Part of the British Government’s plan to be seen as really taking a tough line on keeping out the tired, the poor, and the huddled masses yearning to breathe free, is that future applicants seeking to become a British Citizen will be made to take a citizenship test. Today I was taking a look at some of the questions that visitors will be asked.

 

They come, very conveniently, in the form of multiple choice questions. A subject I know something about. Part of the way I used to (and in fact, just recently, still do) make my living is in writing quiz questions. I know a hard question when I see one. And the ‘Citizenship Test’ has lots of impossible questions which probably 80% of British Citizens (probably the same citizens who read all those stupid newspapers) would be unable to answer.

 

Try this. “How many children live with a single parent? 15%, 25%, 35% or 45%?”

 

The secret to writing good, enjoyable multiple choice questions is in making sure that you can eliminate a few answers by the process of elimination. So an obviously wrong choice like “100%” would be a good start in a stupid statistics question like that. But then again maybe this is not the sort of quiz you’re supposed to enjoy taking, enjoyment being a rather un-British pursuit.

 

“What percentage of the UK population is white? 68%, 74%, 85%, 92%”

 

I don’t know. Nor do I really care. Who wrote these boring, tiresome questions? Well, probably civil servants and politicians who think that the world revolves around them. Now, no disrespect to civil servants, I used to be one, and we always liked to think that we were pretty good eggs who tried to keep the country on its feet irrespective of which bunch of morons got voted into Government every four years. Even so, most of these questions just wouldn’t interest anyone.

 

“Judges are appointed by: A) The Home Secretary, B) The Prime Minster, C) The Queen, D) The Lord Chancellor.”

 

I live in this country and I don’t know that. I don’t need to.

 

I can’t help but think that they might have been having a bit of fun with some of the options in one question, though. Picking up on another subject which is frequently mentioned in stupid newspapers attempting to create a moral panic, here’s a rare opportunity to separate the informed from the uninformed.

 

“Is child molestation by strangers an increasing danger?

 

A) yes, because children play more often outside

B) only in Northern Ireland

C) yes, there is a strong increasing pattern

D) no, there is no evidence to support that claim”

 

Leaving aside the unflattering suggestion which this makes about the good people of Northern Ireland, the correct answer is actually D.

 

Nice to know, though, that there is even a seasonal question for this time of year. And I do enjoy the answers to this one:

 

“What is the traditional Christmas meal?

 

A) meat sausages with mashed potatoes and fruit salad

B) oatmeal with blueberries and apple pudding

C) roast turkey and pudding made from suet, dried fruit and spices

D) fish and chips, followed by tea”

 

The correct answer is C, although I should point out that you don’t eat the roast turkey and the pudding together, the pudding is actually for afters and should not be mixed up with the main meal.

 

I have to admit that I think bonus points should be awarded to anyone answering ‘D’, so delighted am I by the distinctly British suggestion of “fish and chips, followed by tea” for Christmas dinner. Any good quiz should always have one option that makes you smile.

 

With these things in mind, I thought it would be useful to compile a real world guide to things which are well and truly British, in order that future arrivals at this country can, instead of filling their heads with pointless statistics, instead be fully aware of what it means to wear Union Jack underwear at all times, as British people do. So, my Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you, The Big List Of Things That Are British:

 

1. George And Mildred

There is absolutely nothing in the world more British than George And Mildred. George is a simple man with simple pleasures. Mildred is his wife, who yearns for the social status that she doesn’t quite have. They live next door to the Fourmiles, a family who actually HAS the status that Mildred doesn’t, but can’t enjoy it because their neighbours are so very lower class.

 

George & Mildred Roper actually began life as the people who lived upstairs on the equally famous British TV show, “Man About The House” which American viewers will know better as ‘Three’s Company’. And although both these programmes are quintessentially products of 1970s Britain, there’s enough London scenery in the Man About The House titles alone to teach you everything you need to know about how things are done round here.

 

2. Children’s TV

While essential Britishness is not all about television, you’re guaranteed to be able to keep a conversation moving with any thirty-or-fourty-something grown-up with the mention of some classic British children’s television. The Magic Roundabout, for example, is actually French, but this problem was eventually solved by the production of an English version which involved discarding the original French script entirely, and instead making it up pretty much as it went along.

 

Rainbow is also entirely British, despite featuring, as it does, a man wearing orange overalls, a pink hippopotamus named George, an adult-sized bear called Bungle, and an unidentified puppet called Zippy. Incidentally, every other ‘Rainbow’ clip on YouTube (they all start with Zippy peeling a banana and are usually 3:05 long) is not from the real series, but a joke tape made to entertain the TV crew one Christmas time. (This is known as a ‘Christmas Tape’, but that won’t be on the test unless you’re hoping to become a British Citizen AND work at a television company.)

 

Rentaghost could not be more British, being low budget and having an overall appearance of not actually being very good. But there wasn’t much to watch on TV in the 1970s and this would have to do.

 

By the 1980s, computers had been invented, but the spirit of British industry, as well as several major trade unions, continued to require that only skilled people with the appropriate safety equipment were allowed to operate them. Enter Chockablock, a programme for the under fives that was, as they say, chock-a-block with fun and learning. This clip shows ‘Chock-a-girl’ undertaking the essential heavy maintenance of the fun-loving supercomputer, but there was also a ‘Chock-a-bloke’ available if Chock-a-girl was otherwise engaged.

 

Can’t spend too long talking about this, but for further viewing, consider also Paddington, who despite being from darkest Peru was discovered at a major London train station, plus the always slightly sinister Bod, and the mighty Mr Men.

 

3. George Formby

In the thirty years between the creation of the universe, and the invention of music by The Beatles in 1967, there was only George Formby. Famous for his tune “When I’m Cleaning Windows”, he starred in nearly every British film there was, usually with jaunty titles like, “Mind the step, George!”. And speaking of films..

 

4. Carry On Movies

Carry On movies typically star one or all of the following: Sid James, Kenneth Williams, Barbara Windsor, Hattie Jacques, Charles Hawtrey, Bernard Bresslaw, and sometimes even Terry Scott. (See also: Dangermouse, a very British cartoon from the very British Thames Television, who also made George & Mildred and Man About The House. See how these things link together?)  Sid James is also well known for his appearance alongside miserable British comedian Tony Hancock in the radio (and later TV) series ‘Hancock’s Half Hour’.

 

5. The Queen

The Queen is also British, despite all the people who suggest that she is actually German.

 

In the short time available to write this before bedtime, I have only managed to cover the top 5 British things which come to mind at this particular moment, but even armed with this knowledge, British Citizenship is guaranteed to anyone. There will be an advanced course offered at a future date, to register please send your name and address on the back of a postcard or stuck-down-envelope. (And we’ll also be explaining why postcards and the backs of stuck-down-envelopes are so British, too.)

It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas

There is no time like Christmas, but after an early rush of the Christmas spirit back in November, I now find myself just eight days away from the big event and with a distinct lack of the festive kind of feeling which I would be expecting right about now.

I've pretty much done all of my Christmas shopping - well, apart from the final pre-Christmas grocery shopping, of course. So for my relatives I have dug deep to bring them gifts which I hope they will like. For my friends I have bought nothing, because that's just not how we roll. It's not a choice or hard policy - it's just how it turned out. One less thing to worry about, anyway.

I should be in more of a Christmassy mood today because I have this afternoon had a pre-Christmas exchange of gifts with a delegation of significant relatives. As I speak, in the back seat of their car is my bag of miscellaneous gifts to them, and downstairs in my living room is their box of miscellaneous gifts to me. I could go and open them all right now - hey, we could have opened them all in front of each other during their visit - but it seems more noble to wait until Christmas day proper to open the gifts we have given each other. While this does mean that I won't be able to see the "what on earth is THIS?" looks on people's faces, it will at least give me a chance to get into a more festive mood before the big day.

On the whole I quite like Christmas, and it's not for the presents and stuff - I'm now old enough to truly believe that it's just nice to spend some time with your family, or on your own, and take a bit of a break from things after a busy year. The eating and drinking of things that would not normally be eaten or drinken during the year, and the watching of TV programmes that would not normally be watched - in my case this will usually involve me sitting through Christmas episodes of Emmerdale and EastEnders while I busy myself typing on my laptop. But it's something different - and it's a difference which is special and nice.

I also find myself thinking of last Christmas. I seem to remember spending a lot of time online chatting with people last year. Between that and the insanely impossible work resolution I set myself, for some reason I remember it more than most. The Christmases of years before remind me of long late nights and even longer lie-ins, eating peanuts, American chocolate, alcohol-free wine and imported fizzy drinks. (I like Jolt Cola and Blue Pepsi, but you try getting hold of them in this country..) All fuzzy memories, but nice ones.

I've currently got about a week off work over Christmas - the 25th and 26th come for free, and I've decided to have the rest of that week to myself also. Of course I'm pretty sure that I'll still check my work email during that time, but only when I want to. And I'd imagine that since most other people will probably do exactly the same, it should be a quiet week work-wise.

In between writing these two paragraphs I've logged on to the company Intranet and booked myself out for the whole of the following week too. There, two clear weeks off for Christmas and New Year. Ant returns on January 8th. Yay! I guess I may as well put all these 'leave days' to some kind of use - I never really used them before but I think I'm starting to see the usefulness of them now.

Technically I still have 9 days of leave I could take this year, but there are only 5 days left of this year (5 days that I'd have to work on, anyway) and surely booking any more time off would be greedy. I don't know. Maybe I'll shave a few days off the end of next week as well.. let's see how it goes. Again, maybe there'll be so many people using up their remaining leave allowance next week that there'll be no work to do anyway! Let's see.

Ah yes, it is indeed beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Two weeks off and a nice turkey dinner. Can't wait.

Things What I Wrote 4: Double Doggies

Originally written September 29th 1997. And spruced up some today to make the jokes even more better.

No matter how hard life is, there will always be someone worse off than you. There is a place on this earth where people are locked in confined spaces, with barely enough room to stand up straight. Where these people are exposed to extremes of heat and light, and shaken around until they're ready to confess to almost anything.

This is called British Rail.

Mike Harding tells that joke better than I do, but it seems kind of appropriate. Life when you're young is a bit like the aforementioned British Rail. While being driven from place to place by a chauffeur - albeit in a baby buggy - sounds nice, it's often not all it's cracked up to be.

When you're small, everything is so much bigger. And no things could possibly have been larger than the insane evil dog who troubled me one afternoon. I must have been about three at the time, possibly younger. I'm not sure where I was - the miracle of baby buggies mean that I didn't get there by myself, all I had to do was to remain seated and wait for the world to revolve around me. I think it was a park, or something. It certainly had a nice swimming pool nearby.

Anyway, before too long, my big day out was enhanced still further by the opportunity to have some ice-cream. I indicated to my escort that I desired an ice cream. A big one.

It was a very good ice cream, actually. Do you remember the magical freezers with big tubs of all different flavours of ice cream? A wafer cone and a scoop of your chosen flavour (in my case, mint choc chip) was all any young boy needed to be happy. But on this day, I was treated to one of those special double cones, which I haven't seen for ages, so I had two scoops of ice cream, side by side. Truly, I was king for a day, and still too young to appreciate the comedy that I could have found by pointing out my side-by-side scoops of ice cream and saying "Hey! This look like boobs!". I was only three, after all.

I was as happy as Larry. If legends are correct, Larry, whoever he is, is just about as happy as it's possible to be. And so it was with me, about to take my first lick when in bounded some huge, ferocious, snarling devil dog. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't a pit bull or anything dangerous like that, but when you're three, any reasonably sized dog is huge and ferocious when it's not licking your face or letting you pat it.

But this dog was in no mood for being cute. It saw my super deluxe ice cream, with two scoops. And it wanted it. What did it do? What could it do? It did the only thing a dog can do. It started barking at me. Loudly.

This troubled me, a three year old with a fine double scooper ice cream. And when you're that age, there's only so many ways you can handle a situation like that. I did the only thing a boy in my position could do. I immediately started crying.

The fearsome ten-foot dog didn't like the noise I was making too much, but it still wanted my ice cream, and continued to indicate this desire by barking at me still further. Well, I was having none of that. While manfully fighting off this dog by sobbing my eyes out, I ensured that my ice cream was safely out of harms way - I steadfastly held it above my head. It was not having my ice cream.

On and on the dog barked, louder and louder were my cries. Until, somehow, this impasse was cleared up by the reckless owners of the noisy dog and my mumsie. Before long everything was alright again, and the dog was gone. It's funny how quickly things happen when you're young.

With the dog out of the way, I think I got two licks out of my super special ice cream before... I dropped it. And oh how I cried again! Protecting your ice cream from a dog is one thing, but dropping it is quite another. The moment a food product hits the floor, it's officially out of play. No more ice cream for you, young man.

Mumsie took me home and I watched an episode of Paddington before I went to bed. After all, I'd had a big day.

Events like this are what dangerous criminals are made of. Many a law court is faced with the miscreant who has gone mad, broken into a pet shop and plucked the feathers off all the budgies. What are events like this traced back to? "I dropped my special ice-cream!!", pleads the defendant. Scarred for life.

I'm slightly better mentally balanced than that, though. But before this unhappy incident does any more damage and turns me into a nutcase, I need to put this right. The next time I find an ice-cream stand that does those special double cones, a double mint choc chip will be mine.

I just hope there are no dogs around. It could destroy a lesser man.

King Of Postage

You know you're posting too much when your local Post Office gives you a proper mail sack with which to carry your packages next time. Such was the case today when I brought in a number of items, following a particularly heavy eBay session at the weekend.

I like to consider myself a considerate person. My local Post Office is small, and always has long queues. Therefore, I bring in all my post, pre-stamped. Because when you are the 'King Of Postage', like what I am, you know that these days it's really easy to print your own stamps online, with your computer. This is what I do. This way, I ensure that all my items are properly paid for, and that I do not unduly inconvenience other people who might be waiting in a queue behind me and my 12 differently-sized differently-weighted items.

Yes, I am the very model of consideration. Of course not everyone is so considerate. While I could just barge to the front of the queue and say "Excuse me, packages coming through. Hello Doris, pop these in the sack for tonight would you? Ta, sweetie." I do not actually do so. I take my place in the queue along with everyone else. This often means that I am forced to wait behind people who are misusing the Post Office for their own time-wasting needs. Such as renewing their Car Tax, or something else equally long-winded and time-consuming that usually involves lots of forms and explanation. Who are these people to delay me and my packages? Er, by which I mean, to delay the old ladies and busy businesspeople who queue alongside me?

On a couple of occasions I have found myself queueing behind pretenders to the throne. One chap, who had been given a proper mail sack some months before I was awarded the honour, was clearly a vigorous and energetic eBay seller. He had many packages, which he would, Santa-style, individually withdraw from his sack and pass over the counter for consideration, weighing and stampage. His packaging had style - nice grey mailing sacks, a type of which I am aware yet eschew the use of. He did not use adhesive labels but instead the luxury "DOCUMENTS ENCLOSED" see-through envelopes, into which he laboriously folded the PayPal receipts. He may have the glossy mailing paraphernalia, but he was not the King of Postage, spending more than 20 minutes occupying one of the two whole serving counters that my Post Office has open during busy periods.

Later, there was one bearded fellow who had brought a great number of packages in a washing bag. (I like to think I invented that fashion, but these days I prefer the sturdy Sainsburys reusable bags.) He too had many packages - again being handed over slowly, one at a time.. "Now this one.. is going to Luton.. and I think I'd like to send that.. hmm... yes, second class, and recorded delivery as well." - He had volume, but he too was not the King of Postage. Little did he know who was standing behind him.

As the window next to him became free, I made my move. "Hello, can I drop these in, please? I think you'll find they already have stamps on." The bearded man turns and can only look on in astonishment as the King of Postage fires package after package after package across the counter, swiftly, not stopping or even slowing down, ensuring that his business is conducted with speed, efficiency, and minimal delay for the remaining old ladies in the queue.

"That's fine, thankyou" smiles the lady behind the glass, pleased to have serviced the King. "Thanks, Doll. Don't go changing." says the King, offering a wink as he turns around, pausing only momentarily to glimpse at the bearded man, still waiting with his unstamped packages, before going on his royal way to the door and back out into the cool city afternoon.

"There goes the King", I'm sure the ladies were saying once I was out of earshot. And who could argue with that?

On The Relative Merits Of Doggies

While I consider myself to be quite the cat person, so far my adult life has remained reasonably pet-free. It was not always the case. After all, what six-year-old has not asked for, and been given, a goldfish? Named "Jaws", it proved not to be a sturdy creature, despite being treated to a very nice bowl and the only slighly cheaper single-coloured rocks at the bottom.

Personally I liked the multi-coloured ones, but it was not to be. And neither was 'Jaws', who left us all too quickly, perhaps in protest at the clumsy and ill-considered name foisted upon him by an otherwise eager six year old.

In contrast, Georgie the budgie was an extremely hardy animal, merrily chirping away in his birdcage since pretty much the earliest time I can remember, right up until his untimely demise some 14 years later. Even at such an advanced age, I was not at the time aware that Georgie was in fact Georgie 3 - Georgies number 1 and 2 having expired during their respective trips to the vet some years earlier.

I should have paid more attention. But all the Georgies were green, with a blue nose, and they all said "Georgie" and bobbed their heads up and down in the way that was to be expected. Somehow I was simply unaware that in fact for most of the time, I was dealing with not Georgie 1, but an identical replacement.

Perhaps it is the case, then, that for children, pets never really die - they just stop getting replaced. What a depressing thought. How did I get on this subject anyway?

Oh right, pets. I often think that it would be nice to have a pet again, but I wonder if it isn't too much of a responsibility. After all, any caged or tanked animal would need regular care and attention. I like to think that I could do that, but what if I couldn't? And the more mobile animals, such as cats and doggies, probably couldn't exist well in a house currently full of boxes and things that would fall over and break if nudged by the slightest breeze.

As I said, I'm more of a cat person. Cats seem to be playful and interesting, and very much an equal thinker, a force of nature comparable to any human. Doggies, on the other hand, seem to be very much more interested in rolling in their own stinkiness, and behaving in a slobbery manner, generally jumping up and down and barking unless walked regularly. Yes, dogs offer much more potential for exercise and stink. To say nothing of the unpleasantness and trauma I suffered at the hands of their genus as a small child. Of which, more at a future date.

But, in the meantime, and despite the relatively unsatisfactory nature of proper doggies, I am pleased to say that there is a new arrival in my house. A genuine old English Sheepdog named Max, pictured above.

OK, you may have already detected that my use of the word "genuine" in that last sentence is not strictly true. Max is in fact a puppet. A puppet in need of a bit of a haircut, in fact, but otherwise, a very fine and very entertaining 24 inch puppet, imported special from some expert puppet-makers in America. Max has won awards, and he has a moving mouth, and a tongue, and lovely floppy ears too. What a good boy.

I guess the question here is whether I have entirely lost my mind, or whether it's actually quite acceptable for a 34-year-old to suddenly decide "Yes, I think I will try my hand at amateur puppeteering." Actually I have been fortunate enough to meet some proper puppeteers in real life and they're awfully decent people. Funny, too.

Either way, when I saw that doggie in the window, I couldn't say no. And I am already covered in dog hair. Tomorrow we can go shopping for collars and a name tag.

Age Brings Wisdom: The Mamas and the Papas

They say that age brings wisdom. I like to think that this is true. I've said before that it took me about 20 years to get a joke from 'The Two Ronnies' once. Which, incidentally, if you're wondering what joke it was, it was the one from "The Worm That Turned", the strange mock-serial thing they did one year, set in a world where women were all-powerful and men went around wearing dresses and skirts. The joke was that Mars bars were not called Mars bars, but "Pas bars".

This made no sense to me. Pas bars? What's that got to do with anything? Why was the name changed at all? What has a Mars bar got to do with women, such that it would make sense for it to be inverted for hilarious comedy purposes?

I never understood it. And indeed it was not until a long long time later, as I was walking to work, that eventually I got it. Don't be so literal. Mars. Sounds like "Ma's". Opposite? "Pa's." It made sense at last. Only took 20 years to work it out.

The weird thing is, it happened again the other day. In what I estimate to be something like 25 years since the original joke was first floated, suddenly a Benny Hill skit made proper sense to me for the first time.

It was never a particularly good joke to begin with. It all seemed to revolve around the title of a book, called "Please pass farther down the bus", which had inexplicably been typset onto two lines by placing a line break in the middle of the word 'farther'.

Thus, while the studio audience were busy killing themselves with laughter at seeing the word 'Fart' being written down, I was failing to see the humour. It wasn't a good joke because you do not spell Father like that. Father does not have an R in it, well, not in the middle, anyway, and since it was Father who was being passed down the bus (or at least some other people were being requested to pass him down the bus) it would at least make sense to spell the word properly. Shoe-horning the additional 'R' into Father was a forced and weak attempt at humour.

25 years on, the realisation arrived. There was no Father. He was not being passed anywhere. "Please pass farther down the bus" - please move further down. Further, farther... Not a person, but a direction. Suddenly the joke wasn't quite as laboured or unnecessary as it was before. (It was, arguably, still not very funny, but at least it made more sense now.)

Curiously enough it was at the train station on Thursday where this realisation come to me - which is literally yards from the street where I used to work, and the very spot where I had the Two Ronnies epiphany also. There must be something about that part of town.

It also occurs to me that both of these jokes are about - or not about - fathers. Spooky. Must be a comedy blind spot. It probably says something deep and meaningful about my youth. Or then again, perhaps it says nothing more than "Ant's a bit slow, you know..."

Don't Wake Me Up

Every so often I wake up from a dream and I want nothing more than to go right back. Wherever I was, whoever I was, I so desperately want that feeling again. I want to go back. But I can't. It doesn't work like that - it never, ever does.

And I miss the feeling so much. It fades so quickly, no matter what I do. I wish I could hold on to it. I wish I could keep it, store it somehow, have it always and always. But I can't. It affects me for most of the following day, but it fades so quickly, leaving behind only sadness and regret. What part of my life is missing?

I'm pretty fortunate. There's not a lot that I want or can't have. But this.. this thing is out of reach. It feels like it's everything I ever wanted. Could I ever feel this way when I'm awake? Please.. someone tell me that I could. Tell me what it is, what I need to do.. how to get it back. I miss it so much already.

Could I make this happen? Could I work to achieve this? I don't know if I could. I have a rough idea of the directions that would take me there, but would I ever walk that path? It's so long. So very very long. Out of reach to hands that reach only as far as the things that are easy, too scared or too lazy to embark on a journey that may never reach whatever it is that I seek. It may not be there when I get there, even if I could get there.

Every night I hope to return. Please don't wake me up. I could be the happiest man alive, just for a moment...

Party On

The loudest sound in the world is that of the Space Shuttle lifting off. Or the meteorite that killed the dinosaurs hitting the earth 65 million years ago. Or a snowflake falling on the top of Mount Everest, where the air is thin. Despite searching the web for several minutes I have been unable to find an accurate answer to this question.

It doesn't matter anyway, because the new loudest sound in the world was our office party, which occured last night in a secluded spot somewhere off London's fashionable Leicester Square. It was a place with actual bouncers outside, and a list, which your name had to be on, in order to be able to come in. And a velvet rope, and everything. Amazing.

It was actually surprising that I found my way there at all. I set out with no idea where I was going, other than that it was "somewhere near Picadilly Circus" or Shaftesbury Avenue. I walked past the theatre where the new Monty Python musical is on, and walked a bit more, temporarily wandered into WC2 (which meant I was going the wrong way), found myself in Dean street, and before I knew it I was... back where I'd started from. And not on purpose, either.

I briefly toyed with the idea of just going home again, preferring the idea of curling up in bed with a hot cup of cocoa and listening to the shipping forecast on Radio 4. But before I could do that, I bumped into someone else from the office and they actually knew where they were going, which is more than I did.

Parties are just not my thing. I do not "do" parties and for many years did a pretty good job of avoiding them at just about any opportunity. But in recent years, I've grown to tolerate parties, not for the drinking and dancing and derring-do, because I do not "do" any of those things either, but because sometimes it's actually just quite nice to get a chance to talk to people outside work.

As open plan and laid-back as our office is, it's somehow not really right to just go wandering about chatting to people. After all, they're probably busy, and it would be wrong to interrupt. But at least at a party, it's nice to get a chance to mingle, and talk. I spoke to lots of people, some of whom I recognised and an awful lot more who I didn't, but they seemed to know who I was, and that was quite nice really. Several nice ladies talked to me, and that was quite nice too.

Thestrangest thing is that as well as the people, sometimes our company do-dos are often accompanied by rather good music. For the early part of the evening, the music was provided by a 'DJ' who seemed to be doing little more than playing tracks off his Apple laptop. It was not until later that a member of our party broke out the vinyl and took to the wheels of steel, flipping and mixing and scratching and generally making what shall hereinafter forever be referred to as "The loudest sound in the world."

For someone so young (younger than me, anyway, which automatically makes him about 17 in my perception) he seemed to be playing an awful lot of old records. Queen, James Brown.. and that band that Norman Cook used to be in after The Housemartins. I should have asked if he had any Breakdance records.

Sadly I couldn't stay too long because I had to get a train home. And as it turns out, the taxi driver on the way home was listening to Radio 4, so as I sat gazing out of the window looking at the bright lights of my home town drawing closer, the sight was accompanied by the sound of that strange tune they always play before the shipping forecast comes on. Eventually I got home, and went to bed, deafeaned, my ears still ringing from the entertainment of two hours earlier.

There was hardly anyone in the office today. Those that were helpfully put all their digital camera pictures of the evening onto the network drive, and luckily there were no sign of any photos with me in them. And so, as parties go, it was quite alright. I'm invited to another one on Tuesday. I think I might actually go to that one too.

Ant Gets There Eventually

I remembered the big thing that I was going to write about.. Proof that my mind is not failing me entirely - sometimes it takes me a while, but I get there eventually.

So here's the thing. This morning I was reading my email. I get all kinds of newsletters and things, so it was no surprise when I saw in my inbox that the nice people at Amazon wanted my attention. I like Amazon a lot. I buy books and music and all kinds of stuff from them.

Today's email was announcing something new. And really quite unexpected. Because it seems that Amazon now sells.. erm... well... I'm not sure there's a nice way to put this. Erm.. Amazon now sells.. sex toys.

I'm not sure what's worse. The fact that Amazon, the lovely little mom and pop bookstore down the road is now selling these.. erm.. implements.. or that Amazon's massive computers think that this is something which I'm going to be really interested in, so they send me an email about it. With pictures. Lots and lots of pictures. Of big.. things!! Aaargh!

I'm used to getting email from Amazon. It knows what I've bought and it recommends me things. "Mr Ant, as a previous purchaser of works by Franz Kafka and Jean-Paul Sartre, we think you may enjoy these writings by Gabriel Garcia Marquez." This is all very intellectual and very fine. It is a testament to my well-groomed mind that I am profiled in this manner and recognised as the thoughtful person that I am.

However this is a new direction. "Mr Ant, as a previous consumer of filthy, filthy pornography, we think you may also enjoy the 24 inch bumhole intruder." I mean, it's not like I don't know what these things are - I may be a virgin but I'm not naive - but I just can't get over what a shock it is when an old friend suddenly gets new on you. I'm going to get rude here, so if this offends you, switch off your television set now.

Because it's one thing to expect a nice book recommendation. It's quite another to see, in words and pictures, "Rabbits! Pleasure sleeves! Love balls! Dongs!!", several things that made me wonder "what the hell is THAT?", and, in what I assume is some kind of spelling mistake, "Clitorial stimulators". It's just.. so... eeeh!

I'm not sure why it freaks me out so. I guess it's just a surprise to find this kind of thing in your face.. erm.. so to speak... when you're least expecting it. But I guess I get the message. The next time I'm looking for a 'Gold Oscar' (eeew!), a "Top Cat Corkscrew" (aaargh!), or "The Inflatable Erotic Party Piggie" then I guess I'll know where to go.

I did like the advert at the bottom of the page, though. "Check out our great value DURACELL BATTERIES from £4.91..."

What Kind Of Day Has It Been?

No, really, what kind of day has it been? I can't remember. I'm sure there was something big that happened today. I thought to myself "Well, I must write that in my blog tonight". But it's gone. Whatever it was, I can't remember. What was it? Was it even ever there? Am I imagining it? I'm forgetting a phantom memory that I never had?

I don't like this. It doesn't seem like a good sign.

But overall I think I had a pretty nice day. Last night I wrote down seven things that I knew I HAD to do today. And I was woken up by a phone call that added one more to that list. And several emails during the day brought several more.

Funniest thing - I did them all! Goodness, I feel productive. Definitely a better end to the day than how it started. Once again I awoke thinking it was Saturday, until discovering that it was not. Bleary-eyed and as unco-ordinated as a sleepy boy can be, I stumbled into the bathroom to do what I needed to. And then, I returned to my bedroom. I tripped over my bag. Then I tripped over a rather long cable, causing it to become entirely unplugged from the thing which it was plugged into. I just about got it connected back up, when I fell onto the bed, landed on my 'wrong' hand, experienced a pain that wasn't there before, and collapsed into a heap of pillows, fully contemplating what a pathetic specimen I must be.

Later, when I'd had a chance to re-take my start to the day, I was very pleased to be getting through my list of 'ToDo's with much efficiency. Several things I'd been putting off were done, and oh... how sweet it feels when crossing such a thing off the list. What a busy day I have had. Did everything I wanted to, as well as other unexpected things that people came up with during the day.. And even including one thing which, even today, I was thinking about leaving for tomorrow.. Ah, it feels nice to be useful.

I still wish I could remember what it was that I was going to write about today.

I'm going to need to start carrying around a notebook with me, I think. It might help me to remember things. And there could be many other uses to enjoy too, not least the wonderfulness of keeping a 'to do' list and demolishing it daily. That's not a terribly new idea, of course. I first read it in a self-help book called "How To Get Everything Done And Still Have Time To Play", the author of which went on to write "Do It Tomorrow"... which I haven't yet got around to reading.

Yes, a notebook. I need to start taking notes. And keep blogging more. Otherwise I'll never remember what I forgot.

One Better Day

After a long day at work which, if you'd asked me last night, showed all signs of being "the one" where I would have finally walked out in a fit of petulance and sheer creative angst at being an unrecognised genius, I find myself actually quite pleased at how everything went.

Perhaps it was the expensive sandwiches offered to me at lunchtime. Perhaps it was the skilful way in which my tormentors gave me no sign that bad things were undoubtedly being planned. Perhaps it was just nice that people seemed pleased to see me. Perhaps I'm looking forward to the Christmas party. Perhaps it was just nice to get a chance to kick back and have several decent chats with the people who matter. Maybe it's just because tomorrow is Friday.

I don't talk about where I work - and I'm still not going to - but we won an actual proper BAFTA award recently, and it's surprising how amazingly nice that feels. I'm pretty sure that it wasn't because of anything specifically that I did, but it doesn't matter. It's ours - we did it. It's for all my friends, my colleagues, the people I'm happy to share my 9-5 with. And when you're in such good company, there's no reason not to smile about it.

What Kind Of Week Has It Been?

Friday night and the week is almost over. I woke up this morning thinking it was Saturday, and it took quite a while before I realised that it was actually Friday and there was still work to do. Ugh. Horrible. But all in all, what kind of week has it been?

Monday & Tuesday - It was 5p listing day on eBay, and since I have a chunk of holiday that I have to take before the end of the year, I took two days off work. I never ever used to take even as much as a day of my holiday - but now I do. Bad sign. Listed all sorts of items on eBay, which at least makes me feel that I'm doing something approaching "tidying up".

Wednesday - Bad meeting at work. Actually it went pretty well, but I'm just bewildered at the direction which the corporate train is headed, and the only available choices of enjoying the ride from a comfortable seat, or standing straight in front of the train as it hits you, are both unacceptable. Kind of a bad sign. The clearest possible indication that I'll never be allowed to do anything that's too interesting or too important, because "you're just one person" and "what if you leave?".. Yeah, thanks. My desire to leave will be why I turned down three times the money from our competitor to stay here. Seems that loyalty and belief are expensive tastes. Given the number of other people who leave "when something better comes along", I must be some kind of unique, or some kind of stupid. Of course if they were really worried about me leaving, then perhaps not making my position entirely untenable would be an excellent start...

Thursday - The smelly man from the cable company came to fix my cable TV, which hasn't worked since July. Nobody at NTL could fix the (really simple) problem from their end, so eventually they had to admit defeat and send out a man to completely replace my cable box with a new one. (I can't explain it without getting technical, but it's the same kind of over-reaction as buying a completely new car because you're not sure which key starts the old one.) Still, it's back now. And even though I hardly watch it, it's nice to know that it's working. If you ever have the choice between getting cable television, or slamming your head against a brick wall for several months, look into that second, more satisfying option.

Friday - turned out not to be Saturday, presumably because I still had the last remnants of a major work project to finish off. Got it all out of the way by lunchtime, and spent the rest of the day feeling very relaxed that it's all over - for now. It was a lot of work, but hopefully the results will be enjoyed by a lot of people next week. And if it all goes wrong.. well, that part of it wasn't my fault. I tried to warn them.

Spent this evening printing out lots of labels and stamps and letters, wrapping up and stapling and sticking many parcels together ready for their journey to the post office tomorrow morning. Ordered my groceries to be delivered tomorrow afternoon. No plans for the rest of the weekend.

Next week.. a small party-gathering-type-thing at work on Monday to pat ourselves on the back about the project. I almost don't want to go, in case it all goes horrendously wrong. But I think I will. And I've got the whole weekend to decide..

But for now.. off to bed. And when I wake up tomorrow, hopefully it really will be Saturday. Goodnight. :-)

A Cure For My Ills

The nice thing about eBay is that sometimes they have discount days. Today, you can list whatever you want for just 5p. This is an excellent discount compared to the normal fees, when eBay will usually charge you something like £100,000 per item.

And as the photo shows, I have much to get rid of! So today I have been mostly taking photos of things, and scanning things, hoping that at some time within the next ten days, someone will be browsing the world's biggest garage sale and will think to themselves "Yes! I must have that."

And at least I have plenty of cardboard boxes in which to package the things before posting them to the lucky buyers.

Yes, the whole idea of eBay fits very nicely into my carefully-ordered lifestyle. Although having to walk down to the Post Office is a bit of a nuisance, but I guess you can't have everything. :-)

Postcards From A Second Life

My Second Life is a non-stop rollercoaster ride of entertainment. No, really.

On Tuesday I met Beatfox! An actual proper celebrity, who has been on television and everything. Well, OK, not television, but YouTube, which is pretty much the same thing these days. I was walking around, and there he was - on the same screen as me. What a major event.

Despite all my best attempts not to sound as giddy as a schoolgirl in the presence of actual raw hot celebrity, I expect I gushed far too much. But as I said at the time, "It's like meeting George Michael.. only without the toilets, and stuff."

Today I purchased a puppy. It is small and cute, and has its own squeaky toy and personal fire hyrdrant upon which to whizz. What virtual life is complete without a virtual pet to go with it? Strictly speaking I already have a Second Life goldfish, but it seems a little flat, in day to day use merely contenting itself by rotating round its bowl at a constant speed and velocity. Whereas puppy actually walks around, and bumps into things and turns around. And when bored, will play with his squeaky toy. Oh! Oh! This is marvellous. I'm pretty sure this is the kind of thing that Charles Babbage had in mind when he invented computers.

I haven't yet selected a name, or indeed a gender for my puppy - although I seem to already be treating him as a 'he', which is probably quite sexist of me. Perhaps I will call him Mr Peebles, which always seems like a very suitable name for animals of all kinds.

I will need to be careful to make sure that puppy does not wander too far away if I happen to leave the doors open, but otherwise I'm sure he will be fine. And in the event of loss, perhaps I can stick virtual posters around the neighbourhood.

It's good to have something to keep me off the streets, anyway...

How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb

When it comes to how electricity works, I used to like to think that I was pretty much with it. Then (as they say), whatever "it" was changed, and whatever it was that I was with, it wasn't "it."

So it was with a somewhat resigned air that I was expecting to have to 'buy a new one' some weeks ago, when my trusty network storage device (a Buffalo Linkstation, detail fans) had started making a sound like a box of particularly numerous and angry bees. The short term fix of banging it with increasing hardness was effective, but was rapidly becoming less so.

And so, I decided to go for broke and see if there was anything inside it that I could fix.

A first attempt at opening the unit was unsuccessful. It didn't seem to have any screws, and so at this point I stopped. But a few days later the thing was making so much noise that something had to be done. I tried again.

Some Googling revealed nothing. But some more Googling (hint: the word to use is "disassemble", not "dismantle") revealed the secrets of the hidden flanges and bits which must be prodded and pushed to cause the plastic case to spring open in delight.

I almost stopped again, having discovered that the poking of the first set of required flanges would cause some plastic movement, but not enough to cause box opening. Apparently the nice mirror bit on the front is actually a sticker, and it's covering some screws to keep that plastic bit in place. God knows why. Peeling off the sticker (at first by prising a screwdriver down the middle of it, until I realised that this was bending it up significantly) eventually revealed access to the two tiny screws which would need to be removed if the game was to continue.

These tiny screws would require watch-maker's screwdrivers to remove. In fact I have some of these.. and I did look for them, but couldn't find them. So, reasoning that any screws so tiny could not possibly be important, it was determined that levering the plastic up with a screwdriver would cause the tiny screws to fly across the room, no longer acting as a source of obstruction by conveniently becoming lost forever.

And now the front is off! More flange-prodding eventually causes the outer shell of the device to open. I pause to be impressed by the industrial amounts of dust which are inside. This is removed by several hearty blows (and doubtless plenty of spittle, which I am quite sure must be beneficial to modern electronic equipment.)

Inside this box is a hard drive, mounted and secured behinds all kinds of paraphernalia that I'm not even slightly interested in investigating, and a large circuit board which is inconsiderately blocking my access to my prime suspect, the dinky little fan at the back of the case.

More pressing and squeezing and bending reveals that this circuit board is not moving because it is screwed down. Doh! And as is the style, I do not have the right size Philips screwdrivers. However, I do have a slightly smaller one which seems to work as long as you press down really really hard. Soon, the board is loose.

Trying not to touch the somewhat lethal-looking power supply components, I eventually manage to wangle the back panel, upon which the fan is mounted, out. It's just clipped in. I examine it closely, to note down the required black magic specifications which I will doubtless need in order to obtain a replacement fan "just like this one." It looks like the connector is special, and shared with other parts of the board. I really don't fancy trying to solder it, but I'm pretty sure that I just could cut the appropriate wires and twist them together if a suitable new fan could be found. This is still within my skillset.

I measure the fan. 4 centimetres. 12 volts. 0.07A, or something, and note this down with the intention of later searching for a new one. But before then, I decide that the unit would probably run cool enough if I ran it in its unboxed state and with the fan hanging out, or disconnected somehow. So I power it up, and.. well, that fan runs pretty darned quiet. Maybe that's not the problem after all.

I remount the fan onto the plastic backpanel, noticing that it seems to wiggle around a bit. Perhaps this problem is mechanical rather than electronic. The fan is in fact just about the only thing in here which is not secured by screws - with the exception of some odd piece of clear plastic which seems to make the lights on the front panel come on.

I decide that the wiggling must stop. What is the solution.. Glue? Too drastic. I adopt a policy of 'no permanent damage' so harsh and permanent glues are not to my liking. Added to which I would probably be unable find the glue in the first place. Suddenly I remember that I have some blu-tack somewhere, and indeed when I go to look, it's just where I left it several years ago, sitting on top of the door. A little stretching and moulding soon has it back to its old self, and before long I am rolling out little sausages of blu-tack which will fit through the mounting holes on all four sides of the fan.

Some re-mounting and pressing later, and it's close enough for jazz. It still moves, but not so much, and even if it does, I put my faith in the properties of blu-tack to act as a vibration dampening mechanism.

I put things roughly back where they should be, deciding not to waste time screwing the circuit board back down as it's not like it has any room to move about in there anyway. I am not quite sure which way around this clear plastic light-panel thingummy goes, and even the "How to disassemble your Linkstation" web pages offer no clues other than to point out that I should have carefully examined the orientation of this piece before removing it. Huh. I try all four ways, none of them seems right, so I leave it a place which hopefully might be right but if not at least won't rattle around too much.

Plastic back together, slightly dinged mirrored label thing back on in front.. connected back up and powered on.. and all is quiet. Too quiet. Further diagnosis reveals that it is necessary to push the power lead all the way in before the unit can be turned on. Which I do, and the unit wakes up and makes all the correct sounds of industry. Within moments, the computer sees it and all is well.

So, the mirror effect on the front may not be quite as perfect as before, the four status lights might not be quite as working as before, and the front USB port may not be quite as un-smashed-up as before, but it is all working nicely, and not making any nasty noises.

I even ended up with four screws to spare. I am an engineer!

Reasons To Be Cheerful

Small things make me happy. And several things are causing me to feel happinated at the moment. Shall I list them?

1. I'm awfully pleased with myself for cleaning up the mess underneath my computer table. This brings me joy each time I put my feet down, as I am doing right now. Aah.

2. The discovery of the album "Don't Be Afraid: Get On" by Cooly's Hot Box. No, I've never heard of them before either. But it's one of those rare albums where nearly every single track is insanely perfect, and that's a feeling I haven't had since I bought the first Jamiroquai album back in 1993. Listen to two minutes of my favourite track just here.

3. The news that Clive James has released a new book, and there's an audiobook version, AND it's Book Of The Week on Radio 4 next week. I love Clive James to bits, not for his alluring body and raw Australian sex appeal, but just for the wonderful way he writes, how he can paint a whole picture with emphasis on just one perfect word, and the joyous delivery he brings whenever he opens his mouth. Clive has a website, and oh it's wonderful. Read this ancient television review he wrote. "Really driving those trucks.."

4. I read my gas meter earlier today. This in itself is not especially interesting, but I had to leave the house and go out specially to do it, on account of my gas meter being located rather inconveniently outside and down several flights of stairs. And by a detailed process of trigonometry (well, not actually trigonometry) I have determined that my annual gas and electricity consumption is of the order of 8.2 killowatt-hours. Each. This is probably no cause for celebration (not unless you enjoy spending £1,000 a year on utility bills, anyway) but at least I know that my electrical items are adequately supplied, and my gas boiler keeps me nicely warm and feeling suitably pampered.

5. The news that they're still making Blue Pepsi, even though you can still only get it in America. Blue Pepsi is definitely my favourite bright blue carbonated beverage, second only to Jolt Cola, and while both of these are out of stock at my usual supplier's, they are at least definitely still available. Joy! I've asked them to let me know when they have some more.

6. It's nearly Christmas! Oh I do like Christmas. Not for the presents, which really does seem to pale into insignificance when you get older, but just for the ambience of that time of year, when it is cold and dark outside, which makes the glow of brightly coloured Christmas lights all the prettier, and the warm feeling you get when wearing warm clothes all the more soothing. Those few weeks at work when everyone is in a festive mood, all looking forward to that little extra week-and-a-bit you can spend at home with your family, or even on your own. Unbeatable.

7. Thinking of the naughty little "e" suffix incorrectly appended upon the end of Captain Sensible's track "Bruce Forsythe".

Elvis Costello only had three reasons to be cheerful, and today I have seven alone! Who wouldn't be delighted by that?

Poor Mr. Peebles

There's an old man who lives near me. I don't know his name or anything about him, but every so often when I look out of the window, I see him shuffling by, on his way to the shops at the bottom of the road.

Thing is, just recently, I haven't seen him. Neighbourhood gossip reveals that he is really quite unwell with one of those nasty diseases that you get from 70 years of smoking. At first, the news was just that he had gone in to hospital. Some time later, turns out that he was still in hospital because there was nobody who could look after him. Some time later still, turns out that he has been sent to an old people's home - which explains why the local council was, with indecent haste, busily clearing out his existing home and pretty much unloading his life into a skip.

And while this is sad, it doesn't really affect me. No reason for it to do so, I guess. I didn't know him, never spoke to him. It is a shame, but nothing more.

Thing is.. at the weekend, I sighted our local neighbourhood black-and-white tabby cat, walking up and down the way, doing his regularly scheduled inspection of all nearby pavements, grass, and bushes, to ensure that everything was in order. I don't know what this cat is called either. I choose to name him 'Mr. Peebles', as it seems fitting somehow.

It reminded me that Mr Peebles would often show up when the old man was out for a walk. Mr Peebles would approach the old man, who would almost always respond with a considerate stroke or a friendly scratch behind the ear. They knew each other.

But this weekend, it seemed as if Mr Peebles was looking for something that just wasn't there any more. And it seems that this is where I find the sadness in the situation. That a black and white cat had noticed a lack of something that was once familiar - that it somehow had registered its absence, and that in some way, while searching, still hoping to once again see the kind old man, maybe Mr Peebles was resigned to the loss.

I'm surprised at how much that thought upsets me. The old man is, according to all neighbourhood sources and busybodies, still doing quite nicely and doubtless is attracting many fans at the old people's home. I weep not for him, but for those left behind. It seems somehow so much more poigniant and upsetting that Mr Peebles might be sad.

I can't help but feel that maybe this is back to front. But it interested me enough to write some words about it, anyway...

Wrong Number

Well, I haven't got to my voicemail yet, but I'm pretty sure I don't need to. Having failed to turn off my phone yesterday, this morning it began shouting and ringing in the curious and offensive way that it does.

Hello?

"Can I speak to Sarah please?"

Oh.

It seems that Sarah has definitely given this caller (who is a gentleman) the number he dialled, so either he wrote it down wrong, or Sarah just does not wish to be bothered by this fellow and gave him an entirely faked-up number instead.

So I'm now pretty sure that my waiting voicemail must be a wrong number. Hmph.

Sorry folks, this is as exciting as my life gets... :-)

Torture

A few months ago I decided to step into the 1990s and buy a new mobile that could do all those new things that mobiles do these days - make noises, take photos, show pictures, that kind of stuff.

It's hard to imagine how we lived in the days that you could only use a mobile phone to make a telephone call - it seems like the dark ages. Why, back then, when a mobile rang it would make a discrete little beeping noise. Today, this multi-screen multi-camera machine virtually blasts out the windows, screaming "HELLLLLLO MOTOOOOO!!!" before furious techno music begins blaring out of the unit.

I hardly use mobiles at the best of times, so this evening I turned it on for the first time in a little while, and it informs me that I have voicemail! Someone left a message this morning. Dial 123 to hear your voicemail, it tells me.

I dial 123, to be told that I don't have enough credit. I must top up. So I try to top up. And it won't let me, because I only registered my credit card two days ago, and I must wait 7 days before I will be allowed to top up.

All the while, my voicemail is waiting. I cannot hear it. I wonder what it is, but I cannot find out. It is torture. There must be a way that I can convince this thing to let me hear my messages...

Ant's Busy Day

Achievements for the day:

12.30 Had lunch.

13.15 Finished lunch. Thought about several things.

14.15 Looked up from computer and wondered where the time had gone.

15.45 Decided to weigh and take photographs of some things to sell on eBay.

16.30 Had a lie down and listened to the radio.

17.00 Noticed how dark it is getting all of a sudden!

17.45 Listed one item on eBay, will get to the others at some future date.

18.00 I'm not entirely sure I can account for the next two hours. I must have been online.

20.00 Finally took a look inside the annoying carrier bag under the table which has been getting in my way as I walk past it for several years. Found several coins totalling over £5, and numerous old videotapes of limited but useful interest. Copied these to DVD to send to a work colleague who will probably not be interested.

21.30 Bumming around online, doing a few little work bits, and checking my finances. I have been paid!

22.10 Feeling pleased with myself, looking at the space where the carrier bag had been.

22.15 Considering whether to go to bed. It still feels like the day has not yet got started but yet the weekend is already at an end. Brush away slight morose feelings at how quickly the days seem to fly by now.

22.20 Posting this! Never did take my recycling down the road, though. Maybe tomorrow.