Small Glass Planet

Just So Mum Stops Nagging …

2012-01-27T23:07:00.002Z

The Moon and Venus over Norwich Cathedral as I left work this evening.

If anyone's still looking in, I'll be back once my current work-frenzy is over and I'll start to pop in on your blogs again soon.

In the meantime, have a great weekend.

WTF Monday - Where Not To Locate Your Car Dealership

2012-01-16T08:16:00.000Z

Wandering around Downham Market after Friday's meeting, while attempting to clear my head I came across a car dealership on the corner of this beautifully named road.
Rather ungallantly, they hadn't named the dealership "Cock Drove Motors".
I wonder about their clientele.

Meanwhile …

2012-01-12T18:19:00.000Z

I'm in the middle of getting a big contract ready for tender and have meetings flying out my ass like evil winged monkeys, so I've been steering clear of the interweb for a while and will be for a while yet.

I couldn't help but post this afternoon's sunset from my office window, however.

Enjoy!
I'll visit when I can and hope to be back in action in a week or two.

Blog-Dried Again …

2012-01-07T10:30:00.000Z

It happens from time to time: my old brain just gives up and goes off for a lie down. I could sit and stare at this screen until my eyes fell out and still not think of anything to write about (at least nothing worth reading), so I'm going to switch the pooter off and join the Occupy movement for a bit, occupying my sofa with a stack of books while I try to recharge my blog mojo.
Later, peeps …

Moan, Moan, Moan

2012-01-05T07:44:00.000Z

Stupid weather …
Damned storm kept me awake all night. Now I'm a grouchy, overtired Mister Grumpytrousers and the smegging winds aren't due to ease until about 2018.
Arse!

So Farewell Then, Ronald Searle.

2012-01-04T07:37:00.001Z

Not since Edward Gorey has there been an illustrator quite so magnificently attuned to my own worldview.
Bless his cotton socks. He leaves a hole in the world that isn't going to heal over.

Back To Work

2012-01-03T08:04:00.001Z

Bitterly cold, rain lashing in 80mph gusts. The bleary-eyed flabby old man empties the spiders out of his work shoes, half-strangles himself with a tie and shivers his way to work after the Christmas break, having completed none of the tasks he set himself over the holidays.
Here comes 2012 and it doesn't look good.

WTF Monday - Slurp Hot Juices

2012-01-02T13:43:00.000Z

Start the year as you mean to go on …

Hey Ho … Time To Cringe From Another Year

2012-01-01T10:28:00.000Z

How Was It For You?

2011-12-31T10:13:00.000Z

So that was 2011, was it?
Well, good riddance to the smegger. I'm putting it up on eBay but if nobody wants it by tonight it's going right in the trash where it belongs. If 2012 is no better I'm cancelling my subscription.

Day Off

2011-12-30T09:21:00.002Z

No post today. I'm off over to Mikey's to play video games and eat trash all day. Yay!

Dickens Sickens

2011-12-29T10:02:00.006Z

What the FUCK is going on at the BBC?
This is the 200th birthday of England's greatest storyteller, so how does the state broadcasting corporation celebrate this anniversary? With a desecration of Great Expectations so unholy that South Park's own version was more faithful to the spirit of the original.

I suppose I should have been warned when they changed the ending of Bleak House to make it less creepy for people with no brains, but I had really been looking forward to seeing Gillian Anderson as Miss Havisham after her magnificent Lady Dedlock in the last adaptation.

Things started promisingly enough. Ray Winstone looks the part as Magwitch, but of course he can only play Ray Winstone so things started to go downhill as soon as he opened his mouth (sorry … "marf").

Mercifully, the art director made a good job of the bleak marshes but he may just as well have set the whole thing in a circus for all the good it did.
Okay, so cutting the book down to three hours is difficult and you're going to have to miss out on a lot of atmosphere and character development and even some minor characters. David Lean managed the task amazingly well.
But to entirely gut the book and replace the story with a completely different plot with vapid soap dialogue and a tragically unsympathetic leading man (apparently he models for Burberry and that's precisely how he acts) is a recipe for disaster.

And disaster is what we've got.
Who is credited as the writer?
Surely Charles Dickens?
No …
A TV soap writer who 'did' Holby City and East Enders.
For fuck's sake.
It shows. It REALLY fucking shows.

Picture the scriptwriting sessions:
"The art director has come up with a really pretty butterfly theme for the credits, so let's introduce a completely new character who collects butterflies, sticks them with needles and then dies."
"Yah! It'll be like … er … some kind of metaphor or something."
"And we'll get rid of most of Dickens' boring old characters and write something that'll appeal to twelve year old teen vampire fans. I mean who needs The Aged, or Biddy? Who needs the Pockets or Trabb's boy or Clara's father? They might have been tremendously important to the story but come on, guys, we're writing a soap here!"
"And don't forget to get Pip and Estella to strip off and stand in a pond and do lots of panting and stuff."
"Yah. Sex it up."
"And Joe's way too simple and dull; let's make him into a boorish thug."
"We want more totty so we'll introduce Clara early and have her swan around and say stupid things like "I knew it was you, Pip. You're such a good friend." like she's on Twitter or something."
"And we want a baddie, so we'll turn Drummle into a scenery chewing stock soap nasty like Phil Mitchell in East Enders."
"And don't forget to get Pip and Estella to strip off and stand in a pond and do lots of panting and stuff."
"I think we did that already."
And so it must have gone on …

I managed to watch the first episode without smashing my telly, but last night's abortion had me gaping in stunned disbelief at the sheer jaw-dropping audacity of the trash writing on display. Dickens must be spinning furiously in his grave. People who've not read his books will think HE wrote this drivel. This utter crap. This cheap, tawdry teen soap.

Gillian Anderson struggles manfully but is hobbled by dialogue so trite it beggars belief and a re-write of Miss Havisham's character that loses any shred of tragedy or pathos.
I couldn't watch.
I had to keep flicking away to a sub-titled Mongolian movie (true … and which was far, far superior).
Some masochistic urge kept me flicking back, however, but the final straw came when Ray Winstone emptied a sack of cash on the floor …

I know you guys are intelligent and you've all read and enjoyed Great Expectations and a lot of Dickens' other books, too. But a lot of people aren't that lucky. Some people might even think that this bilge is what Dickens really wrote.
If you know of anyone like that, please give them a copy of the book. Make them read it and tell them never, EVER to watch a BBC adaptation of any of Dickens' books.

And don't whatever you do, watch this worthless piece of shit yourself. The final episode is on tonight but my TV will be off; I really don't want to see the alien abduction, the scene where the dog rescues Tiny Tim from the well, to have to guess which one's the vampire and which the werewolf, or to watch the execrable East Enders "Nah! Pip! Don't! He's not WURF it!" vomit any longer.

Celebrate Dickens' birthday by re-reading his books. They're wonderful.

The BBC should hang its head in shame.

John, Chapter 11, Verse 35 …

2011-12-28T16:41:00.001Z

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-16347418

One For Speedway.

2011-12-27T15:42:00.002Z

Speedway posted a nice video today of Eric Clapton and Wynton Marsalis doing a big band Noo Orleans version of one of my favourite old blues songs.

I know most of you have heard all this crap too many times over the years, but Speedway seems to think you need to be able to read music and have a natural ear to be able to play.
Well musical blindness and deafness never stopped me, so I say pick up a guitar and go for it, girl. It's never too late to start playing the blues (especially in this economic climate).
Here's a completely different version of the song: The Blind Willies (Michael and me) inspired by a Pinetop Perkins '78 record of "44 Blues" just for Speedway.

Sorry about the drop-out in the middle; very old and fragile tape recordings tend to do that.

The Blind Willies

Yay!

2011-12-27T09:42:00.000Z

What People Really Wanted This Christmas

2011-12-26T10:01:00.001Z

While I was over at Mum's yesterday I installed a nerd counter on her blog; the same one that I use. She wants to be able to check and see who's watching, to smile at the little flag over Ohio whenever Robyn pops in and to wonder at the weird places around the world where people have discovered her strange little world of live jazz and cakes.

I hadn't checked my own site stats for months, but when I got home I signed in and was delighted to see my Colonial and European Blogville neighbours' calling cards and even one from Chad. Of course, there were unexplained lurkers in such places as Cambodia, Brazil and - weirdest of all - Canada, and I assume that those are the ones who typed the following phrases into Google to end up on my blog.

If any of my Blogville neighbours want to fess up to using any of these search terms, the time to come clean is now.

This is what people around the world, ON CHRISTMAS DAY - were really looking for …

Oh, and today, so far we've had people looking for "Sheep lungs" and "UFO nipples."

Human beings are really scary.

Jingle Your Bells; It's That Time Of Year Again

2011-12-25T08:37:00.000Z

Merry Christmas, One And All

2011-12-24T10:16:00.000Z

Regrets … They've Had A Few

2011-12-23T08:10:00.001Z

I was amazed yesterday morning to find Kellie still alive. Very pale and exceedingly fragile but alive, albeit moving verrry slowly and occasionally sipping water and groaning softly.

Others trickled in during the morning, the trashed detritus of the office Christmas party. Some didn't make it. Those that did avoided the sunlight and the coffee and indeed any unnecessary movement.

As the morning wore on videos and photos began to circulate (mine were merely innocent fun from before the BIG DRUNK took hold).
I saw horrible dancing. I heard chronic karaoke caterwauling. I saw Dale's trousers split wide open and wished I hadn't. I saw things no sane man should ever be required to look at.

Those survivors who could remember vague snippets of the night before regaled me with tales of sexual deviancy, stinking alcohol vomit and drinking the bar dry so the poor staff had to run out to the pub across the street and buy more.
After that, they hit the night clubs for more drinking and falling over/dancing. At some point in the early hours two of the partners remembered that their wives were due to pick them up at the restaurant at eleven. Those two didn't make it in yesterday.
Rather than face the music they hauled the entire crowd off to a curry house to try to eat the alcohol out of their systems.
No chance. Several tales emerged about the taxi rides home, interrupted by regular stops to redecorate roadside verges and fall over.

At some point in the proceedings Emily's camera went AWOL for a while. It wasn't until late morning when she managed to download its contents onto the server that the penis portraits were discovered.
"My memory card has been violated!" she wailed across the office.
Many were the suspects but none came forward to fess up and Emily wisely declined an identity parade.

You've heard me moan and swear about office Christmas parties for way too many years. Having witnessed another one I shall not be letting up.

Merry Christmas, one and all.

Some Sensible Architects Share A Meal

2011-12-22T08:08:00.001Z

After the moustacherie madness of Movember came the Office Christmas Bake-Off …
And after the Office Christmas Bake-Off came the Office Christmas Lunch.
And immediately after the Office Christmas Lunch came the Office Christmas Party, but fortunately (being Dive … see old Christmas Party posts) I managed to skip out before that happened.

First up: the winner of the Office Christmas Bake-Off:

Hail the conquering hero comes! Yes, Adrian (he of the Christmas Village) did indeed walk away with the coveted chef's hat for the 2010-2011 season. Luke (he of the poo-covered dog biscuits) proudly lifted the wooden spoon. Cassie's gingerbread witch's cottage took second place and Erin was too confused and flustered to announce the rest of the results but I shall try to find out where I came later.

After that, things became pretty much of a blur …

There was booze …

Lots of booze.

Things started quite sedately with a nice lunch.

The parsnip soup was yummy.

But then Santa came, bearing gifts and … er … elastic band guns.

The man in the Santa hat is a senior partner and my immediate boss.

Staying sober was tricky, but somehow I managed it. This was lunchtime and they'd booked the rooms until eleven at night and a lot of them were then going clubbing. I think it's going to be pretty quiet and lonely in the office this morning.

Girls will be girls.

Some more than others.

Give an architect cranberries and a couple of scoops of ice cream and inevitably there will be boobs.

We're a classy bunch.

Sophisticated humour is our forte.

That, and aeronautics.

Secret Santa shares our exquisite taste.

Willie racing was still going on when I left.

Girls and Guns …

… and booze.

As the cocktails went down the boys got boisterous.

"The name is Bond …"

Those mischievous young scamps decorated their boss's jacket.

Tastefully.

And then the serious drinking started.

And so the more elderly and sedate (and sober) of us left early …

… before the karaoke, the dancing contests and the forfeits got started.

Sheesh … Merry Christmas everybody!

The Office Christmas Bake-Off: Part 2

2011-12-21T07:47:00.002Z

Hokay … Part two of the Office Christmas Bake-Off and it's time to get seriously silly.

Tadaa!
Adrian spent all night making his Christmas Village (and the whole of the previous day fretting and worrying about it) and it's currently the hot tip for the top prize, but we shall find out who won later today at the dreaded Christmas Party.
More of Adrian's Christmas Village at the end of the post.

But first, this is what happens when you DON'T spend all night working on your entry.

Appearances can be deceptive. These are not dog biscuits but are allegedly Christmas Cracker-shaped cookies. The squidgy poo stuff is chocolate, though from the taste I suspect it was cooking chocolate rather than anything edible.
Luke made these and I actually ate one (the down side to being in the competition is that you have to judge EVERY entry, even if you don't want to). It wasn't too bad in a bland, biscuity type of way, but it didn't make me feel at all festive.

This, on the other hand, did. Matt presented us with a basket of yummy stöllen, nice and fat and fruity and with a marvellous marzipan filling. Each individually wrapped and presented in a festive basket presided over by a robin he made when he was five.
Anyone seeing him down at the bowling alley will wonder if he's ever going to reach six.

And talking of glorious German cakeyness, Markus (who has an advantage in the German cake stakes being German himself) baked these unprepossessing yet utterly fabulous and unpronounceable spiced ginger squares. Honestly, they tasted wonderful. Pure Christmas Heaven.

Phil went down the cupcake route and made sexist cupcakes with flowers for the girls (and plenty of alcohol in the cream). By the look of the uneven brown tops his oven is about as reliable as mine, but they sure tasted scrummy.

Dale gives good truffle. Damned good, in fact. I loved the presentation, too: simple yet effective … and worse than crack cocaine for a truffle-hound such as myself.

Erin apologised in advance for her biscuits but she had no need to; they were tasty and crisp and ever so slightly disturbing in that the topping was kind of sticky and jelly-like and stretched across the office like mozzarella. Bizarre gets good marks in my book.

Emma knows what sells. Good gooey chocolate sponge is never going to go out of fashion. A nice dark chocolate topping and a sexily seventies black cherry filling. Does anyone else (this side of the Pond) remember those seventies staples when we were clawing our way out of austerity: prawn cocktail and Black Forest Gateau? No meal was complete without them. This brought back all manner of memories.

Time for the capo di tutti capi: Robert the Big Boss made both Christmas Tree biscuits and fudgey chocolate brownies and both were delicious.

I was most impressed with the crunchiness of his biscuits. So many people these days go for the soggy yet enticingly over-sweet American cookie instead of a good crisp English bickie. Yay for the boss (he sucked-up obsequiously).

Unt zo we come at last to Adrian's Christmas Village.
Snowmen and reindeer (with cute pretzel antlers) and yummy edible trees.

A feast of flamboyant festive fun. Every piece of this winter wonderland was made of sponge cake and lovingly (some might say insanely) iced and decorated. The snowmen had sunflower seeds for noses and mini-Oreo and chocolate button hats.

The cute, bonkers-eyed reindeer had Smartie noses, some kind of weird minty eyes and pretzel antlers. Adrian got through three big bags of pretzels making all the shapes.
So, the sponge cake might not have been as tasty as some entries (though the combination of salty pretzel and chocolate is always a winner), but the sheer hard work and the unhinged fanaticism on display has made this the bookies' favourite for the prize. There's still some uncertainty, however, as presentation and insanity were only two of the many categories to be judged; taste and texture might tip the balance in another direction, and any non-homemade item loses marks (such as Smarties, Oreos and pretzels). We shall see …

I particularly love the trees. How festive are these? Cute little cones of sponge cake speared with cocktail stick trunks and smothered in creamy goodness and pretty decorations. Whee!

So that's it for this year's festive baking extravaganza. Pass your judgement as you will; I'll announce the real winner after the party.
Next year they threaten a Festive Knit-Off, where we are all to knit an outlandish Christmas Jumper (tasteless is what gets good scores here) and wear it at the 2012 Christmas party.
Ye Gods!

Merry Christmas, Blogville!

The Office Christmas Bake-Off: Part 1

2011-12-20T07:35:00.001Z

I had no idea …
Invited to join in the Office Christmas Bake-Off I innocently baked a cake.

This one …
Had I been made aware at the outset of the vicious cut-throat world of workplace baking I'd have run screaming from the kitchen.
The sheer eyeball-gouging, face-clawing ambition of my otherwise sane colleagues has revealed a new and scary world and robbed me of my cakey innocence.
What can a man do in the face of such festive fanaticism? Such belligerent baking? Such …
Well, You can judge for yourselves over the next couple of days.
The official results will be announced at the Office Christmas Party on Wednesday. If I survive that I shall let you know who won. In the meantime you can cast your votes for looks and presentation. Unfortunately you can't taste any as we ate the lot (not such a wise move in some cases as you shall see).

My own personal favourite was this entry, from Chris (last year's winner with a lot to live up to).
Okay, so he bought the boxes, which marks him down, but the sheer excellence of his pastry blew my tastebuds clean out the room. The man is a diva.

Get this …
Cute baskets of pastry leaves contained a home-made pistachio mincemeat (oh, yes, you heard me - and boy howdy it was as good as it sounds) topped with a bitter chocolate and pistachio granache, finished with those exquisite little pastry holly leaves and berries.

Boffo! Top marks for taste and texture. I could eat these every day and never grow tired of them (though I'd be even fatter than I am now).

These were nice.
Emily assured us that the gold paint was not the car-retouching stuff in the rattly cans, but was in fact edible.
Unfortunately she ran out of spray paint when she was only half-way through so the rest are covered in choccy things.
The gold ones were white chocolate-coated truffles and they were smegging gorgeous.

Cassie recently spent two weeks making a beautiful model of a new building for a sports car museum. Tragically, she built it from wood and cardboard when she'd have impressed the client a whole lot more had she made it from gingerbread.
It was a shame when we demolished her little witch's cottage but soooo gingery. Yum!

Not all the bakers showed such talent.
I'll say this for the other David's skills in the kitchen: for a baker, the man sure can bowl. He's a monster on the lanes on a Friday lunchtime but perhaps he should work on that rather than be allowed anywhere near a kitchen from now on.
When your cupcakes weigh more than your car it's time to put down the whisk and step away from the mixing bowl. And when you decide to accompany your lead-filled baked weapons with an earthquake-demolished poo sculpture I'm afraid the votes for presentation are going to be pretty thin on the ground.

Kellie's presentation might not have been up there with the best, but wait until one of those balls hits your tastebuds, bud.
Up top of the picture we have chocolate fudge, which was both chocolatey and fudgey, but those balls at the bottom …
Woohoo!
Advertised as mere chocolate truffles they made my mouth do backflips. Wow! I asked her what the secret ingredient was and she said simply "peanut butter."
I have the recipe now. I am SO gonna pig out on these all over the holidays.

Micro-cupcakes came from Jill's kitchen. And darned yummy they were, too. Three colours for three very alcoholic flavours.

Sophie got high marks for some awesome Rocky Roads. Not particularly original and containing some suspiciously non-homemade ingredients they were still bloody delicious.

I know he's a senior partner and my immediate boss but Stuart needs to be told that no matter how much gin and vodka he puts into his snowballs, mint-flavoured fondant (even very well made mint-flavoured fondant such as this) will always feel and taste like toothpaste.

Well, that's the opening nine entries for you to cast your finely judged votes upon. The second nine will follow tomorrow and then after Wednesday's party I'll let you know the official results.

Be Afraid - Here Comes The Office Christmas Bake-Off

2011-12-19T07:46:00.001Z

Sunday Evening Over At My House

2011-12-18T20:15:00.001Z

Brr … Snow …
Just as the week of insane storms finishes we get snow.
Gack.
And of course as soon as it snows all the electricity goes off for miles around.
Ah, village life.

Actually, it was nice. All the streetlights were dead and I crave dark skies. I wrapped up warm and went outside and there was the Milky Way. Pow! Right over my front doorstep like a river of fairy lights only much better than Disney could ever do. A dusting of icing sugar snow reflecting the starlight and I must confess things were getting pretty darned pretty. I half expected to see a poor man come into sight, gathering winter fooo-ooo-el.
A few minutes with the binoculars, gasping at the Pleiades, Hyades and the Double Cluster in Perseus, a quick hello to Jupiter's moons, then a couple of minutes to set up the camera and tripod and … arse … it clouded over and started snowing again.

Ah, well. I kinda like power cuts. Living in the village I always keep a mini-Maglite and a stack of candles to hand. Pretty soon the house looked about as Christmassey as it gets around here and I was happily tucked up under a duvet in the big chair reading Dickens by candle-light.

That's bliss for me. Peace, quiet, velvety darkness; just me, a candle and a good book. Suddenly reading becomes an even deeper pleasure than usual. I rather hoped the power cut would go on for hours.

It almost did. A little over an hour and a half of sipping wine, enjoying the company of Mister Dickens and his characters and feeling all snug and nineteenth century.
I actually said "Oh, poo" out loud when the lights came back up. Way too glary and bright.
Hey ho … So here I am taking advantage of the power to write a blog post extolling the virtues of power cuts. They're like comfort food for a Luddite like me.
Come bedtime I'm going to tuck myself up in bed all warm and toasty and let it snow. I'll be reading Dickens by candle-light again. Bugger electricity.

What's Cooking With Dive? - CAAAAAAAAKE!

2011-12-17T17:57:00.005Z

This cake, to be precise.

My entry in the office Christmas Bake-Off.

Deck the halls with manky bits of holly whose berries have shrivelled up. 'Tis the season for eighteen hardy volunteers to battle it out in a flour-strewn gladiatorial arena.

No prize except the honour of stomping your rivals into the dust, and the fact that for eighteen days (one competitor per day) we stuffed ourselves stupid with wonderful cake.
And those cowards who declined to take part didn't get a single crumb. Ha!

I'll post the best and worst from the Christmas Bake-Off after this.

But first … Don your pinnies and follow me into the kitchen …

Nope, not my kitchen. In my bid for Bake-Off glory I'm bringing in some heavy fire power to help me and borrowing mum's kitchen and oven (way better than mine) and her Jedi cake-baking powers.

The Guinness is there because I'll be baking the only cake I ever bake: Guinness Cake.

Happy, drunken sultanas! Basically, you soak these suckers in Guinness overnight, which is as good an excuse as any to be sociable and not force them to drink alone.

Eggy.

Hokay … time to get nasty. Smash the skulls of three innocent eggies and whip them suckers until they scream.

Or go frothy.
Actually, frothy's probably better for this dish.

About yay much butter.

You know how I hate using any measurements. Unfortunately baking requires precision, so here's a list of ingredients you'll need if you want to join me in enjoying one of the finest cakey experiences known to man:

6oz. raisins

6oz. sultanas

Whaddya mean, "How much is that in kilogrammes?" I have not the faintest idea. Bollocks to the metric system. I was raised on Imperial measurements and I can only think in them. I have absolutely no idea how long a litre is or how much a kilometre weighs and frankly, my dears, I don't give a damn. If I have to give measurements they'll be in roods and perches and pecks and barrels and yards and furlongs and hundredweights and stones and real money; none of this "I can only count up to ten" malarkey.

Okay?

Right …

Raisins, blah, sultanas, blah …

8 tablespoons of Guinness. Yay!

Soak that lot in a bowl overnight, while you drink and then sleep off the rest of the Guinness.

Next day, grease and line a seven-and-a-half inch tin and pre-heat your oven (or mum's in this case) to gas mark three (which is the equivalent of something whatever-ish in electric ovens, apparently).

You'll also want:

6oz. butter (about yay much)

3 eggs

6oz dark sugar (a mix of natural molasses sugar and soft raw cane is good)

8oz plain flour (don't ask me what that is in American. We have plain or self-raising flour; across the pond I suspect they have something else; it's like when they call single cream haff'n'haff, or chickpeas garbanzo beans … Garbanzo beans? That sounds like a circus act, not something I'd want to put in my mouth - I just don't get it … anyhoo, you'll want 6oz of whatever plain flour is in America)

2 teaspoons of mixed spice

A generous grating of whole nutmeg

3oz peel

3oz chopped mixed nuts.

Ready?

Let's go!

Cream the butter and sugar together until it's what mum calls "light and fluffy" and I call yummy.

Gradually add the frothy eggs, floophing a little flour in there each time you get eggy.

Oh, and I claim dibs on the neologism "Flooph" for the sound flour makes.

Another reason I'm over at mum's is that she has a food processor and, as I don't bake, all I have at home is a bunch of knives and a pestle and mortar. Great for what I do but crapola when it gets to cake time.

So … onward.

Time to get gloopy … yay!

Sift whatever flour you've got left together with the spices and fold into the glop.

Add the soaked fruit, the Guinness, the peel and nuts and slowly FOLD them all into the mixture.

"Fold" is the important word here (though not like in origami … origami with sloppy gloppy cake mix is something that should only be practiced in the bedroom between consenting adults). You want to combine everything in as gloopy a way as possible but you DO NOT want to knock the air out. This sucker's got to be light. It's not cloying like most fruit cakes; this is seriously good to eat.

G.L.O.O.P.

Hell, yeah.

Slop that lot into the tin and flatten softly with a metal spoon (you get to lick it clean afterwards which 'as any fule kno' is the REAL reason to bake cakes).

A stupid moustache is not mandatory, but as the next time I bake a cake is likely to be next Movember, I'll probably have to grow another one for that.

Okey dokey. Cake in the oven … like so.

Now we get an hour and a half to spend in decadent leisure.

Er … doing the washing up.

Ninety minutes later, check the cake is done by sticking it with a skewer. If the thing comes out clean, it's perfect.

Like this one.

Now comes a few weeks of cakey alcoholism.

Wrap your cake in greaseproof paper and foil and stick it somewhere out of the way.

Once a week, unwrap it, make a load of holes in the bottom with a long needle and sloooowly dribble Guinness Extra and twelve year old Armagnac into it.

Actually you can add what you want, but as you'll be left with lots of booze it may as well be something you'd choose to drink anyway. I've never understood people who cook with cheap wine or bake with crap brandy. What the hell would I do with three-quarters of a bottle of three-star smegging Napoleon? Bugger that! Twelve year old Armagnac it is.

I couldn't be arsed to ice it, so I boiled up a glaze with apricot jam and a little water, glazed the top, plonked on a load of nuts and glacé cherries, slopped some more glaze on to keep things in place while I drove, drizzled on some more Armagnac and headed out the door for the office.

It tastes way better than it looks. Holy crap, that's a good cake. Moist but not TOO moist, light and still fruity and nutty, and every bite you take brings a face full of Armagnac fumes.

Make one. If I can do it then you certainly can.

Enjoy!

Rejoice!

2011-12-16T07:42:00.003Z

Watch out this weekend for the first cookery post in a long time, plus the best and the worst from the office Christmas Bake-Off.

In the meantime, kick your festive ass into gear with a glorious seasonal "Live From Daryl's House".
The Blind Boys of Alabama come to visit and spread some seriously righteous Gospel cheer.

Consider this your Christmas card this year. If I could send it to everybody I would. So many high points and "Oh, wow" moments. "Go Tell It On The Mountain" is a real rouser and "Midnight Clear" so beautiful it hurts, but the whole episode is a heartwarming seasonal hug.

Enjoy!

A Small Mercy

2011-12-15T07:52:00.000Z

Well, so much for the leaves … They've flown south for the winter and won't be coming back until March.
'Tis the season of sniffles and sneezes and achy joints and dreading the office Christmas party and really, REALLY not wanting to get out from under the warm duvet on a cold morning.

Let's make the most of what we've got: bare trees mean I can see more of the Cathedral from the Riverside Walk by the office. Small mercies are there if you look hard enough.

Who Ate All The Pies?

2011-12-14T07:13:00.000Z

Do click on this and blow it up and then have a think.

Suddenly I don't feel so fat any more.
Insignificant, yes, but not fat.

Too Much Information

2011-12-13T07:47:00.000Z

Some say the interweb is the best invention of all time.
Porn? Spam? Phishing? Cats?
Hmmm … they could be right.

But then, when you're waiting for your stock to boil and flicking mindlessly through the more desperate corners of your newspaper's website you realise that sometimes there is simply too much information …

There are things I really do not need in my life. That was one of them.

WTF Monday - Dreck The Halls

2011-12-12T08:14:00.006Z

After yesterday's comments box reminded me of the delights of a SkyMall Christmas, I checked their current catalogue to be sure and fill my life with "collectible" taste and "designer" elegance this Christmas. Remember, kids: Christmas is not just about the baby Jesus, it's also a time to send your money to China to support struggling billionaire entrepreneurs and child-labour factories.

There were way too many nuggets to make anything less than a novel-length post, so I've chosen just a tiny sample to whet your appetites and get you in the festive mood.

First up: a snip at only $124.95 comes this year's offering from everybody's favourite "artist" … the Thomas Kinkade Crystal Santa Claus (yay).

Here's what the catalogue has to say:
"This molded crystal Santa Claus has an interior three-dimensional holiday scene inspired by renowned holiday artist Thomas Kinkade's original artwork. The glistening Santa is holding a lantern and a list that he's checking twice. The interior holiday tableau has three Victorian homes with illuminating windows that cast a golden glow onto snowcapped evergreen trees, skaters on an "icy" pond, and a cobblestone bridge. A miniature reindeer-drawn sleigh carrying a merry Santa and glittering gifts automatically circles the base of the figurine.
Each Santa is hand-numbered and comes with a certificate of authenticity."

Er … "molded" crystal? I wonder just which type of "crystal" can be moulded? Plastic, perhaps? "Hand numbered" (whoop-di-doo! Some poor child labourer in China has been taught how to scrawl numbers on a piece of mdf). And not forgetting that all important "Certificate of Authenticity" - It's not just tacky crap, it's AUTHENTIC tacky crap. REJOICE (in upper case).

Next!

Whooee! Call Casey Jones! Here comes the Santa Express!

"Santa's Express is rolling your way with gifts, animated elves and music.
Twenty popular Christmas and railroading songs play as the wheels turn and real smoke billows from the smokestack.
(Bottle of propylene glycol for smoke effect included.)"

I included this for the very festive "railroading songs" and the chemical smoke-bomb to fill your house with choking festive smog. Fun!

Here's something no festive table should be without:

"This handsome Ice Skating Rink sets the scene of old-fashioned winter entertainment.
Victorian skaters enjoy the crisp weather as they twirl across an oval rink illuminated by two LED floodlights.
Plays 25 Christmas carols and 25 year-round songs.
Volume control and push-button song selection.
Complete with ticket booth and snack bar.
Free 5-1/2" mini Ferris Wheel plays We Wish You a Merry Christmas.
World's Fair Skating Rink with Free Miniature Ferris Wheel."

Imagine the hours of innocent pleasure your family (especially the teenagers) can get from gathering around the table to feast their eyes and ears on this little gem.

Now this next one I actually WANT!

Hokay, so I'm not Jewish but hey, you gotta admit this is strangely attractive.
Or maybe not …

"Evoking Picasso's expressionist paintings of women (Dora Maar), these handmade ceramic pieces are contemporary and timeless.
Hand-painted with abstract images and vivid colors, the menorah is finished on both sides. Metal inserts hold standard Hanukkah candles (sold separately).
Decorative dreidel comes with stand."

Happy Hanukkah, guys!

I'll finish with this one as I really must get my ass in gear and get to work. You'll have to check the catalogue for more great ideas.

I particularly love this one … for its Christmas message and especially for those delicious words: "collectible", "2010 Edition" (in 2011), and the glorious use of "quality" and "designer" in front of the word "resin." I gotta get me some designer resin.

""Bigfoot, the Holiday Yeti" 2010 Holiday Ornament
Our legendary yeti makes a holiday appearance, decked out with all the trimmings! This collectible, 2010 edition holiday ornament makes a fun-loving package tie-on, stocking stuffer, tree ornament or creative addition to your Bigfoot collection.
Cast in hand-painted quality designer resin."

Tis the season, people, so get out your wallets and prepare to suffer.

Meanwhile, Two Years Later …

2011-12-11T11:14:00.000Z

At long, long last the scaffolding has come down from the Guildhall and the restored east gable is back in business with its lovely fourteenth century checkerboard flint and stonework gleaming.

It's taken over two years for the stonemasons to stabilise and repair the gable to its full spiffiness but they've done a good job.
The place had stood quite happily for over seven hundred years (it was already old when the checkerboard façade was added) when some dickwad of a Victorian decided to suck up to the mayor by adding a clock tower in his honour.

Of course, being Victorian, the builders simply plonked several tons of stonework on top of the ancient gable and sat back smugly, not thinking about such things as proper flashings or structural supports.

Not for nothing did the mayor have both Wood and Cock in his name. He should have included Plonker, too. His erection almost brought down the beautiful mediæval gable.
But now, with proper structural supports and flashings installed and the whole thing buffed up in its Sunday best it can hopefully stand for many centuries hence.
Though someone will need to get up there and wind the bugger; I took these at half-ten.

Saturday Statuary - Creepy Peepee

2011-12-10T07:37:00.000Z

C'est vrai … Ceci n'est pas une Pipe

2011-12-09T08:09:00.000Z

Moonlighting

2011-12-08T07:49:00.002Z

Determined to get my head around the last mystery of my Canon EOS60D (how to properly focus for astrophotography) I headed out yesterday evening into the wilds and soon found myself standing in a field somewhere north of Hemblington (try finding THAT on a map) in the teeth of a freezing gale.

You'd think it'd be easy … switch the lens to manual focus and simply turn the focusing ring around to infinity.
HA!
Lots of blobby blurs.

Apparently the trick is to use Live View (the screen thingie rather than the viewfinder).
First up, get a nice bright star in the centre of the screen.
Once you've done that, use the digital zoom (don't touch the lens as dslr zooms are not parfocal - zoom in and out and you have to refocus) to get the image as large as possible on screen.
Then focus manually to infinity and gradually bring the focusing ring back closer. Weirdly, stars come into focus about two-thirds of the way out.
Next up, realise you've forgotten to plug in the remote shutter gizmo and repeat the process all over again, grumbling and cursing as you go.
You want to start at around ISO 1600 and have the lens as wide open as possible to gather lots of light. Set the camera to BULB and try a few test shots.
It takes a little while to get it right and I need a lot more practice. The Moon is way too bright at the moment to get decent photos of the Milky Way arching across the heavens so I'm going to have to wait for a clear, moonless night to try it properly.

As it was, I gave up, found a nice tree branch and snapped the Moon with the Pleiades off to the left and Jupiter to the right. Just a straight 15 second exposure at ISO 400 and f5.6 (something you don't even need a dslr for - most point and click cameras will manage those settings with ease - including yours, Mum). You'll have to click on the pic to enlarge it if you want to see the faint blue nebulosity of the Pleiades, though for some reason Blogger won't let it blow up more than a third the size I posted.

Through my binoculars (Nikon ActionEX 10x50 … Woot!) I could see Jupiter's four main moons strung out in a line, which is a wonderful sight. It's so much easier to go out with binoculars than to drag out the telescope and all its associated gallimaufry, especially in a freezing gale. As it was I was so busy looking at stuff that I stayed out way too long and had to bring several body parts home in bags to reattach when they thawed out.

Anyhoo … enough of that. It's amazing how boring I can be talking about taking a picture. And indeed a whole lot of other subjects, too.

Boring Stuff About Bendy Old Houses

2011-12-07T08:09:00.000Z

Here's an example of all the messing about that old houses can undergo over the centuries (see yesterday's comments box).
This one's much older than Anna Sewell's house and much of the structure still dates from the original 1380s great hall.
This would have been the hall of a local landowner grown rich from the wool trade. It sits opposite the church and would have originally been surrounded by the mud and dung-built hovels of the rest of us.
It would have been one big room, open to the roof, with a central open hearth, smoke holes in the gables and a maybe a small window or two, with real glazing, unlike the hovels. A timber panel to one end would have housed the solar, where the owners slept. Cooking and crapping was done outside.
Sometime in the 1500s the roof was raised and a second floor put in, together with a large brick chimney and much larger windows (the two vertical panels to the left would have been a window).
In the eighteenth century, the 'lord of the manor' who lived here moved out into his newly built, elegant brick house at the head of the market square on the other side of the church (it's still there, though now it houses a restaurant), and this house was split into three homes. Even later, it had Victorian casement windows inserted and the old windows filled in and a brick outshot was built on to the side.
And much more recently someone moved in who clearly has no colour sense whatsoever.
Very few old buildings look anything like they did when they were built.
Much like the rest of us, really …
Hey ho.

Cute House

2011-12-06T07:47:00.004Z

Surviving German bombing and the equally destructive 1960's "Let's rip the heart out of the mediæval town and fill it with 'modern, American-style' big roads and vast car parks and a one-way system that only a brain-damaged octopus could have designed" misguided planning authorities, this cute little house sits in Great Yarmouth, between - on the one side - St.Peter's Church, and on the other, a needless arterial road leading nowhere, a supermarket and acres of massive ugly car park.
Great Yarmouth does have its treasures but they are regrettably few and far between. Any fan of Dickens on a David Copperfield pilgrimage will do better to stay home and read the book unless they are also masochistically addicted to disappointment.

People who enjoyed Black Beauty during their childhood can, on the other hand, find Anna Sewell's little house still standing. I suppose the only thing that can be said for the dreadful desolation around it is that at least visitors will find a place to park.
The house itself is part of a late 16th century range that has been considerably knocked around over the centuries; the mix of Georgian windows to either side and of later replacement leaded casements to the house itself, plus Victorian added porches makes quite a charming medley.
Behind the house on the left is what remains of the mediæval monastery attached to St.Peters, but the whole area had the shit bombed out of it so there's not much left.
Anna Sewell's little house still cheers me whenever I drive past.

WTF

2011-12-05T08:18:00.000Z

No WTF Monday post this morning, I'm afraid.
I've sat here enjoying other people's blog posts and emails and not realised how the time was rushing by. Now I have to leave for the office.
Doh!
It's all your fault for being so interesting.

A Song For Sunday Evening

2011-12-04T18:25:00.002Z

I'm doing bugger all today.
I drove over to Phil's for lunch and he cooked an amazingly good Thai dish that would have made a great cookery post if I had bothered to take my big girls' camera (but I didn't).
Now I'm just faffing, avoiding doing the ironing and snacking on sashimi tuna while I wait for the Earth to die screaming, or bedtime, whichever turns up first. I'll take either.

While I wait - and as it's the season for such things - I'll recommend my favourite non-Classical album of the year so you can ask Santa for your own copy.
This year it's "Arco Iris" by fabulous fado singer Amina Alaoui, on ECM (yay for Manfred Eicher). She's taken traditional Portuguese fado, folk songs from Andalusia, Arabic music from her native Morocco and a jazz mentality. She has put together an astonishing band and recorded the most wonderful album of 2011. Hypnotic, sensual bliss.

ECM 2180. Santa should have a few copies left. Here's a track to be going on with …

Enjoy.

Saturday Statuary - Suffragette City

2011-12-03T12:16:00.001Z

"S" is for Saturday and Statuary and also for Suffragettes. This is a strange little statue tucked away in a damp corner of Westminster (the big girls' Suffragette memorial is in the gardens of Westminster Palace and will do for another day's post).

This one never ceases to rankle with me. Read it and see why. Even in erecting a monument to the struggle for women's suffrage the city authorities manage to put men before women.
Sheesh!

Happy Saturday, peeps.

No Mo' Mo

2011-12-02T18:30:00.001Z

Whew! Thank goodness that's over. Movember can go back in its box for another eleven months.
This is the crappy photo that the press are using. That's my boss with the shears and poor Luke getting attacked as he had the best tache. Mercifully you can't make out my Santa White moustache as the photographer forced us all to twiddle with our face-fungus and I managed to stand right at the back.

Anyhoo, we made over a grand for a good cause so I can't complain too much. I'm saving my complaining for the upcoming "festive" season.

Lunchtime Fishing

2011-12-01T07:50:00.000Z

Hokay, December and we're starting to feel the latitude now.
This was lunchtime yesterday and you can see from the shadow on the roof just how high the sun gets here at the end of November. By solstice it will hardly creep above the horizon.
By three fifteen yesterday afternoon the only sun I could see was reflected off the spire of the Cathedral and by three twenty-five it was gone. It'll soon be dark here at half three. I hate it.

Anyhoo … so much for Movember. The moustache is history. Down the drain. I'm all pink and shiny and clean and I can eat toast and marmalade without getting most of it stuck in hair. Woohoo!

The photographers from some architecture magazine turned up yesterday after lunch and dragged us into the car park for some corny comedy group shots. If I manage to get hold of one I'll post it, but sheesh … they gave the boss a pair of shears and made us all twiddle with our moustaches while he pretended to attack us. Magazine photographer must be almost as soul destroying and thankless a profession as wedding photographer.

So … here comes December. The chaos and misery of Christmas. I hope you're ready. I'm feeling grouchy and sweary already.

Wednesday Window - Paris Winter Fashions

2011-11-30T07:51:00.000Z

I was rather surprised not so see this shop filled with everyday Parisian people buying this practical winter clothing.
Actually I'm pretty much at a loss to imagine the type of person who might shop there. Would you?

Quick Filler Post

2011-11-29T08:13:00.000Z

I forgot to prepare something for today's post so I just finished breakfast (and cleaned the marmalade, toast crumbs and coffee out of my moustache) and decided to take a close-up of my hairy appendage as it's almost the end of Movember.

Holy crap! have you seen those things enlarged to the size of a 27" monitor? No WAY am I subjecting your sensitive eyes to such horrors. The sooner that monster gets shaved off my face the better.

Brr … I shudder in icky horror.

WTF Monday - Moustache Madness

2011-11-28T08:09:00.000Z

Thank whatever god you want to pick for the fact that Movember and its associated moustacherie madness ends this week.

Having shaved off my ridiculous goatee years ago (it went the way of the ponytail and the stupid pointy sideburns - sheesh, what was I thinking?) I now find that my facial hair grows a resplendent Santa White and so I resemble not so much a moustachio'ed lothario as a fat man who's been eating doughnuts and has sugar all round his mouth.

Yes, I'm in Mum's kitchen and baking a cake. Mum is the local cakey expert and her oven is considerably less knackered than mine so I borrowed both it and her expertise for my cake. It's for the office Christmas Bake-Off (like a jerk off but with slightly tastier results).

My cake is having a nice rest at the moment and regularly imbibing Guinness and fine brandy. When it's ready for its big prom date I'll photograph the finished article and do a "What's Cooking With Dive?" post, as I've not done one of those for yonks.
I'll be giving Gerry next door a course on Indian regional cookery over the next few weeks so a cookery post or two might pop out of that, too.
Tis the season to eat way too much and end up as fat as me.

And yes, that teeshirt is as close as grouchy Old Dive will ever get to the Christmas spirit.

Twin Peaks

2011-11-27T10:45:00.000Z

Dammit! Why did I have to come up with that phrase to describe the photo? Now I've got my old Audrey Horne ache again.
Sigh …
Well, nothing for it but to drag out the DVDs and indulge in a little Audrey Hornery.

Happy Sunday from a middle-aged, late November kind of place.

Saturday Statuary - Arse

2011-11-26T19:12:00.000Z

Would somebody be so kind as to explain just what the heck is going on here?

A Pox On Window Reflections

2011-11-25T08:01:00.000Z

Yesterday's sunset (mid-afternoon in these latitudes) spoiled by the reflections of the office lights, dammit.
It was actually a lot spiffier than it looks here.

Happy Thanksgiving, Colonial People. Enjoy your Turkey.

2011-11-24T08:21:00.001Z

Give thanks that you don't have to eat this stuff as well …
(Many thanks to engrish.com for years of breakfast-time giggles).

Wednesday Wall

2011-11-23T07:44:00.000Z

Ah, the dictates of fickle fashion.
M&S have put up a green wall on their spiffy new extension.

I thought I'd better snap a pic before the whole thing dies and drops off.
These things cost an absolute fortune to install and maintain and they could get the same effect with a couple of ivy plants.
Green roofs are great. I've put a whole load of those on buildings, but green walls are a royal pain in the arse and never last.
I'll keep you informed with increasingly sad photos over the coming months.

Temporary green walls, on the other hand, can be fun. This one was at the National Gallery the last time I was in London.

In case you didn't guess, it's supposed to be a van Gogh.

Turkey, Schmurkey

2011-11-22T08:13:00.000Z

I've got nothing to post today so I'll do the usual Thanksgiving week thing and insult my Colonial friends.
Yay for Natalie Dee for my regular morning giggle.
And here's my own take on Thanksgiving (or at least what I took it to be back in 2006).

Have a spiffy week (unless you're a turkey).

WTF Monday - Poor, Poor Purcell

2011-11-21T09:32:00.003Z

This should really belong in a Saturday Statuary post but it is in truth so godawful a shambles of a sculpture that it ended up here.
For fuck's sake, what was going on in the sculptor's mind? Did he hate Purcell that much?
At least the authorities placed it right opposite New Scotland Yard so it stands a good chance of being blown up by terrorists. Put it way up on your list of things to avoid seeing in London.

Purcell is worth so much more …

I can never resist the opportunity of posting Andreas Scholl videos, especially "What Power Art Thou" (the second one) with it's devastating "Let me"s in the "Let me freeze again to death" line.

At least Purcell's glorious music lives on even if the sculpture sucks fat, hairy arse.

Sunday Bondage In The Park

2011-11-20T10:57:00.000Z

Saturday Statuary - I Can See Your House From Up Here

2011-11-19T16:22:00.000Z

One of many King Georges (I can never be bothered to find out which but there have been way too many of the buggers) attempts nonchalance while sticking a sword in his foot.
One of a series of spectacularly dumb statues dotted around Westminster.

Breakfast With Daryl

2011-11-18T08:25:00.001Z

Go on. Click this link. You know you want to.
What could be finer than having Daryl and his band play you their new album live as you sit in your own chair sipping coffee?
That's just what I did before heading out into the world this morning, and I'm much happier for it.

Enjoy … and also discover a strange factoid about Brian Eno.

It Gets Dark So Damned Early These Days

2011-11-17T07:50:00.001Z

In another month it will be dark at half-three up here in the frozen north. I long to hibernate through these most depressing three months of the year. But at least I get some eye candy when I walk out of the office after work. Yesterday afternoon this is what greeted me from the car park. The spire of the Cathedral all lit up gold behind the stair turret of Pull's Ferry makes it look vaguely Disney.

Gnarly Brick

2011-11-16T08:03:00.000Z

No reason. I just saw this as I walked past and thought "Ooooh, gnarly!"

Accidentals

2011-11-15T07:51:00.000Z

I'm sure we all have loads of these. Photos of the inside of a bag or the sky at a funny angle or - as in this case - the floor of a café.

And so begins another in the interminable series of occasional posts that require no real input from my lazy-assed brain: photos that my camera has taken without me knowing it.

It's amazing how desperate and boring one can get when the inspiration to write doesn't come.

WTF Monday - You Really Don't Want To Go In There …

2011-11-14T08:01:00.001Z

Seems like everybody's in Paris except me, dammit! Colin and Linda are over there for a long weekend and sent this back via Colin's phone (hence the fuzzies).

In case anyone needs confirmation that old men like to giggle at schoolboy humour, here's Colin in Rome, adhering to the dictum, "When in Rome, do what the Romans do: pee in the fountains and make little girls flee for their lives."
Or something.
Rome is currently bracing itself for Phil and Colin's next visit in February. Probably a good time to stay out of Italy if you don't want to get caught up in this type of behaviour. They'll be taking over comedy duties from Berlusconi.

We may grow older but we're damned well never going to grow up.
Happy Monday.

A Fifty-Three Year Old Man Writes …

2011-11-13T09:43:00.004Z

A huge thank you to Speedway.
I awoke this morning to find I was fifty-three years old.
Aww, crap …
I was somewhat surprised that I didn't start screaming as soon as consciousness allowed, but no; my reaction was more of a "meh …"
Oh, well, what the hell. Another year closer to blesséd oblivion.

And so, stumbling around the house like a zombie with a half-grown Frank Zappa moustache, and groaning like Grandpa Simpson I arrived at the downstairs Mac, coffee in hand, to find a birthday greeting from our Speedway in my email inbox.

Of course I clicked on the link. What unalloyed delight!

I've admired the genius of Florence Foster-Jenkins for many a decade, but to be woken and serenaded by her on my birthday was … well, let's just say that this is probably the best thing an opera buff living on his own can wake up to in the morning, so my gratitude overflows copiously in Speedway's general direction.
I laughed so hard at the high notes that I couldn't eat breakfast.
And I dare say Mozart giggles in his grave whenever anyone plays this.

Here's how it SHOULD be done: the beautiful (even in that Star Trek wig) Diana Damrau giving it to Dorothea Röschmann's Pamina in Colin Davis' glorious adaptation of die Zauberflöte at the Royal Opera House Covent Garden (the one with Simon Keenlyside as Papageno - a regular rainy Sunday DVD treat over at my house … come on over).

Saturday Statuary - Pick A Hat

2011-11-12T10:49:00.001Z

Hokay, so the choice isn't great and they're not going to keep your head dry, but to be offered a free hat by an angel with her boobies out is as pleasant a start to a museum visit as any.

Welcome to the Carnavalet. Pick a hat and then enjoy the splendidly chaotic gallimaufry of the museum that gives you the entire history of Paris in as messy a mélange as the real thing.
I love the place.

Friday Filler

2011-11-11T07:42:00.000Z

So anyhoo …
I've been moved around the building a little as they've been trying to sort us out into teams who no longer have to shout right across the room.

This is my new workstation. My old one was four places to the left and back one, looking out at the Castle, but now I'm right in the middle at the front of the building and get to look at the Cathedral.
Yay!

Yes, that's Pont Neuf on my desktop. I'm still jonesing for Paris after our cancelled office trip and it's a heavy hint dropped to the partners.

The view out of my window is some compensation, however. I make no apology for boring you with endless photos of the same scene. It's just kinda spiffy. My last office looked out at the wall of Francine(no apostrophe)s Pie Shop and the one before that gave me a splendid view of a London traffic jam, so indulge me a little.

We were treated to a sunshower at sunset yesterday. These photos are straight out of the camera, by the way; I've not enhanced them at all. It was a truly orange experience. If I'd brought the big camera with a polarising filter it would have been even more extreme.
But I didn't.

The orange stuff falling out of the clouds is a light rain shower catching the rays of the setting sun. The rain kept washing across the sky in waves of … er … orange, and we all stood and gaped for a few minutes. Beautiful stuff.

So … that's where I sit now. Just so you know.

One For Vanda

2011-11-10T08:19:00.000Z

If you have to ask you probably wouldn't want to know …

Wednesday Window - Foie Gras 'N' Knives R Us

2011-11-09T07:19:00.000Z

Paris boasts some delightful shop window displays … and also some creepy and unsavoury ones.

Hey Ho

2011-11-09T07:17:00.002Z

Here's a splendid article from yesterday's Guardian.

Meanwhile, In A Hobo Camp By The River …

2011-11-08T08:00:00.001Z

Oh, lardycakes.

I like my boss. Don't get me wrong. He appears - outwardly at any rate - to be as sane as the next man, though that of course depends on who is standing beside him.
Any sane man, however, when faced with the concept of "Movember" would hold their head in their hands and groan with despair. My boss, however, pipes up with, "What a splendid idea! Come on, chaps! Let's do it as a team!" (Note: when your boss starts speaking with exclamation marks it's time to hide under your desk).

And so - with depressing inevitability - I get in to the office after the weekend to find a bunch of middle-aged men enthusiastically comparing stubble like a gang of four year olds playing Top Trumps.
We even have a name, God help us. The boss (again) messed around with the company name and came up with Team Furry And … er … Manly.
Yes, you read that right.
This is a man who it seems has never heard the phrase "homoerotic undertones" and who thinks irony means something like iron.
There will be prizes for the silliest moustaches. Men are for the first time talking of waxing without mentioning Brazil. A couple of the guys are horrified to discover their stubble is gingery but are determined to sculpt their shame into a Groucho or a Dali "for the team."

Sigh …
I tried to stop it. I really did. I even showed them a photo of me with a goatee, but other than a few blanched looks on the younger faces it had little effect.
I think the main problem is that none of us look like Johnny Depp, though several of them apparently believe they see him in the mirror.
Yesterday was a Cap'n Jack-fest. There have been "Arrrgh"s and "Shiver me timberrrrrs" floating around the office. They believe they look like a piratical crew of rascally rogues when in reality the room resembles nothing so much as a hobo encampment - admittedly a well-dressed one - an image made even more realistic by the piles of cardboard boxes the new monitors came in. All the office needs to complete the picture is a brazier and a couple of tents.

The women are lucky. They get to laugh at us and take photos. Fortunately nobody has been gauche enough to point out that a couple of them sport far more luxuriant moustaches than any of the pirate crew.

I managed to resist until Friday evening, when I was finally shamed into a cessation of shaving. Sheesh. I've said it before and no doubt I shall have occasion to say it again: "Verily, the gods do shit in mine hat and squish it down upon mine head."

Happy Movember, people. There may be photos later in the month but I sincerely hope not.
Roll on December the first.

WTF Monday - In The Days Before Television

2011-11-07T07:59:00.000Z

More Views From My Desk

2011-11-06T11:36:00.001Z

Autumn is definitely arriving here. This was taken Friday morning from the windowsill above my desk. Pull's Ferry is at the lower left and I think you've seen the big spiky building before, once or twice.
The trees are turning nicely now. Soon they'll get nekkid and winter will suck its way through here for a few months. Hey ho. At least it's pretty right now.

Things get a little distracting in the afternoons. A decent sunset makes it hard to keep my eyes down on the monitors.
Today the weather is grey and blear; mist and drizzle and near freezing temperatures under a leaden sky, so I'm taking refuge in Friday's photos to keep my spirits up.

Happy Sunday, one and all.

Saturday Statuary - What The Fountain Is Going On Here?

2011-11-05T11:42:00.001Z

More Trashy Old Buildings

2011-11-04T07:34:00.000Z

As we saw yesterday, finding a tiny sixth century chapel with some earlier Roman remains is a pretty big deal in my part of the world but just to put it into perspective, some people have a whole city full of that stuff.

Phil will be back there in February to photograph lots more of it for us (and to watch some rugby and probably drink a lot).

What Remains

2011-11-03T07:47:00.002Z

After yesterday's peek through the window of what has become known as St.Mary's Chapel in Cockley Cley, let's check out some more of it.

Meandering through the woods away from the reconstructed Anglo-Saxon village, the more adventurous wanderer might come across this sight.
Is it an old barn? Let's take a look.

That ain't no barn. And that door and window are pre-Norman, so we're looking at a Saxon church here. Cockley Cley already has a big late Saxon church only a few minutes across the fields, and that was probably built when this small church could no longer cope with the growing population.

It was still in use between 1000 and 1100, as this Saxo-Norman doorway tells us, though by the time of the Reformation it had fallen into disuse and became derelict until squatters started living in it. People were still living there in 1952, with no water, drains or electricity.

Mercifully, someone realised what was hidden underneath all the decay and it has been slowly recovering since then, though it still has a temporary roof as the people who call themselves Christians these days prefer to waste their time and money on tax fraud, tawdry TV shows, pædophilia or bitching about one another's culty little cliques and so a few grand for some timber and thatch to protect one of the first places in Northern Europe to hear the word of Jesus is not a priority.

Below the floor of the main body of the church are the remains of an earlier church and below those the remains of a Roman temple. The early Christians usually re-used old pagan sites as a derelict building is cheaper to repair and use than building something from scratch, and these were places where people had been coming to worship for centuries, so there was a ready made congregation ripe for conversion. Saint Fursey and his followers would have preached here because there was already an old ruined temple on the site which would act as a focus to draw people and as a shelter to live in.

The stone jambs to the opening are later, tenth or eleventh century additions to both shore up and decorate the old walls. The original building was all flint.

This is the Roman lead coffin I was telling you about yesterday, dating from 350AD and sitting on some Roman floor tiles found locally.

The sign over the wooden box in the apse explains that four feet below that spot were found the bones of the brother of Saint Fursey who lived and preached here and died on pilgrimage in 650AD (check him out if you have a copy of Bede's "Historia Ecclesiastica" (yes, of course I do; you know better than to ask) - he's in book III, chapter IXX.

The people who first heard about Jesus in this little space in a woodland clearing would have been aghast at what horrors their religion unleashed upon the world in the ensuing centuries. Fortunately this tiny chapel really does retain a sense of the innocence and hope of the early church and it's nice to pop in there from time to time to step back into a simpler world. I don't feel the message of Jesus in any modern church but I do in here.

Wednesday Window - Saxon Saints

2011-11-02T07:45:00.001Z

Yay for something even older than me!
This window is in the earliest church around here, the teeny-tiny sixth century church at Cockley Cley, around which they've reconstructed the original Saxon village to which it belonged.
It was built on the site of en even earlier church - there were Roman Christian coffins found under it, one of which is on display on the dirt floor. The roof is currently corrugated iron as nobody has the money to thatch it at the moment but stepping inside you get a feeling of what Christianity was like before it discovered money and power and split into a billion bickering factions.

Dancing With The Dead

2011-11-01T07:24:00.000Z

After yesterday's miserable post I cheered up considerably on the way to work when Radio 3's deliciously munchable Sara Mohr-Pietsch played me Aram Khachaturian's Valse from his Masquerade Suite.

Now THAT'S Halloween music!

Play this LOUD, close your eyes and picture if you will a dark and dusty after-hours circus run by Tim Burton. The crowds have all gone home and now here come Jack Skellington and the Corpse Bride leading a mad Valse, followed around the ring by the shambling, lurching, delirious, drunken and happy dead. If this music doesn't make you want to whirl 'til you're giddy then I hope your soul gets eaten by spiders while you sleep.

I had completely forgotten this brilliant piece of music existed but it kept me happy all yesterday, picturing the denizens of Halloween Town spinning ecstatically into oblivion.
Of course most dead people can only count up to three which is probably why they stick to waltzes.

I checked my CDs when I got home and sadly I couldn't find Masquerade. The only two Khachaturians I own are the ballets Spartacus and Gayaneh.

So as I'm in the mood for some more Armenian madness, pull up a chair and cock an ear to that gloriously romantic, sugar-syrup confection, the heartbreakingly beautiful Adagio of Spartacus and Phrygia (only spoiled - if you're old and English - by the baffling image of Peter Gilmore hamming it up astride the deck of a sailing ship and sporting a pair of muttonchop whiskers bigger than his head in The Onedin Line, a magnificently silly 1970s drama serial for which this was used as the theme tune).
This one, however, is the same version I have, conducted by the great man himself.

I'll skip the Sabre Dance and go straight to the other great Halloween special Khachaturian wrote: that chilling (it still makes me shiver) Adagio from Gayaneh that was used in 2001 A Space Odyssey and again for the spookiest parts of Aliens. When it reaches half way through, "that" theme starts up for the first time and it makes me want to hide behind the sofa with Sigourney Weaver in a vest … er …

So here's to the mighty Aram Khachaturian, Armenia's greatest son, king of unintentional Halloween music and lush romanticism.
Thanks for cheering me up.

Halloween, Schmalloween.

2011-10-31T07:47:00.002Z

I'm giving it a miss.
This evening I might sit in the dark and listen to Schumann's Geistervariationen (Ghost Variations - written when he was convinced ghosts were taking over his mind, during the writing of which he attempted suicide and then died in an insane asylum … yay fun), but that's about my limit.

The sad news is, we no longer do Halloween here. Or at least we no longer do it right.

A couple of decades back some idiot imported the nastier side of Halloween from across the Pond but never got around to importing the good stuff. We somehow managed to turn "Trick or treat" into gangs of teenagers in cheap Scream masks demanding goods with menaces, terrorising lonely elderly people and plastering the fronts of people's homes with eggs if they don't get what they want. I got that treatment regularly myself when I commuted to London and was unable to get home in time to stop it, and believe me, caked-on egg takes industrial machinery to get out of brickwork.

And yes, you heard me. I said the good stuff. Stop falling over and pretending to faint. I'm actually fessing up to being jealous of the Colonies for doing something right.

If there's anyone from England sneaking in here to read this, just check out Petrea's post from Sunday or Robyn's . I defy you not to go all gooey at these übercute kids from Robyn's Halloween Party and you simply must go back and watch that wonderful Buffy Halloween episode (series 2, episode 6) to see what we're missing (apart of course from my favourite sexy witch Willow).

Back when I was a kid (around the end of the last ice age), the neighbourhood parents would get together and put on a great time for kids at Halloween. We dressed in old sheets, made paper witches' hats, baked potatoes in bonfires, carved swedes (that's the vegetable, not the people from Sweden) into little jack'o'lanterns (in austerity Britain pumpkins were for the rich) and bobbed for apples and played games while our mums and dads stood around getting quietly plastered and eating themselves silly. Good innocent fun. And nobody went around demanding "trick or treat."

Now all that is gone and I honestly don't know how to get it back. We seem to have had all the fun sucked out of us as a nation since Thatcherism destroyed the last shreds of our decency, Blairism drained us of our souls and Cameron the plastic-faced bankers' buttplug took away our jobs and stole all our money. England is a truly shitty place to live now.

It's been over fifteen years since I last saw a group of cute little kids all dressed up as ghouls and witches, politely knocking on doors and chaperoned by friendly parents (that was the time I asked the biggest kid how many of them there were so I could count out chocolate bars and he counted all the others and forgot to count himself - He looked so crestfallen I had to laugh but I gave him his chocolate anyway).

Now it's just gangs of thuggish kids and drunken teenagers in hoodies wearing cheap, unimaginative plastic masks instead of home-made costumes, sneering "Trick or treat" by which they mean "Give us sweets or money or we'll trash your house."
There's no dressing up, no community spirit, not a pumpkin to be seen in my entire village, no parades or neighburhood parties and definitely no fun. If someone decorated their house and front lawn like the one in Petrea's photo the kids would just destroy it.

For God's sake, America. Come over here and show us how it's done.
Please?

What I Said Yesterday, Only More Of It.

2011-10-30T13:33:00.000Z

Saturday Statuary - Bastille

2011-10-29T11:02:00.000+01:00

The grumpy old bugger is still sulking about the office day trip to Paris getting cancelled. Plus it's foggy and grey and definitely autumnal here so I'm posting a sunny Parisian photo in a vain attempt at cheering myself up.
Grumble, spuffle, mutter, moan, bugger, bugger, bugger, etc …

Au Rocher De Cancale

2011-10-28T08:02:00.000+01:00

Yesterday, Genie posted a delightful shot of a window on Rue Montorgueil, the best street in Paris for food and coffee and a great place for generally hanging around and watching Parisians from Clothilde's café.

As Genie is off to Paris in a week or so and I've just had my free office trip cancelled (dammit), I have a bad case of Parisian ache, so here is a photo of my favourite building on Rue Montorgueil: Au Rocher de Cancale.

Yes, it's grotty and run-down but it is also beautiful and if ever I get around to buying a lottery ticket and winning the damned thing this is the house I want to buy, renovate and live in.
The Rock of Cancale … a pretty little commune on the Breton coast. To live above a Breton restaurant on my favourite street in Paris would be bliss, but unfortunately I have to head off to work now and face the other grumpy Paris-bereft people. And … er … go bowling as it's Friday.

Have a great time in Paris, Genie. I'm not jealous. Oh, no. Not one bit (exits stage left, gnashing teeth and rending garments).

Sign Of The Times

2011-10-27T07:53:00.000+01:00

The office Good News Spot has been somewhat grumpy since they cancelled our day trip to Paris because some whining idiots couldn't face getting up early and got worried about people wandering off and getting lost (not us - rumour points the finger at the London office staff).

Actually, it's not so bleak as it looks - it had an art exhibition poster pinned up last week and is currently waiting for a photo of Antje and Markus's new sprog. The office is a lot happier than the notice board suggests. But we'd be a whole lot happier if they'd not cancelled our trip to Paris, dammit.

Wednesday Window

2011-10-26T07:49:00.001+01:00

And so to my favourite cinema.
Yes, this is a cinema - Cinema City to be precise, a fiercely independent little arthouse place hidden in a warren of fourteenth century houses. The flint wall is the back of the cinema itself and the oriel window is part of the cinema's restaurant.
Yes, this is the place that does "popcorn free" cinema. A cinema for people who actually want to enjoy a film without being surrounded by the disgusting racket of crunching and slurping that comes with the normal sticky-floored, stinking cinema "experience".
You enter through a lovely stone arch and eat your food in the restaurant or the courtyard café before or after the movie, thus allowing me to enjoy the film without wanting to kill you.
That's right. A cinema for considerate people! A cinema with no food or drink allowed in the theatre! What civilised bliss!
If only all the world worked this way.

Gargoyle Envy

2011-10-25T07:35:00.000+01:00

Nobody does gargoyles quite like the Parisians.

No reason to post this except I'm too lazy to write and I like the evening light against the cotton wool sky.

Oh, and the extreme gargoyle action.

WTF Monday - A Spiffing Wheeze

2011-10-24T07:56:00.000+01:00

My favourite ad from this year's Goodwood. They always have a splendid collection of vintage ads up on the bar walls.

These lovely people will soon find their teeth and fingers match their clothes.
And then they'll die, choking horribly and gasping for breath.
Woohoo!

Remember, kids: cigarettes are fun! It's cool and attractive to stink like a tramp's bonfire and smile like you've smeared shit on your teeth.

The old ads are fun though. Who can forget Ronnie Reagan's Christmas Chesterfields ad?

So don't forget, as the season approaches …

Quarter Past Nine

2011-10-23T13:41:00.000+01:00

Saturday Statuary - Autumnal Ass

2011-10-22T07:38:00.000+01:00

It's Autumn.

The weather's turned cold.

What should I do?

I know: I'll get nekkid and stick some spikes in my hair, then go hang around the park.

Obvious, really.

Crazy Name, Crazy Guy

2011-10-21T07:48:00.001+01:00

Another local hero.
Sir … er … Cloudesley Shovel.

This statue lurks in a dark corner of Stranger's Hall in Norwich (scene of many a past post).

Anyone think it's time to bring back poodle wigs for middle-aged men?

Random Norfolk - Local Heroes Come In Many Flavours

2011-10-20T07:42:00.000+01:00

Wednesday Window - The View From My Desk Again

2011-10-19T07:41:00.000+01:00

Actually, this should be "Tuesday Window" as I took these yesterday morning, after the drama queen stormy sunset of Monday afternoon (in the last post).

Time to fess up: I don't get to enjoy this view all day when it's as sunny as it was yesterday. By late morning the world turns just enough to make the low autumn sun shine right at me, but taking photos with the blinds down would be kinda boring.

The View From My Desk

2011-10-18T07:40:00.003+01:00

A bit of a drama queen sunset out of my office window yesterday afternoon.
The heatwave is over and things are turning decidedly Autumnal.

The top photo is taken with the why dangle lens (which is why everything looks so tiny and far away) and the camera resting on top of my monitor.
That's the river down at the bottom and Pull's Ferry just behind that annoyingly located lamp post.
And yes, I had to lighten up the foreground in Photoshop as it was all in silhouette. Hence the graininess - I only had my little pocket camera with me.

This is more what it looks like through eyes instead of a lens. Actually, if you click on this one and blow it up it's about the same size as it looks from the office. I tell the time by glancing up at the City Hall clock tower … and yes, it's almost half-five; time to head on home.

Is it just me or do you do this, too? I'm very nearly fifty-three years old and I still get all excited watching clouds roll across the sky.
Ooo, looky!
If it's just me, then it may help explain why I still live alone.

WTF Monday - Back When The World Made Sense

2011-10-17T08:07:00.001+01:00

A big hi to Ms.M.

I'm guessing Boise was a lot quieter back then.

It's Sunday, Let's Have Some Sun

2011-10-16T13:03:00.000+01:00

Photo courtesy of Phil, who'll be back in Rome in the spring to take some more.

3,772 Seasons And Counting

2011-10-15T11:45:00.004+01:00

Autumn is upon us, supposedly the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, but this year Autumn has been the season of heatwaves, frosts, some trees turning gold, others deciding it's spring and bursting into flower again.

Tis the season of schizophrenic Mother Nature.

In a little while, the trees will sort themselves out and get nekkid …

… and then this sort of thing is going to happen

Bleah.

Followed by this.

Spring at Norwich Castle is breathtaking.

The big ol' square box has sat up there on its mound since 1068 (and there was a wooden one up there before that).
It has never been taken, hence its non-ruinous state; mostly because Norfolk is where just about every revolt, revolution and rebellion of the last thousand years has started. We go and knock down other people's castles but ours stays intact. Yay us!

So far it has witnessed around 3,772 seasons, and hopefully it will see a few more yet.

Summer sees it splendidly scruffy; adrift in a sea of wildflowers. I love it like that; the idiots who campaign to have the grass cut short need a good slap upside the head.

The first photo and this one were taken this week.

The last of the season's wildflowers have gone to sleep after seeding the mound ready for next year.

And you'll remember this one from last week.

It's pretty hard to take a bad photo of Castle Blancheflower, so it makes for an easy post on a busy weekend.
And from my new office I have a great view of it, sitting serenely above the trees on the opposite side of the valley. I can watch it through the seasons by just looking up from my monitor; great for a lazy so-and-so like myself.

Enjoy your weekends, people.

One For The Colonials

2011-10-14T07:42:00.004+01:00

Just to clear something up:

This is bowling …

And this is bowling …

But for very nearly fifty-three years now I have managed to avoid "the other one" … that vulgar Colonial pastime known as ten-pin bowling. Mercifully I don't have any photos of that.
However, at my new office, Friday lunchtime is apparently Bowling Time … Colonial style, and they dragged me along so they could laugh at the bowling virgin and so that none of them would come last.

I've been going for three weeks now and so far I've bruised my thumb so bad it went black, not known which fingers to put in the silly little holes, pulled a muscle somewhere deep inside my left buttock and missed the pins (or whatever they're called) more times than I've hit them.
As for what those godawful stinky shoes do for my pedestrian hygeine I shudder to think. I now take spare socks in to work on Fridays so I can sneak into the shower as soon as we're back at the office, scrub my feet clean and put on a fresh pair.
Gack, ick and eww!
They keep stats at the office and my bowling average is apparently seventy-three and a quarter, good reason for my Colonial friends to have a raucous chortle at my expense. I am comically crap at it and positioned proudly at the bottom of the office league (by a refreshingly large margin).

The place we go bowling is called (with no imagination whatsoever) "Hollywood Bowl". It is like a nightmare, a bad acid trip of garish colours, appalling noise, sickening junk food and horrifyingly overpriced alcopops, kiddie-sweet cocktails and crappy, wind-inducing lager 'beer'.

To reach the bowling lanes I have to negotiate acres of psychedelic vomit-patterned airport carpet littered with coin-operated crap that looks like it got thrown out of some downmarket Vegas (make that Reno) casino. When at last I reach the small part at the back of the building where the bowling actually takes place I am assailed by serried rows of TV screens showing dire, uninspired videos, and what passes these days for chart music is belted out of banks of speakers at unspeakable volume.

I suppose the only thing I can say in its defence is that the whole place is as least honest about its purpose: to suck money from children and drunks.
I honestly cannot recall ever having been inside such a dreadful building.

And the scariest thing of all is …
I actually enjoy it. Yay for Friday Lunchtime Bowling!

Shoot me now.

Wednesday Window On A Thursday

2011-10-13T07:37:00.000+01:00

I've just lost all track of time. What year is this? I really don't have a clue this morning. Anyhoo, here's another example of a sweet juxtaposition of old and new, like the Forum and St.Pete's a couple of days back.
Have a nice whatever day this is.

Phil Goes Girling

2011-10-12T07:45:00.000+01:00

One of many photos I didn't get around to posting during Goodwood Week (you'll know when I'm too busy to blog when more Goodwood photos appear; they make good filler): this is Phil, going Girling.

Somewhat to our disappointment, having blagged and conned our way up on top of the pit building (many thanks to Nick for the loan of the Lotus Team armbands) we found the place was merely a champagne bar and that our Blues Brothers impersonations ("How much for the leetle girl? I want to buy your weemen.") would be to no avail. We read the menu board twice, but alas, no girls …
Sigh …

Crusty Old Men Talking About Bricks

2011-10-11T07:43:00.001+01:00

To the Forum last night with a couple of the partners for the opening ceremony of the RIBA Norfolk Architecture Festival …

… during the speeches for which much light-hearted mockery of the Forum's Architect was made in his presence. I think it's a lovely building to look at but I have to admit the acoustics inside are appalling.
The event goes on all week with lots of lectures and exhibition stuff. Pop along if you're in the city. There's free wine!

And this is the view as you exit the Forum doors, which is kinda spiffy.

Sorry about the crap photo quality but I only had my little pocket camara-ette.

WTF Monday - Abandoned Sousaphone

2011-10-10T07:39:00.000+01:00

The rain came down. The jazz band fled, leaving just a straw hat and an abandoned Sousaphone.

There's something about the way it's sucked itself to the floor that makes it look kind of shy; completely at odds with its usual blarty personality.

More Boring Norwich Stuff

2011-10-09T09:49:00.001+01:00

This is Hook's Walk, the little winding street I take between Bishop Bridge and Cathedral Close on my lunchtime perambulations into the city. This view is looking back from the Cathedral toward the river.

Last week's heatwave may have been stupidly sweaty and unpleasant but it sure made for some sweet photo opportunities.

What Was Behind Them

2011-10-08T06:52:00.001+01:00

Had the couple on the bench in yesterday's photo had the sense to turn around, this is what they would have seen.

Sweet, huh?

I never tire of the place, which is just as well as I have to suffer looking at it all day.

And my walk into the city centre takes me right underneath it.

As it was, yesterday's couple were looking at this ugly office block.

Actually it's an award-winning classic of Brutalism from 1969 and it's where I now work.

This was taken from the Bridge at the back, near the stair tower from the pigeonhole photo. The building is four floors high but it's dug into a steep hill so the back door from the car park is on floor three across the Bridge.

The terrace wraps around three sides and overlooks the river and is a great place to eat lunch.

My own office is up there on the top right (with the open window).

I face forward towards the Cathedral and all I can see out of my window is the Castle (just out of picture on the left), the Clock Tower and the Cathedral all floating above the trees.

Looking out at them is a nice way to de-stress.

Anyhoo … Have a great weekend, y'all.

It's Behind You

2011-10-07T07:56:00.001+01:00

Popping out of the office to buy a paper I noticed these two enjoying a romantic lunchtime by the river. Why they're facing this way is quite beyond me. The view they're looking at is of my 1960s brutalist concrete office block and a bunch of crappy fibreglass pleasure boats; the view behind them across the meadows is of one of the most beautiful buildings on this or any other planet.
I guess some people are just born to face the wrong way.

Blues

2011-10-06T07:42:00.000+01:00

No reason, just the last of the season's wildflowers set against Castle Blanchflower.

Wednesday Window - Pigeonhole

2011-10-05T07:30:00.000+01:00

So anyhoo … Around ten yesterday morning we were all as busy as bees, drinking coffee and standing around chatting and comparing ankle injuries (another story) when there was this enormous crash from the back of the office and suddenly a pigeon was flying round the room.

Phil (no, not that one) caught it and set it free outside where it waddled around a bit, looking confused before flying off as if nothing had happened.

I was amazed at the almost perfectly circular hole the pigeon had made in the glass. It should at least be grateful that we work in an old 1960s office with thin single glazing; had it flown into a modern window it would be in somebody's pie by now.

More Lunchtime Heatwave Walkabout Stuff

2011-10-04T07:27:00.001+01:00

One of my favourite houses in Cathedral Close and yet the view is spoiled by a fat man sitting on a bench with his legs spread out like an old lady who's just peed herself.
Ah, the restrained elegance of the Englishman.
Lovely.
I was going to Photoshop him out but his sheer awfulness somehow makes the house seem even more beautiful, so he stayed.