Frightening thing, that … fear …
Robyn has once more assigned us a task.
This time, it is to "name at least one fear that torments you, and then agree to face the damn thing head on."
So … heights, and how to tell them to fuck off.
I was always petrified of heights, vertigo took me by the balls a good ten feet from any clifftop and had me crawling on my belly and whimpering like a girl (at least a girl who whimpers).
And yet now I can be regularly found walking nonchalantly around the tops of parapet walls on high buildings as easily as if I were walking across a flat field.
Eric, our Health and Safety Officer hates me. He cowers in his hard hat and safety harness while I lean out and peer down at the tiny people waaaaay below. He also swears at me a lot.
I know the moment I conquered my fear. I also know that I'm never, EVER going through THAT again!
As some of my older - or at least some of my more attentive - readers may know, way back in the mists of time the firm of Architects I once worked for was responsible for the upkeep of several hundred of Norfolk's Saxon, Norman and Mediæval churches. This involved quinquennial inspections. Which involved clambering up the insides of the bell towers on old, woodworm-eaten Victorian ladders. This also involved no safety equipment whatsoever (other than a plastic hard hat). Before the days of sweary Health and Safety Officers and harnesses, we were required to "get up there however you can".
Getting up the towers was scary enough, but it was what we had to do when we were up there which really filled our pants.
Around two hundred feet up in the old bell towers were the old bell frames. Most had the bells still in situ but most were too rotten and fragile to ring without the whole damned lot collapsing in a clangy mess. Most of the intervening floors had rotted away centuries ago and the view from the bell frame was straight down onto the stone flags of the church floor. My job was to lean off the top of the topmost ladder, grab hold of and swing up into the bellframe and give it a good poke around to see if it would stay up there for another five years.
These bellframes are made from massive, foot-thick oak beams. But they were put there nine-hundred years ago and are now a bit the worse for wear. The ends are all rotten and the whole rickety woodpile creaks and sways when you try to move. It is also shin-deep in pigeon shit … Nice …
Needless to say I hated this job. But I did it. Until Langley Church Tower. When the ladder slipped round out of reach and I was stuck up there.
I was by myself as we were short staffed, and the vicar who had let me in wasn't due back for several hours.
So, after an hour or so, involving lots of shouting and banging (unfortunately no bells left up here and this was years before mobile phones), I made the monumentally stupid decision to try to reach the ladder …
To say I will never try anything so FUCKING STUPID again as long as I live would be quite an understatement.
Let us just say all I achieved was to kick the damned thing further out of reach and then to hang there under the bellframe for a bit, knowing I was about to fall to my death.
How I managed to climb back up into the frame I will never know.
The vicar came back to lock up after dark, assuming I had gone. He managed to shift the ladder round and I got down safely, if shaking like a leaf.
The next day I found myself up the scaffolding on a building site and amazingly unafraid. And since that day, I have had no problem with clambering over cliffs, leaning off the tops of church towers, or any of the other things that used to scare the willies out of me.
I think my fear of heights must have been scared to death.
True story.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Checkup
I realise our hospitals are dangerous places; should you want to catch an MRSA bug and die, that's where you go to get it.
If, however, you're booked in for your six-monthly, "look out, you're middle-aged and getting ready to drop dead" checkup, you don't expect most of the hospital staff to be off sick.
The same flu bug I got last week.
The flu bug that the flu jabs we all had doesn't cover for …
Just an example from today's catalogue of absurdity: The University Hospital in Norwich (huge place, brand new, supposedly one of the best) has two blood test departments, each with four nurses.
Today, it had one shut down completely due to staff illness, and the one that was still open was down to two nurses.
I joined the queue and took my number. The indicator light said number 13 … I drew number 94 …
Three hours later, the nurses went to lunch, switching off the lights and putting a sign up (we had got to number 75).
My two hour chekup just took me all day.
And it cost me £12 to get off the fucking car park.
Too tired and pissed off to post anything but bile and abuse (so what's new), I'm going to watch old movies and then go to bed.
If, however, you're booked in for your six-monthly, "look out, you're middle-aged and getting ready to drop dead" checkup, you don't expect most of the hospital staff to be off sick.
The same flu bug I got last week.
The flu bug that the flu jabs we all had doesn't cover for …
Just an example from today's catalogue of absurdity: The University Hospital in Norwich (huge place, brand new, supposedly one of the best) has two blood test departments, each with four nurses.
Today, it had one shut down completely due to staff illness, and the one that was still open was down to two nurses.
I joined the queue and took my number. The indicator light said number 13 … I drew number 94 …
Three hours later, the nurses went to lunch, switching off the lights and putting a sign up (we had got to number 75).
My two hour chekup just took me all day.
And it cost me £12 to get off the fucking car park.
Too tired and pissed off to post anything but bile and abuse (so what's new), I'm going to watch old movies and then go to bed.
Monday, December 11, 2006
You Do WHAT For A Living?
More silliness from the BBC News website:
Utsav and Sohil better not read this one (although I suspect that they are in the proportion of men who don't have such shortcomings … and besides; Utsav's from Bhutan, where they probably have the opposite problem) …
"Condoms 'too big' for Indian men
By Damian Grammaticus
BBC News, Delhi
A survey of more than 1,000 men in India has concluded that condoms made according to international sizes are too large for a majority of Indian men.
The study found that more than half of the men measured had penises that were shorter than international standards for condoms.
It has led to a call for condoms of mixed sizes to be made more widely available in India.
The two-year study was carried out by the Indian Council of Medical Research.
Over 1,200 volunteers from the length and breadth of the country had their penises measured precisely, down to the last millimetre.
The scientists even checked their sample was representative of India as a whole in terms of class, religion and urban and rural dwellers.
The conclusion of all this scientific endeavour is that about 60% of Indian men have penises which are between three and five centimetres shorter than international standards used in condom manufacture."
It goes on a fair bit longer (groan), but much in the same vein (sorry).
The bit that got me was the sentence: "Over 1,200 volunteers from the length and the breadth (hee hee) of the country had their penises measured precisely, down to the last millimetre."
Down to the last MILLIMETRE?
"So, you want to date my daughter. What do you do for a living?"
"Oh, I measure mens' erect penises, down to the last millimetre."
I am at a loss for words, so I'll pass this one over to Mister Shakespeare:
"There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
Indeed there are …
And this is one of them …
Somebody in Mauritius has accessed my blog by searching for "Men At Play Nude".
I've had a lot of this since posting about Spongebob Squarepants with the title "Naked Starfish Buttocks" … The "starfish" aspect never really struck me until now …
I shall endeavour to be more careful with my titles from now on.
In the meantime, I'm sorry to disappoint you, frisky Mauritius person. Perhaps I might end up taking that kind of photo of myself on National Drunk Blogging Day, but not today.
Utsav and Sohil better not read this one (although I suspect that they are in the proportion of men who don't have such shortcomings … and besides; Utsav's from Bhutan, where they probably have the opposite problem) …
"Condoms 'too big' for Indian men
By Damian Grammaticus
BBC News, Delhi
A survey of more than 1,000 men in India has concluded that condoms made according to international sizes are too large for a majority of Indian men.
The study found that more than half of the men measured had penises that were shorter than international standards for condoms.
It has led to a call for condoms of mixed sizes to be made more widely available in India.
The two-year study was carried out by the Indian Council of Medical Research.
Over 1,200 volunteers from the length and breadth of the country had their penises measured precisely, down to the last millimetre.
The scientists even checked their sample was representative of India as a whole in terms of class, religion and urban and rural dwellers.
The conclusion of all this scientific endeavour is that about 60% of Indian men have penises which are between three and five centimetres shorter than international standards used in condom manufacture."
It goes on a fair bit longer (groan), but much in the same vein (sorry).
The bit that got me was the sentence: "Over 1,200 volunteers from the length and the breadth (hee hee) of the country had their penises measured precisely, down to the last millimetre."
Down to the last MILLIMETRE?
"So, you want to date my daughter. What do you do for a living?"
"Oh, I measure mens' erect penises, down to the last millimetre."
I am at a loss for words, so I'll pass this one over to Mister Shakespeare:
"There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
Indeed there are …
And this is one of them …
Somebody in Mauritius has accessed my blog by searching for "Men At Play Nude".
I've had a lot of this since posting about Spongebob Squarepants with the title "Naked Starfish Buttocks" … The "starfish" aspect never really struck me until now …
I shall endeavour to be more careful with my titles from now on.
In the meantime, I'm sorry to disappoint you, frisky Mauritius person. Perhaps I might end up taking that kind of photo of myself on National Drunk Blogging Day, but not today.
Careers Advice
Not yet decided on a direction in life?
Pissed off with your current job?
Hate the idea of actually working for a living?
Simple … Become an Architect. It works for me …
As you know, I am the kind of fool who likes mondays and loves my job. This morning I'm sitting here going "Yippee" and playing in my personal sandbox (and getting paid many a groat for it).
Here's what I'm up to today:
Some of you might remember this nice old Art Deco building (before you fell asleep from boredom last time).
Inevitably, the school have waited until everything's already finished and then changed their brief, so back I go to dick around with the design …
This is technically called "cursing the staircase" and involves regular consultations with Mister Knudsen's Dictionary of Profanity.
When I've done enough dicking around with the actual model, it looks kinda like this …
See? Told you it was easy.
Then I start to put clothes on it. Rough guide colours for when I render it properly.
And there it is finished. Voila!
It really is as easy as that. If you can fall off a log, you can be an Architect.
So come on. Join today!
You can win awards while still being a slacker.
And you get to shout at builders, too. Bonus!
That concludes today's careers advice.
Now I'm off over the road to the Brazilian deli for a cup of blissful coffee heaven … Hey, it's better than work!
Pissed off with your current job?
Hate the idea of actually working for a living?
Simple … Become an Architect. It works for me …
As you know, I am the kind of fool who likes mondays and loves my job. This morning I'm sitting here going "Yippee" and playing in my personal sandbox (and getting paid many a groat for it).
Here's what I'm up to today:
Some of you might remember this nice old Art Deco building (before you fell asleep from boredom last time).
Inevitably, the school have waited until everything's already finished and then changed their brief, so back I go to dick around with the design …
This is technically called "cursing the staircase" and involves regular consultations with Mister Knudsen's Dictionary of Profanity.
When I've done enough dicking around with the actual model, it looks kinda like this …See? Told you it was easy.
Then I start to put clothes on it. Rough guide colours for when I render it properly.
And there it is finished. Voila!
It really is as easy as that. If you can fall off a log, you can be an Architect.
So come on. Join today!
You can win awards while still being a slacker.
And you get to shout at builders, too. Bonus!
That concludes today's careers advice.
Now I'm off over the road to the Brazilian deli for a cup of blissful coffee heaven … Hey, it's better than work!
Sunday, December 10, 2006
A Curmudgeon Writes
Just borrowed this meme from the splendid Rootietoot, of National Drunk Blogging Day fame.
The sight of Robyn's lovely tree almost elicited a pang of Festive Feeling in my flinty old heart this morning, so I thought I'd counter that with some Scroogey grumpiness by filling in Rootietoot's Christmas survey:
1. Egg Nog or Hot Chocolate? Organic fairtrade cocoa; same as Sassy.
2. Does Santa wrap presents or just sit them under the tree? Santa just eats all the goodies and drinks the sherry that's left out. All the labouring these days is done by illegal immigrants on subsistence wages while the Fat Man looks on.
3. Coloured lights on tree/house or white? I don't have a tree, and I'm certainly not putting bloody lights up outside my house.
4. Do you hang mistletoe? Only in effigy. I'm way too ugly to get a kiss at Christmas.
5. When do you put your decorations up? I don't.
6. What is your favourite holiday dish (excluding dessert)?
It's a side dish: Steamed Brussels sprouts, fresh and bright green, quickly tossed in a hot wok at the last second with button mushrooms and chestnuts in a splash of extra virgin olive oil, with garlic and ginger and a dash of soy. A steaming, glistening bowl of mouthwatering cheer beside all the artery-clogging muck, swimming in fat, on the rest of the table (See? I CAN enjoy myself at Christmas, but only if I do the cooking).
7. Favourite holiday memory as a child? The fell winter of 1963. The snow was a mile deep and we had proper snowmen and proper snowballs and proper sledges, not the crap we have now with global warming.
8. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa?
I am Santa Claus.
9. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve? Nope. That's just greed. Besides, I only get two gifts these days, so it would be kinda stupid.
10. How do you decorate your Christmas Tree? I don't have a Christmas tree. I told you that already. Don't you listen?
11. Snow! Love it or Dread it? Love it. It means I get to work from home instead of commuting seven hours a day.
12. Can you ice skate? Yes, if you allow for lots of falling over and cursing. Our office goes ice skating every Christmas at Somerset House by the Thames. Mostly this involves watching the girls fall over while getting drunk at the side of the rink.
13. Do you remember your favourite gift? The heart surgeons at Papworth brought my dad back to life when his aorta ruptured. They gave us six more years with him to do and say the things we never had before. That was good.
14. What's the most important thing about the holidays for you? Not having to set the alarm clocks for 4:40am every bloody day.
15. What is your favourite holiday dessert? Macallan.
16. What is your favourite holiday tradition? Wandering around the city, laughing at Christmas shoppers as they try desperately not to have a nervous breakdown and kill their children.
17. What tops your tree? For the last time, I do not have a fucking tree!
18. Which do you prefer; giving or receiving? Giving makes me feel all warm and fuzzy and smug. Receiving generally involves covering my disappointment with a fake smile and insincere thanks for some piece of tat bought with no thought whatsoever … so "giving".
19. What is your favourite Christmas Song? Fairytale of New York: The Pogues with the late and sorely missed Kirsty Mc.Coll.
20. Candy Canes! yuck or yummy? Yuck!
21. Favourite Christmas movie? Anything black and white that makes me cry like a girl.
There you go. Fill it in for yourselves if you're feeling festive.
If not, then Bah, humbug to the lot of you.
The sight of Robyn's lovely tree almost elicited a pang of Festive Feeling in my flinty old heart this morning, so I thought I'd counter that with some Scroogey grumpiness by filling in Rootietoot's Christmas survey:
1. Egg Nog or Hot Chocolate? Organic fairtrade cocoa; same as Sassy.
2. Does Santa wrap presents or just sit them under the tree? Santa just eats all the goodies and drinks the sherry that's left out. All the labouring these days is done by illegal immigrants on subsistence wages while the Fat Man looks on.
3. Coloured lights on tree/house or white? I don't have a tree, and I'm certainly not putting bloody lights up outside my house.
4. Do you hang mistletoe? Only in effigy. I'm way too ugly to get a kiss at Christmas.
5. When do you put your decorations up? I don't.
6. What is your favourite holiday dish (excluding dessert)?
It's a side dish: Steamed Brussels sprouts, fresh and bright green, quickly tossed in a hot wok at the last second with button mushrooms and chestnuts in a splash of extra virgin olive oil, with garlic and ginger and a dash of soy. A steaming, glistening bowl of mouthwatering cheer beside all the artery-clogging muck, swimming in fat, on the rest of the table (See? I CAN enjoy myself at Christmas, but only if I do the cooking).
7. Favourite holiday memory as a child? The fell winter of 1963. The snow was a mile deep and we had proper snowmen and proper snowballs and proper sledges, not the crap we have now with global warming.
8. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa?
I am Santa Claus.
9. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve? Nope. That's just greed. Besides, I only get two gifts these days, so it would be kinda stupid.
10. How do you decorate your Christmas Tree? I don't have a Christmas tree. I told you that already. Don't you listen?
11. Snow! Love it or Dread it? Love it. It means I get to work from home instead of commuting seven hours a day.
12. Can you ice skate? Yes, if you allow for lots of falling over and cursing. Our office goes ice skating every Christmas at Somerset House by the Thames. Mostly this involves watching the girls fall over while getting drunk at the side of the rink.
13. Do you remember your favourite gift? The heart surgeons at Papworth brought my dad back to life when his aorta ruptured. They gave us six more years with him to do and say the things we never had before. That was good.
14. What's the most important thing about the holidays for you? Not having to set the alarm clocks for 4:40am every bloody day.
15. What is your favourite holiday dessert? Macallan.
16. What is your favourite holiday tradition? Wandering around the city, laughing at Christmas shoppers as they try desperately not to have a nervous breakdown and kill their children.
17. What tops your tree? For the last time, I do not have a fucking tree!
18. Which do you prefer; giving or receiving? Giving makes me feel all warm and fuzzy and smug. Receiving generally involves covering my disappointment with a fake smile and insincere thanks for some piece of tat bought with no thought whatsoever … so "giving".
19. What is your favourite Christmas Song? Fairytale of New York: The Pogues with the late and sorely missed Kirsty Mc.Coll.
20. Candy Canes! yuck or yummy? Yuck!
21. Favourite Christmas movie? Anything black and white that makes me cry like a girl.
There you go. Fill it in for yourselves if you're feeling festive.
If not, then Bah, humbug to the lot of you.
Space, £19.99
Over at the inestimable Mister Knudsen's place, the talk yesterday was of NASA's proposal for a manned moonbase.
This of course sparked off memories of the hilariously wonderful 1970's TV romp "Space, 1999".
In a childishly overexcited frenzy of confused memories, I posted a comment about the sparkly wigged, mini-skirted girls, and how our government would try to stop the Moon People from coming down here and taking our jobs and our weemen.
When I later hit Google Image with "Space, 1999", I was disappointed to find not a single sparkly-wigged girl.
It was then that I remembered the awesome, low budget magnificence of Gerry and Sylvia Anderson's "UFO" (Space, £19.99) …
"UFO" …
A "live action" spin off from the people who had made my sixties childhood so wonderful with Fireball XL-5 (gasp) …
Stingray (wowee) …
Thunderbirds (Yaaaaay) …
Captain Scarlet (Whoop) …
and Joe 90 ( … er … ) …
They abandoned the puppets, that fabulous "Superanimation" not seen again until Team America, World Police, but they did not abandon the puppet-like acting.
What they DID have, however, was Lt. Ellis …
Whaddya mean "Who"?
Look on the left. That girl in the purple sparkly wig.
By the time this came on TV, I was old enough to get wood.
Lt. Ellis gave millions of adolescent boys the opportunity to get sticky …
This was what adolescent girls got to fantasize about: their uncle in a string vest … Mmmmm.
And for the dads? … Hmm. Not quite the same nipple action (sorry, Robyn) as on the men's uniform. And saggy elbows, too …
And in charge of this farrago … Our gallant Commander Straker, played with admirable deadpan restraint by the lovely Ed Bishop.
Then there was gorgeous, sultry Aishea Brough, the only one to make it out of the series with her career intact.
Ahh … swoon … The unutterably beautiful if slightly tetchy-looking Lt. Ellis.
If only all the girls at school had looked like that. Purple wig, silver uniform, unfeasibly long eyelashes, moody pout (oh yeah, they did have that) … sigh …
So come on, NASA, get a base on the moon so we can have proper space weemen down here. Real, feminist-baiting weemen, who wear silver leotards with detachable sleeves and platform boots with perspex heels (apparently practical in zero gravity). And men can wear string vests and be considered attractive. And bring back Lt. Ellis.
What are you waiting for?
This of course sparked off memories of the hilariously wonderful 1970's TV romp "Space, 1999".
In a childishly overexcited frenzy of confused memories, I posted a comment about the sparkly wigged, mini-skirted girls, and how our government would try to stop the Moon People from coming down here and taking our jobs and our weemen.
When I later hit Google Image with "Space, 1999", I was disappointed to find not a single sparkly-wigged girl.
It was then that I remembered the awesome, low budget magnificence of Gerry and Sylvia Anderson's "UFO" (Space, £19.99) …
"UFO" …A "live action" spin off from the people who had made my sixties childhood so wonderful with Fireball XL-5 (gasp) …
Stingray (wowee) …
Thunderbirds (Yaaaaay) …
Captain Scarlet (Whoop) …
and Joe 90 ( … er … ) …
They abandoned the puppets, that fabulous "Superanimation" not seen again until Team America, World Police, but they did not abandon the puppet-like acting.
What they DID have, however, was Lt. Ellis …
Whaddya mean "Who"?
Look on the left. That girl in the purple sparkly wig.
By the time this came on TV, I was old enough to get wood.
Lt. Ellis gave millions of adolescent boys the opportunity to get sticky …
This was what adolescent girls got to fantasize about: their uncle in a string vest … Mmmmm.
And for the dads? … Hmm. Not quite the same nipple action (sorry, Robyn) as on the men's uniform. And saggy elbows, too …
And in charge of this farrago … Our gallant Commander Straker, played with admirable deadpan restraint by the lovely Ed Bishop.
Then there was gorgeous, sultry Aishea Brough, the only one to make it out of the series with her career intact.
Ahh … swoon … The unutterably beautiful if slightly tetchy-looking Lt. Ellis.If only all the girls at school had looked like that. Purple wig, silver uniform, unfeasibly long eyelashes, moody pout (oh yeah, they did have that) … sigh …
So come on, NASA, get a base on the moon so we can have proper space weemen down here. Real, feminist-baiting weemen, who wear silver leotards with detachable sleeves and platform boots with perspex heels (apparently practical in zero gravity). And men can wear string vests and be considered attractive. And bring back Lt. Ellis.
What are you waiting for?
Saturday, December 09, 2006
For Utsav
Some porn for the boys …
Just a quick post for Utsav, as he has been coveting his neighbour's axe …
Click on it for a bigger picture, Utsav.
Photos taken this lunchtime in the studio. Please excuse the dust and grime; it's a working guitar.
Right, Here's the boring stuff:
PRS 44115; Custom built for Dive:
Brazilian mahogany body, Michigan "big leaf" maple top in vintage cherry sunburst; Brazilian rosewood neck.
On stage, it goes through a Mesa Heartbreaker (Boogie's 25th anniversary special).
It sounds so beautiful it tears lumps out of my soul whenever I play it.
That's the signed access plate from the back. They gave me a plain one to replace it as the guitar was ordered "to be played". PRS have 250 Brazilian rosewood neck blanks; mine is the 67th they've used. It's old, pre C.I.T.E.S. wood. When it's gone, there'll be no more.
Ordered in June, 1999 after much discussion about materials and finishes, it's dated 11/23/99, was delivered in December, 1999 and has had extremely heavy stage and studio use ever since.
I went for a mellow, wide flame-top to give the same feel as my old Les Paul, rather than the extreme and - in my opinion - tacky, over the top figuring the collectors go for.
Talking of whom, I cannot understand collectors who order a musical instrument then keep it locked in a bank vault. I hope they run screaming at the sight of all the wear and tear on this one (notice how I've knackered the gold plating).
This is the most responsive and frankly astonishing guitar I've ever played; and that includes lots of vintage Gibson's and Fenders - including my own - and a fair few Private Stock PRSs (which are never usually played and so don't develop the character that this one has).
I still love my old Les Paul more, but whenever I strap this one on; boy what a feeling.
Now wash your hands …
Just a quick post for Utsav, as he has been coveting his neighbour's axe …
Click on it for a bigger picture, Utsav.
Photos taken this lunchtime in the studio. Please excuse the dust and grime; it's a working guitar.
Right, Here's the boring stuff:
PRS 44115; Custom built for Dive:
Brazilian mahogany body, Michigan "big leaf" maple top in vintage cherry sunburst; Brazilian rosewood neck.
On stage, it goes through a Mesa Heartbreaker (Boogie's 25th anniversary special).
It sounds so beautiful it tears lumps out of my soul whenever I play it.
That's the signed access plate from the back. They gave me a plain one to replace it as the guitar was ordered "to be played". PRS have 250 Brazilian rosewood neck blanks; mine is the 67th they've used. It's old, pre C.I.T.E.S. wood. When it's gone, there'll be no more.Ordered in June, 1999 after much discussion about materials and finishes, it's dated 11/23/99, was delivered in December, 1999 and has had extremely heavy stage and studio use ever since.
I went for a mellow, wide flame-top to give the same feel as my old Les Paul, rather than the extreme and - in my opinion - tacky, over the top figuring the collectors go for.
Talking of whom, I cannot understand collectors who order a musical instrument then keep it locked in a bank vault. I hope they run screaming at the sight of all the wear and tear on this one (notice how I've knackered the gold plating).
This is the most responsive and frankly astonishing guitar I've ever played; and that includes lots of vintage Gibson's and Fenders - including my own - and a fair few Private Stock PRSs (which are never usually played and so don't develop the character that this one has).
I still love my old Les Paul more, but whenever I strap this one on; boy what a feeling.
Now wash your hands …
Friday, December 08, 2006
Coffee Machines … Aargh!
Reading the latest chapter of Robyn's wonderful novel, Maryann; padding round the kitchen, watching Alice try to figure out how to work the coffee machine (Robyn's eye for detail is as perceptive as ever), I'm reminded of a confused middle-aged man recently faced with caffeinated mayhem in my own kitchen and the growing realisation that my life is becoming a strange and sometimes spooky place for my addled brain to inhabit.
Measuring up for next year's planned house extension, I'm standing in the old kitchen, mentally sketching out the new one and making an inventory of all the storage space I'm likely to need.
Let's go through the cupboards …
Okay, I know I've lost the odd decade of my life ('85 through '95 is a complete blank, and there are other gaps, too), but I start emptying cupboards with an increasing sense of incredulity.
I must have cleaned around all this shit a hundred times, so why do I find, sitting and gleaming guiltily at me, five coffee machines I cannot ever remember buying?
Yup. Five (count 'em) nice shiny new Italian spurty coffee machines … and eight cafetieres … and an old percolator … and a selection of those octagonal aluminium espresso makers …
One of the machines is still in its box.
I have no memory of any of these things.
Mental note to self. "Okay, boy; you're getting old."
Oh, that's not counting the cute little octagonal espresso maker sitting on the worktop beside the bag of Cuban coffee beans. I actually use that one.
Now I'm not a gadget freak; I'm a purist cook. No girly blenders or food processors for me; it's strictly good Sabatier knives and a pestle and mortar. No stupid pasta makers or ice cream makers or bread makers when it's MUCH more fun to make stuff properly.
So why do I have a kitchen full of coffee machines?
A few phone calls to family and friends elicits no hope of finding a good home for any of these caffeine orphans, so off they go to the village jumble sale.
"Ooh! A coffee machine. That's nice … Oh. And another one … er … and etc."
You get the picture …
So … Do I sleepwalk to the shops and buy coffee machines? Is there a wormhole in my cupboards leading to the Gaggia factory in Italy? Is someone playing an elaborate hoax on a jelly-minded old man?
I'm keeping a close watch on the cupboards from now on. If another coffee machine suddenly appears I may start to scream.
I need a coffee …
Measuring up for next year's planned house extension, I'm standing in the old kitchen, mentally sketching out the new one and making an inventory of all the storage space I'm likely to need.
Let's go through the cupboards …
Okay, I know I've lost the odd decade of my life ('85 through '95 is a complete blank, and there are other gaps, too), but I start emptying cupboards with an increasing sense of incredulity.
I must have cleaned around all this shit a hundred times, so why do I find, sitting and gleaming guiltily at me, five coffee machines I cannot ever remember buying?
Yup. Five (count 'em) nice shiny new Italian spurty coffee machines … and eight cafetieres … and an old percolator … and a selection of those octagonal aluminium espresso makers …
One of the machines is still in its box.
I have no memory of any of these things.
Mental note to self. "Okay, boy; you're getting old."
Oh, that's not counting the cute little octagonal espresso maker sitting on the worktop beside the bag of Cuban coffee beans. I actually use that one.
Now I'm not a gadget freak; I'm a purist cook. No girly blenders or food processors for me; it's strictly good Sabatier knives and a pestle and mortar. No stupid pasta makers or ice cream makers or bread makers when it's MUCH more fun to make stuff properly.
So why do I have a kitchen full of coffee machines?
A few phone calls to family and friends elicits no hope of finding a good home for any of these caffeine orphans, so off they go to the village jumble sale.
"Ooh! A coffee machine. That's nice … Oh. And another one … er … and etc."
You get the picture …
So … Do I sleepwalk to the shops and buy coffee machines? Is there a wormhole in my cupboards leading to the Gaggia factory in Italy? Is someone playing an elaborate hoax on a jelly-minded old man?
I'm keeping a close watch on the cupboards from now on. If another coffee machine suddenly appears I may start to scream.
I need a coffee …
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Iraqtile Dysfunction Revisited
Me, I love excruciating puns, but what is it about the British and fart jokes?
Flicking on to the Beeb's news site this morning to catch up on reaction to the Iraq Study Group Report, I find that the BBC's "Most Read Story" today is "Flatulence leads US jet to divert" …
So much for political awareness over here …
I just can't wait to watch tonight's news, to see George and Tony try to look cheerful and upbeat about it all when they meet.
Tony has already done his comedy routine in the House of Commons. When asked whether he agreed with the conclusions of the report (all of which are diametrically opposed to his stance), he replied "Of course!", and tried to make out that we had misheard and misquoted him for the past couple of years.
Reportedly, a family of weasels is suing him for defamation of character.
Watch out now for his inevitable squirming attempt to distance himself from George, maybe as soon as today; probably by diverting attention onto the Palestinian question (he's so appallingly predictable, I'll say "I told you so" now to save myself the trouble later).
And without Tony jammed up his arse, George might become the source of some more of those bottom jokes we Brits enjoy so much …
Flicking on to the Beeb's news site this morning to catch up on reaction to the Iraq Study Group Report, I find that the BBC's "Most Read Story" today is "Flatulence leads US jet to divert" …
So much for political awareness over here …
I just can't wait to watch tonight's news, to see George and Tony try to look cheerful and upbeat about it all when they meet.
Tony has already done his comedy routine in the House of Commons. When asked whether he agreed with the conclusions of the report (all of which are diametrically opposed to his stance), he replied "Of course!", and tried to make out that we had misheard and misquoted him for the past couple of years.
Reportedly, a family of weasels is suing him for defamation of character.
Watch out now for his inevitable squirming attempt to distance himself from George, maybe as soon as today; probably by diverting attention onto the Palestinian question (he's so appallingly predictable, I'll say "I told you so" now to save myself the trouble later).
And without Tony jammed up his arse, George might become the source of some more of those bottom jokes we Brits enjoy so much …
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Iraqtile Dysfunction
I've been waiting to use that title for months! God of bad puns smile down upon me.
At last! The Iraq Study Group Report arrives.
"The United States should immediately launch a new diplomatic offensive to build an international consensus for stability in Iraq and the region... Iraq's neighbours and key states in and outside the region should form a support group to reinforce security and national reconciliation within Iraq..."
Woohoo! Let's start to talk to Iran and Syria instead of threatening to bomb them back to the stone age.
"The United States cannot achieve its goals in the Middle East unless it deals with the Arab-Israeli conflict and regional instability."
Can't see this one working; the hardliners in Israel would go apeshit. Nice try though.
I notice they added an exemption:
"This commitment must include direct talks with, by, and between Israel, Lebanon and Palestinians (those who accept Israel's right to exist), and Syria..."
So no part in talks for democratically elected Hizbollah. Hypocrites …
"By the first quarter of 2008, subject to unexpected developments in the security situation on the ground, all combat brigades not necessary for force protection could be out of Iraq..."
Good news all round; not least for families of servicemen and women fighting George's personal vendetta. Still no timetable exactly, but a big step in the right direction.
"US foreign policy is doomed to failure - as is any course of action in Iraq - if it is not supported by a broad, sustained consensus. The aim of our report is to move our country toward such a consensus."
Splendid.
I like quite a lot of this report quite a lot.
Well done to all my blogpals who voted for change. I think the report shows as much about what's happening in the States as what's happening in Iraq.
George is still defiant, but even his close allies are edging away from him now, which is rather entertaining to watch.
At last! The Iraq Study Group Report arrives.
"The United States should immediately launch a new diplomatic offensive to build an international consensus for stability in Iraq and the region... Iraq's neighbours and key states in and outside the region should form a support group to reinforce security and national reconciliation within Iraq..."
Woohoo! Let's start to talk to Iran and Syria instead of threatening to bomb them back to the stone age.
"The United States cannot achieve its goals in the Middle East unless it deals with the Arab-Israeli conflict and regional instability."
Can't see this one working; the hardliners in Israel would go apeshit. Nice try though.
I notice they added an exemption:
"This commitment must include direct talks with, by, and between Israel, Lebanon and Palestinians (those who accept Israel's right to exist), and Syria..."
So no part in talks for democratically elected Hizbollah. Hypocrites …
"By the first quarter of 2008, subject to unexpected developments in the security situation on the ground, all combat brigades not necessary for force protection could be out of Iraq..."
Good news all round; not least for families of servicemen and women fighting George's personal vendetta. Still no timetable exactly, but a big step in the right direction.
"US foreign policy is doomed to failure - as is any course of action in Iraq - if it is not supported by a broad, sustained consensus. The aim of our report is to move our country toward such a consensus."
Splendid.
I like quite a lot of this report quite a lot.
Well done to all my blogpals who voted for change. I think the report shows as much about what's happening in the States as what's happening in Iraq.
George is still defiant, but even his close allies are edging away from him now, which is rather entertaining to watch.
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