The study comes on apace - we jaunted briefly out to B&Q today for some knotting compound as I'll shortly be in a position to fix the skirting board and there are quite a few knots that'll need sealing before I can paint it. We also needed some damp stain sealant. Even though the roof is now fixed, three coats of white emulsion on the ceiling have proved insufficient to cover up the stain and I'm finally persuaded we need some heavy-duty speciality paint for the job.
That's going on today, along with the first coat of colour on Nikki's walls. It's all starting to come together and we're now beginning to wonder if we could possibly finish in time to have the carpet fitted during the week I have off in August. At least I hope I have it off - my manager has yet to agree to it!
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Friday, July 27, 2007
Friday Five
1. Favourite pastry?
Oh, God, so many. Apple pie, vanilla slice, custard slice, cinnamon whirl, maple & pecan danish, chocolate croissant, almond croissant, chicken & mushroom pie, custard tart, bramley apple turnover. What, you mean I have to pick one? Nahhh.
2. How do you like to waste time?
Playing Spider Solitaire on the computer
3. How would you describe your complexion?
I wouldn't. I'm a bloke. I'm bloke coloured.
4. What do you hang on to that you should really get rid of?
Lots of stuff that I'm going to "sell on eBay" one day. Cool stuff like a 20-year-old VCR that I bought for £800. You could now get a much higher spec model for a tenth of that price, it would take up a quarter of the space, and which you wouldn't want anyway because no-one in their right mind is buying (or even using) tape any more.
5. What is the last thing that made you hurt?
I sawed through my knuckle a few months ago while I was pruning a tree. The saw hit a twig and bounced out of the cut across my hand. Superficially the skin healed over quite quickly but the tendons took longer to stop paining me (like about 4 months).
Emotionally? I've blocked it out ;o)
Oh, God, so many. Apple pie, vanilla slice, custard slice, cinnamon whirl, maple & pecan danish, chocolate croissant, almond croissant, chicken & mushroom pie, custard tart, bramley apple turnover. What, you mean I have to pick one? Nahhh.
2. How do you like to waste time?
Playing Spider Solitaire on the computer
3. How would you describe your complexion?
I wouldn't. I'm a bloke. I'm bloke coloured.
4. What do you hang on to that you should really get rid of?
Lots of stuff that I'm going to "sell on eBay" one day. Cool stuff like a 20-year-old VCR that I bought for £800. You could now get a much higher spec model for a tenth of that price, it would take up a quarter of the space, and which you wouldn't want anyway because no-one in their right mind is buying (or even using) tape any more.
5. What is the last thing that made you hurt?
I sawed through my knuckle a few months ago while I was pruning a tree. The saw hit a twig and bounced out of the cut across my hand. Superficially the skin healed over quite quickly but the tendons took longer to stop paining me (like about 4 months).
Emotionally? I've blocked it out ;o)
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Never one around when you need one
Out driving today I approached a roundabout at the top of the Sharston by-pass preparing to join the M60. The driver in front of me took an age to pull out onto the roundabout, missing several long gaps in the traffic and when they did eventually make a move, they continued to make exceedingly slow progress both across the roundaboout and at the top of the slip road, which was empty. I overtook the car. The driver, a woman, held a mobile phone to her ear and was chatting animatedly with no regard for anyone else on the road.
A few minutes later, travelling on the motorway itself, the driver in front of me realised at the last second that his lane had turned into a slip road and he was about to exit the motorway. He veered across, at speed, right in front of me. If the lane to my right had not been empty I would've been unable to avoid him. As I passed I noticed he too had a mobile phone in his hand - his left hand this time, presumably to avoid it being noticed.
Eighteen months we've had legislation outlawing the use of handheld mobiles while driving. When are we going to get some enforcement of that law?
A few minutes later, travelling on the motorway itself, the driver in front of me realised at the last second that his lane had turned into a slip road and he was about to exit the motorway. He veered across, at speed, right in front of me. If the lane to my right had not been empty I would've been unable to avoid him. As I passed I noticed he too had a mobile phone in his hand - his left hand this time, presumably to avoid it being noticed.
Eighteen months we've had legislation outlawing the use of handheld mobiles while driving. When are we going to get some enforcement of that law?
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Cool number plates
I don't usually rave about "personalised" (aka "treasured") number plates on cars, but just occasionally you see a right good one. I've sometimes dreamed of having one of my own. It would have to be something like D19 GER, or D199 ERS (or substitute 6s for the 9s) but that would almost fall into the category of those awful contrivances that you have to *really* think about before they make any sense, and then you wish you hadn't bothered.
But today on the M60 I saw a classic example of an understated "cool" plate. You often find the wittiest ones on tradesman's cars and vans and this was one of those. Can't remember if it was a plumber or a decorator but the number was N15 JOB. Love it.
My all-time favourite though is one that I pass regularly (it parks kerbside in one of the towns I pass through when I'm picking up or dropping off my daughters). It's SU51 SKA, but it's spaced out abnormally (and, I should add, illegally) with a strategically placed black screw cap, so it looks more like: SUSI'S KA. It is, of course, attached to a Ford Ka. Class.
But today on the M60 I saw a classic example of an understated "cool" plate. You often find the wittiest ones on tradesman's cars and vans and this was one of those. Can't remember if it was a plumber or a decorator but the number was N15 JOB. Love it.
My all-time favourite though is one that I pass regularly (it parks kerbside in one of the towns I pass through when I'm picking up or dropping off my daughters). It's SU51 SKA, but it's spaced out abnormally (and, I should add, illegally) with a strategically placed black screw cap, so it looks more like: SUSI'S KA. It is, of course, attached to a Ford Ka. Class.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Book Review: The Many-Coloured Land
The Many-Coloured Land: First book (of 4) in the Saga of the Exiles by Julian May.I first read this book many years ago - probably not long after it was first published (1982), as I remember having to wait for the later books to come out. I also remember not noticing until quite some time later that a further trilogy - the Galactic Milieu - was out, and avidly reading those too.
Today I completed re-reading this first exposure to the Galactic Milieu, the Pliocene Epoch, the Tanu and the Firvulag on account of it being my choice for July's book in our book club. Unusually for me I've not reread it in the intervening 25 years and starting it again, this time in the knowledge that I'd recommended it to thirty-odd people almost none of whom are science fiction fans, I found quite a daunting prospect. Even more so after the first thirty pages.
Many-Coloured Land is one of those books that has to introduce very many key characters quickly before the story can really start, and May achieves this by providing short vignettes into the characters' back-stories, basically to set up why they've decided to turn their collective back on the 22nd century: a universe in which Earth has joined the Galactic Milieu of races, and at least some of its inhabitants have achieved "metapsychic operancy" (i.e. they have mind powers). But overloaded onto these vignettes is a host of detail on May's universe itself, the new races mankind has come into contact with, new technologies, the time gate, the colonised worlds, revised political structures. It's not exactly rare for science fiction novels to have to do this (think Dune!) but when you're reading it with the constant hope that a group of non-sci-fi-loving friends will enjoy it, these things stand out as making the opening chapters of the book...well...somewhat less than appealing.
It's been brought home to me several times recently how some of the best fiction around simply breaks the rules. In this case the "rule" I'm talking about is the received wisdom that you have to have hooked your audience within the first page - two at most. Now OK, if you assume May's target audience is SF readers and she's not interested whether anyone outside the genre picks it up, there's no problem. But rereading this novel after such a long time - it almost put me off from continuing, and I'm a lifelong fan of the genre and I already know I love this book!
Maybe those "rules" only apply to general fiction, where something has to be done to make the books stand out from the crowd. Maybe genre fiction isn't so tied to the opening. If you like horror, or crime, or SF, you can trust that you'll get to the gory/illegal/spacey stuff eventually so you're more inclined to put up with an inauspicious start. I don't know. All I know is it was tough going for the first 30-50 pages.
But then it took off.
May assembles a raggedy bunch of ne'er-do-wells and misfits and shoots them 6 million years into Earth's past into a well-researched epoch that should be just about perfect for humans to live an idyllic rural life. Temperate weather, lots of plant and animal life, rich fertile soils and no (or very few) dangerous animals about. Only it's not perfect, because it's been colonised by an exotic race - the Tanu - who have technologically enhanced mind powers and who have all but enslaved the humans who have been arriving via the time gate for the past forty or so years.
The subject of mind power is the one thing that makes this story irresistible for me. Since right back when I first read "The Not-Men" I've been enthralled by the idea of mental power. May assigns some new names and clear definitions to the various powers and divides them into five classes - creativity, coercion, farsensing, psychokinesis and redaction - but all the expected powers are there and with them the associated problems: rogue users, latency, unbalanced powers, operants with only one power, demi-god-like characters with all five at full strength (which back in the Milieu world would have given them coveted "grand master" or even "paramount" status). But actually in this first book the metapsychic facet of the story is really only there as a backdrop. It's part of the wordwork. For the most part, the eight central characters are either latent or weakly operant, and only two of them are gifted with the Tanu "torcs" that allow their latent powers to be amplified to full operancy.
Far from relying on dazzling displays of mental pyrotechnics, May uses the presence of the powers in subtle ways, sometimes to help the story along, sometimes to introduce conflict. The heart of the story is, as it always must be, in the overcoming of adversity by characters you are led to care about. And the build up of action and reaction with ever bolder and more unexpected barriers to the goals of the story. In a complete reversal of the galloping overload of the first few chapters, later in the book May deftly introduces new elements to the story - the Firvulag, the Ship, the Grand Combat, the Hunt, the presence of Madam Guderian, the Howlers - all threads in her tapestry and even teasing hints of stories to come in the passing references to Diamond Mask and Jack the Bodiless - stories that would not actually come to print for another ten years but which clearly had already been planned in the author's mind.
My initial trepidation allayed after the first 50 pages, I thoroughly enjoyed becoming reacquainted with this tale and I will definitely pick up the remaining three books of the Saga of the Exiles, as well as the later Intervention and the Galactic Milieu Trilogy as soon as time allows. It remains to be seen what the rest of the club made of my choice!
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Harry Potter and the Snoozy Bobos
Ten past eight a.m. she finished it. I figure that's a little under seven hours, given that she started reading it in the car on the way home and had finished the first two chapters before we were in the house. Pretty good going.
I started it myself Saturday morning but had to relinquish it to Blythe when we went out to have our barnets trimmed. I had grand ideas about staying up all night myself last night and finishing it, but I hit a really boring section around chapters ten and eleven that kept putting me to sleep. I did the loop of reading a paragraph, snoozing, waking up, rereading the same paragraph, snoozing again, etc about a dozen times. I shifted position and managed to get through another couple of pages before I dropped off again, but come 2.15am I had to admit defeat. So my completion of HP and the DHs will be delayed until later in the week when I can get my hands on the book again.
In the absence of any Potter to read there was only one thing for it - upstairs to the study to paint the ceiling. And fill some holes. And sand down some previously filled holes. And fill them again.
I started it myself Saturday morning but had to relinquish it to Blythe when we went out to have our barnets trimmed. I had grand ideas about staying up all night myself last night and finishing it, but I hit a really boring section around chapters ten and eleven that kept putting me to sleep. I did the loop of reading a paragraph, snoozing, waking up, rereading the same paragraph, snoozing again, etc about a dozen times. I shifted position and managed to get through another couple of pages before I dropped off again, but come 2.15am I had to admit defeat. So my completion of HP and the DHs will be delayed until later in the week when I can get my hands on the book again.
In the absence of any Potter to read there was only one thing for it - upstairs to the study to paint the ceiling. And fill some holes. And sand down some previously filled holes. And fill them again.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Pottermania comes to Manchester
Whatever possessed us I don't know, but we decided as it was our very last chance to get in on the whole "Pottermania" thing, we'd attend Borders launch party for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows tonight.
To get us in the mood we watched the first movie on DVD before we left, and arrived at Borders around 10pm. The party had been in full swing since 7, with loads of people in fancy dress, and they'd had some activities for the kiddies (like a balloon magician). We spent about an hour browsing through the store and ended up buying a pile more books and DVDs, but after a while it started to feel like just another shopping day in the bookstore. Only in this case it was a shopping day where we couldn't leave.
We parked ourselves on the floor in one of the alcoves and as a result didn't realise the queues had started to form. So we started queuing at 20 past 11 and naturally they didn't start selling until 00:01 this morning. With only six tills operating and no scheme to divide the queue into those that ONLY wanted HP and those who had other purchases, things moved very slowly at the start. I'd already put our other stuff through the till, but that didn't help when we were about three-quarters of the way back in the queue and it was only being served at a rate of less than four customers a minute.
We finally made it to the tills at a quarter past one. I'm glad we won't have to do that again! And even now, as I type, Nat is sitting under a reading lamp in the lounge, fully intending to stay up all night and finish the book in a single sitting...
To get us in the mood we watched the first movie on DVD before we left, and arrived at Borders around 10pm. The party had been in full swing since 7, with loads of people in fancy dress, and they'd had some activities for the kiddies (like a balloon magician). We spent about an hour browsing through the store and ended up buying a pile more books and DVDs, but after a while it started to feel like just another shopping day in the bookstore. Only in this case it was a shopping day where we couldn't leave.
We parked ourselves on the floor in one of the alcoves and as a result didn't realise the queues had started to form. So we started queuing at 20 past 11 and naturally they didn't start selling until 00:01 this morning. With only six tills operating and no scheme to divide the queue into those that ONLY wanted HP and those who had other purchases, things moved very slowly at the start. I'd already put our other stuff through the till, but that didn't help when we were about three-quarters of the way back in the queue and it was only being served at a rate of less than four customers a minute.We finally made it to the tills at a quarter past one. I'm glad we won't have to do that again! And even now, as I type, Nat is sitting under a reading lamp in the lounge, fully intending to stay up all night and finish the book in a single sitting...
Friday, July 20, 2007
Friday Five and the rads arrive
I really feel like there's been some progress with the study this last week. Getting the "proper" colour on the walls last weekend helped, then making a start with the skirting board - even having it propped up against the newly painted walls gave an impression of how it will look - and the roof being fixed yesterday. It's like we're on the home straight even though there's still a lot of work to be done.
Today our plumber Andy arrived to fix the new low-profile radiators, with new thermostatic valves. I'd asked him to move the pipes away from the skirting too - the old radiators were mounted way too close to the wall, which made decorating utterly impossible. With the new brackets fixed in the second position, and the radiators slightly higher on the wall, access to both the wall and the skirting board for painting will be a lot easier.
Looks like I've caught up with Di on the Friday Fives - this week we're on the same page:
1. Tea or coffee?
Coffee first thing in the morning (and real coffee at the weekend is a treat), but if I drink too much it does something weird to my throat, and in any case I prefer tea for the rest of the day. If I'm working at home I'll mash a pot and make it last the whole day (by taking the tea bags out after I've poured the first cup).
2. Do you speak your mind?
Not unless I'm sure the audience can take it. But on important things, family and close friends, always. Hiding what you really feel is not healthy.
3. What is your escape?
I love to go to the sea. Doesn't matter where. Just to hear the waves and watch the swell.
4. When is the last time you cried?
Shed a tear? This afternoon. Cried, like bawled? Last Friday.
5. What are your bedtime rituals?
Last minute check of emails, set the house alarm, have a wee, undress, make sure the clock alarm is set right for the morning.
Today our plumber Andy arrived to fix the new low-profile radiators, with new thermostatic valves. I'd asked him to move the pipes away from the skirting too - the old radiators were mounted way too close to the wall, which made decorating utterly impossible. With the new brackets fixed in the second position, and the radiators slightly higher on the wall, access to both the wall and the skirting board for painting will be a lot easier.Looks like I've caught up with Di on the Friday Fives - this week we're on the same page:
1. Tea or coffee?
Coffee first thing in the morning (and real coffee at the weekend is a treat), but if I drink too much it does something weird to my throat, and in any case I prefer tea for the rest of the day. If I'm working at home I'll mash a pot and make it last the whole day (by taking the tea bags out after I've poured the first cup).
2. Do you speak your mind?
Not unless I'm sure the audience can take it. But on important things, family and close friends, always. Hiding what you really feel is not healthy.
3. What is your escape?
I love to go to the sea. Doesn't matter where. Just to hear the waves and watch the swell.
4. When is the last time you cried?
Shed a tear? This afternoon. Cried, like bawled? Last Friday.
5. What are your bedtime rituals?
Last minute check of emails, set the house alarm, have a wee, undress, make sure the clock alarm is set right for the morning.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Perfect timing
The day dawned bright and clear, which was a surprise in itself, but the surprise was compounded when the doorbell chimed and it was our friendly roofer to say he was making good use of the sunshine and had arrived to fix our roof.
Hurray! At last those damp patches will dry out on the study ceiling and I can get on with decorating the second half of the room.
But for today the important job was to cut the two lengths of skirting to go behind the rads that are being fitted tomorrow. I hunted around and found the two halves of my mitre saw (one in the shed, one under the backup dining table) and started in on the job.
One slight drawback: this is 6" skirting and my mitre saw will only do a 4¼" cut. So I had to complete most of the cut and then turn the board over to finish it off from the other side. With care, it worked out OK. One of the cuts was off by more than the others, but as I'm painting the boards anyway I'll be able to fill and sand the join and you'll never know the difference. Allegedly.
Hurray! At last those damp patches will dry out on the study ceiling and I can get on with decorating the second half of the room.
But for today the important job was to cut the two lengths of skirting to go behind the rads that are being fitted tomorrow. I hunted around and found the two halves of my mitre saw (one in the shed, one under the backup dining table) and started in on the job.
One slight drawback: this is 6" skirting and my mitre saw will only do a 4¼" cut. So I had to complete most of the cut and then turn the board over to finish it off from the other side. With care, it worked out OK. One of the cuts was off by more than the others, but as I'm painting the boards anyway I'll be able to fill and sand the join and you'll never know the difference. Allegedly.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Knock me down with a feather
A couple of weeks ago I wrote to tell you I was sending off my five-year-old voucher to claim back the cost of an anti-stain warranty on our sofas. I was *really* dubious about my chances of success.
This morning, postie arrived with a letter from whatever the name of their company is this week:
"Dear Mr Beresford
Following receipt of your Cashback Entitlement Certificate we are pleased to confirm that we have validated your Cashback claim and attach our cheque for £59.00."
Simple as that! Sometimes, I'm too cynical for my own good.
This morning, postie arrived with a letter from whatever the name of their company is this week:
"Dear Mr Beresford
Following receipt of your Cashback Entitlement Certificate we are pleased to confirm that we have validated your Cashback claim and attach our cheque for £59.00."
Simple as that! Sometimes, I'm too cynical for my own good.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Bowled over
Went bowling with the customer tonight. A "team building" exercise. In the end it was a fun evening, with no-one taking it too seriously. Well, apart from me maybe. Not seriously, exactly, but I did have to take my own ball, didn't I? Why did I do that? I didn't really think it through. I could've predicted that the effect of me declaring that I'd brought my own ball would be a bunch of people saying:Hey, he's got his own ball.
Did you know he had a ball?
He's a ringer.
You must be good then.
...etc, etc, and on and on. I should explain that I was never *really* good at ten-pin bowling. I just used to enjoy it a lot, went regularly (once a week) and was given a ball as a present. It was a boon, at the time. I have reasonably small hands for a bloke so it was often quite hard to find a ball that was the right weight AND had the right span between the holes. The first time I bowled with my own ball was sheer magic. But back then I bowled a 155 average. Now, well, I haven't bowled regularly for over five years.
So the sensible thing would've been to leave the ball at home, and not set any unreasonable expectations. Because not only have I not bowled in over five years, I haven't taken part in *any* form of exercise beyond gentle swimming on holiday for more than double that time. So it was entirely predictable that (a) I'd achieve a pretty lame score (97 on the first game; 115 on the second) but also (b) I'd come in for some stick for having a ball and not knowing how to use it.
Ah well, it was all in good fun. After the game we all trooped next door to Old Orleans and the 42 of us (evenly split between my colleagues on the project and customer staff) were joined by a few latecomers who weren't interested in bowling but definitely *were* interested in food. And more to the point, drink.
Here's where you would have had your first clue that we were an assembly of computer geeks and their managers. One of the latecomers stopped by our group to greet us all. Then, about to make his way to the bar to get himself a drink, he asked if there was a tab behind the bar. "Yes," said a friend of mine, "and I think there's two newlines and a carriage return as well."
The meal was excellent. Even though I'd spent many Sunday afternoons entertaining my daughers at this complex (Centertainment just outside Sheffield city centre) in the years when we had nowhere else to go, we'd never eaten at Old Orleans. It was always Frankie & Benny's for us after bowling, or after a movie. We didn't know what we were missing. The starters were pre-ordered, so we waded through several plates of wings, dips, wedges, ribs, etc and then I tucked in to a sizzling skillet of chilli lime chicken fajitas. Six fajitas in all, and I polished off the lot. Delicious. And served with dozens of sliced chillies with the seeds still in. Tasty! The only minor drawback was having to drive home afterward (something else I would've been able to avoid had I not taken the ball with me) and hence being unable to take full advantage of the free bar. Perhaps a good thing, on reflection!
Monday, July 16, 2007
Upon my Honor
I heard Honor Blackman being interviewed on the radio today. I'd tuned in for Steve Wright's big quiz, but he's on holiday again so Mark Radcliffe, who's standing in for him, wasn't following the normal format of the show (of course, since Steve has the copyright on his format).I couldn't believe how crass this guy was. I mean sure, most people remember Honor for two things - playing Cathy Gale in The Avengers, and playing Pussy Galore in Goldfinger. But that was pretty much all he wanted to talk about. She left The Avengers in 1964, the same year she filmed Goldfinger. These are both well over FORTY years ago! Didn't he think that at her age (she's either already 80 or she will be in December of this year, depending which source you believe) and with her experiences since, there'd be some other things - some more recent things - she'd rather talk about? I dunno, it just seemed to me that this well respected actress would by now have had enough of talking endlessly about roles she played so long ago. Maybe if that's all she'd ever done it would be excusable, but if you check her out on IMDb you'll see she's worked in just about every year since then. She's even had a part in Coronation Street!
To her (apparent) embarrassment the only other piece of her work this idiot was interested in was her hit single (it reached #5 in the UK charts) "Kinky Boots," recorded as a joke with Patrick Macnee - again in 1964 - since it was an allusion to Mrs Gale's penchant for leather clothing. Her Wikipedia entry records that it was a surprise hit in 1990 after being played incessantly on Radio 1, but even that's seventeen years ago! Doh!
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Natural Hessian
I put the second coat of emulsion on in the study today. I'm still working on "my side" only because the roofer hasn't fixed the leak on Nikki's side yet, but I figured if I carried on doing nothing I'd still have the whole job to do, whereas if I treat it like two separate rooms at least I'll have finished more than half of it by the time the roof is mended.
The other driver is, of course, the fact that the plumber is coming on Friday to fit the radiators, so I had at least to have painted under both windows and fitted those two pieces of skirting. Although this conflicts with my work deadline, I still think I'll have time to get that done. It's only two pieces. I'm just worried that that sounds an awful lot like "famous last words."
Anyway, my walls are looking top now in their new colour - "natural hessian" - which is kind of a dark mushroomy shade of magnolia. Browny rather than creamy. The paint tins came with little tags suggesting colours for feature walls, so now we're toying with the idea of doing the two chimney breasts at opposite ends of the room in a dark brown colour called "intense truffle." I quite liked the deep raspberry idea, but since we've already bought the (green) carpet that's not an option. Just an idea at present, so I painted the whole room out in the one colour so we can see how it looks. (Fab, is the answer!)
The other driver is, of course, the fact that the plumber is coming on Friday to fit the radiators, so I had at least to have painted under both windows and fitted those two pieces of skirting. Although this conflicts with my work deadline, I still think I'll have time to get that done. It's only two pieces. I'm just worried that that sounds an awful lot like "famous last words."
Anyway, my walls are looking top now in their new colour - "natural hessian" - which is kind of a dark mushroomy shade of magnolia. Browny rather than creamy. The paint tins came with little tags suggesting colours for feature walls, so now we're toying with the idea of doing the two chimney breasts at opposite ends of the room in a dark brown colour called "intense truffle." I quite liked the deep raspberry idea, but since we've already bought the (green) carpet that's not an option. Just an idea at present, so I painted the whole room out in the one colour so we can see how it looks. (Fab, is the answer!)
Saturday, July 14, 2007
A concert even closer to my heart
Last Saturday I saw a concert on a grand scale. Last night I was on my way to something a little smaller and more intimate - although as I drove over Saddleworth moor the newscaster on Radio 4 did say "we're just over an hour away from one of the biggest music festivals in the world" and I thought - blimey! The BBC are coming to Holme Valley Music Centre's evening of guitar music!
But of course they were talking about the first night of the Proms, whereas my destination was slightly less high-blown but much more important. After ten years of spending at least part of Saturday morning (and more recently, by virtue of helping out with junior and intermediate classes as well as still being part of the senior group, virtually ALL of Saturday morning) at guitar class, my elder daughter was bowing out of Music Centre concerts with the keynote solo performance of the night.
I arrived early as usual and secured a seat with a good view. The concert got off to a slightly late start with the senior guitars performing four pieces followed by a series of solos from the more junior members of the group. Watching these youngsters - ranging in age from 8 to about 12, some of them doing their first solo - reminded me of concerts past as Nat slowly gained in both confidence and ability. Some of tonight's young 'uns showed great promise, either being note perfect or playing with good expression considering their age and experience. Others missed the odd note and played on with wry grins or shakes of heads, mentally beating themselves up for not being at their best. But all enjoyed resounding rounds of applause. This was, after all, a friendly audience of family and locals, many of whom probably went through similar ordeals as children. There is a strong vein of musical appreciation and participation in the Holme Valley, and the important thing was the taking part and the wish to do one's bit to entertain.
After the solos and four more group pieces, this time from the junior guitars, we had an interval. Time for a narsecappatee and a piece of cake. There were also raffle tickets on sale. At £1 a strip I normally would have bought only one strip, but my little voice was quite insistent that I should buy two, so for once I listened to it and forked out my £2. The raffle was drawn at the end of the interval, before the second half of the show, and the very first ticket out of the draw was the first number on my SECOND strip. Thank you very much, little voice, for that rather nice bottle of Rioja!
Then it was time to settle back down to hear the intermediate guitars perform their set. By the time they'd finished my palms were becoming quite sweaty with referred stress on Nat's behalf. I took a few deep breaths. Three or four more solos and finally it was Nat's turn. She enduredjoyed a rather lengthy intro from her guitar tutor and then began to play.
She'd left her selection of music until the last minute, so the programme read simply: "Solo" but in the event she elected to play her tutor's (by now actually more colleague than teacher) favourite: Julia Florida - Barcarola by Agustin Barrios - also, it has to be said, a firm family favourite. As this was the last solo of the evening and many in the audience were either thinking they'd "heard it all before" or preparing to leave, the noise level in the room was quite high at the beginning. But as the strains of her beautiful guitar playing drifted across the hall a ripple of silence travelled back through the crowd until everyone was listening in rapt attention and you could have heard a pin drop.
When the last note died away the vacuum left by the music was filled with the most thunderous round of applause of the entire evening. I thought I was going to burst with love and pride, but I couldn't even join in with the clapping - both hands were firmly clamped around Nikki's camera with which I'd recorded Nat's whole performance! Wonderful, wonderful stuff and a fine end to her long years with the Music Centre.
After taking a brief bow she was presented with her "long service award" for sticking with her classes right through junior, intermediate and senior guitars and even during her 'A' levels, and also with a special present in recognition of all her hard work on Saturday mornings since passing her Grade 8. I wonder if her tutor knows how close she came to giving it all up? Behind tonight's virtuoso performance were the memories of years during which she plugged away playing the second or third part, the boring part that no-one notices but which is essential to the overall sound of the performance, when she was more than capable of playing the lead. More able, usually, than the person playing it, who was chosen out of seniority, or because it was their turn. When playing in a group, everyone has to be given a chance to shine, but it always seemed as though Natalie's potential was passed over more often than most.
Even though she came close to giving up out of sheer frustration and exasperation at the weeks upon weeks of playing a single note for a performance where the lead player didn't practice properly or didn't turn up, she stuck with it, showing maturity, dedication and commitment. I think too that she realised how important it is to do something because it has personal meaning. That the benefit you glean from an activity can be just for yourself, for your own satisfaction. It doesn't necessarily have to be public.
So she came through those years where her light was hidden and reached a point where her excellence was recognised and she had her chance to shine. Tonight was the pinnacle where she reaped the rewards of all her hard work and long hours of practice, and she did much more than shine. She blazed.
But of course they were talking about the first night of the Proms, whereas my destination was slightly less high-blown but much more important. After ten years of spending at least part of Saturday morning (and more recently, by virtue of helping out with junior and intermediate classes as well as still being part of the senior group, virtually ALL of Saturday morning) at guitar class, my elder daughter was bowing out of Music Centre concerts with the keynote solo performance of the night.
I arrived early as usual and secured a seat with a good view. The concert got off to a slightly late start with the senior guitars performing four pieces followed by a series of solos from the more junior members of the group. Watching these youngsters - ranging in age from 8 to about 12, some of them doing their first solo - reminded me of concerts past as Nat slowly gained in both confidence and ability. Some of tonight's young 'uns showed great promise, either being note perfect or playing with good expression considering their age and experience. Others missed the odd note and played on with wry grins or shakes of heads, mentally beating themselves up for not being at their best. But all enjoyed resounding rounds of applause. This was, after all, a friendly audience of family and locals, many of whom probably went through similar ordeals as children. There is a strong vein of musical appreciation and participation in the Holme Valley, and the important thing was the taking part and the wish to do one's bit to entertain.
After the solos and four more group pieces, this time from the junior guitars, we had an interval. Time for a narsecappatee and a piece of cake. There were also raffle tickets on sale. At £1 a strip I normally would have bought only one strip, but my little voice was quite insistent that I should buy two, so for once I listened to it and forked out my £2. The raffle was drawn at the end of the interval, before the second half of the show, and the very first ticket out of the draw was the first number on my SECOND strip. Thank you very much, little voice, for that rather nice bottle of Rioja!
Then it was time to settle back down to hear the intermediate guitars perform their set. By the time they'd finished my palms were becoming quite sweaty with referred stress on Nat's behalf. I took a few deep breaths. Three or four more solos and finally it was Nat's turn. She enShe'd left her selection of music until the last minute, so the programme read simply: "Solo" but in the event she elected to play her tutor's (by now actually more colleague than teacher) favourite: Julia Florida - Barcarola by Agustin Barrios - also, it has to be said, a firm family favourite. As this was the last solo of the evening and many in the audience were either thinking they'd "heard it all before" or preparing to leave, the noise level in the room was quite high at the beginning. But as the strains of her beautiful guitar playing drifted across the hall a ripple of silence travelled back through the crowd until everyone was listening in rapt attention and you could have heard a pin drop.
When the last note died away the vacuum left by the music was filled with the most thunderous round of applause of the entire evening. I thought I was going to burst with love and pride, but I couldn't even join in with the clapping - both hands were firmly clamped around Nikki's camera with which I'd recorded Nat's whole performance! Wonderful, wonderful stuff and a fine end to her long years with the Music Centre.After taking a brief bow she was presented with her "long service award" for sticking with her classes right through junior, intermediate and senior guitars and even during her 'A' levels, and also with a special present in recognition of all her hard work on Saturday mornings since passing her Grade 8. I wonder if her tutor knows how close she came to giving it all up? Behind tonight's virtuoso performance were the memories of years during which she plugged away playing the second or third part, the boring part that no-one notices but which is essential to the overall sound of the performance, when she was more than capable of playing the lead. More able, usually, than the person playing it, who was chosen out of seniority, or because it was their turn. When playing in a group, everyone has to be given a chance to shine, but it always seemed as though Natalie's potential was passed over more often than most.
Even though she came close to giving up out of sheer frustration and exasperation at the weeks upon weeks of playing a single note for a performance where the lead player didn't practice properly or didn't turn up, she stuck with it, showing maturity, dedication and commitment. I think too that she realised how important it is to do something because it has personal meaning. That the benefit you glean from an activity can be just for yourself, for your own satisfaction. It doesn't necessarily have to be public.
So she came through those years where her light was hidden and reached a point where her excellence was recognised and she had her chance to shine. Tonight was the pinnacle where she reaped the rewards of all her hard work and long hours of practice, and she did much more than shine. She blazed.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Friday Five and the longest drive
After all the delays with the decorating of the study, we've been spurred into action by the plumber announcing that he can fit our new radiators next Friday. Before he can do that, we need to have fitted the skirting board behind the pipes, and before we can do THAT, the walls have to have been painted.
So I ordered the skirting board last week and today the wood yard called to say it was ready for collection. Now I remembered from the cutting list that several of the pieces were quite long, and I was more than a little doubtful that I'd be able to fit them in the car, so I enquired about delivery. As it happened, they're a driver down at the moment and the earliest they could deliver was Tuesday of next week - a day when I have to be in Sheffield. Any later than that and it's getting scarily close to Radiator Fitting Day and I knew the pressure would be on for me to fit those two pieces. I decided to call round to the woodyard and size things up.
It's been raining here pretty much every day for the last 4-5 weeks, but today in particular it was absolutely hissing down. I arrived at the woodyard and was directed to the mill, where our skirting had been piled neatly by the door. 27 metres in total, cut into about eight lengths. I let down the back seats, rolled the passenger seat forward, wound the window down and started loading up. Some of the lengths protruded from the open passenger window about a metre but I've travelled like that before. It's not ideal but I knew as long as I took it slowly I'd be OK. That was, until I came to the bottom of the pile.
It was quite logical for the mill manager to put the longest piece on the bottom, but until I saw it I'd forgotten quite how long it was going to be. 5.4 metres to be precise. When I fed it into (or to be more precise through) the car, it stuck out of the passenger window by a good eight feet. Way beyond the front of the car and, since it was at an angle of about 30° to the left, way out to the side too. Every good sense screamed at me to unload the wood and let them deliver it, but it was still pouring with rain, I was at risk of being late to pick Nikki up, AND being late for the evening's concert, AND I didn't want to wait to fit those bits behind the radiators, so I belted up and took off.
As before, when I'd transported the plank, I couldn't get above 30mph without the wood vibrating madly and waving all over the place, so I took it slow and headed for the M60. Staying in the inside lane I soon built up quite a following, only I wouldn't call them fans. Whenever they saw an opportunity they would swerve past me, some grinning, some honking, more than one showing their impatience by cutting me up as they swung back in front of me. Quite what that achieved I couldn't work out.
Then, on the hard shoulder a couple of hundred yards in front of me, I saw a sight that sent a chill down my back. The traffic cop I'd seen on the way over was still there, dealing with someone he'd pulled over. I drove slowly past, one arm on my load to stop some of the wobble, and sent up a silent prayer. Checking my rear view mirror every few seconds I could see the patrol car had not pulled out to follow me. Pretty soon the curve of the motorway took him out of sight, but I still kept an eye out behind. Not that I could have done anything to avoid being pulled over, if he decided I was worth booking.
About half a mile further on, as I passed the exit for Manchester Airport, a bump in the road or a sudden gust of wind shifted the long section and it slipped down a couple of feet. Now sitting parallel with the road and with its back end pressed against the roof of the car, the wood would not pass harmless over anything on the hard shoulder; it would hit it. Cars joining from slip roads were a hazard too. I had to stop. I pulled over and as I stopped the skirting board clipped the trees at the side of the motorway, knocking several leaves and twigs off. I got out of the car and adjusted the section, moving it to the inside of the bunch and wedging it between them and the door so that it wouldn't move again.
I looked behind. Still no sign of the patrol car. I was less than half a mile from the exit. Slowly I pulled away and entered the inside lane again. The countdown markers appeared for the exit. Still nothing in the rear view mirror. I took the long sweeping slip road onto Princess Parkway and breathed a sigh of relief. The worst was over. Now I was a mile or so from home, and on local roads. But was it better to stay on the Parkway as long as possible, or take the side roads? I figured the Parkway had the greater risk of encountering more police, but it was wider. By hugging the outside edge of the left hand lane I could keep the plank as far away from the footpath and the street lights as possible. I decided it was safer to stick with the main road, even though I was continuing to get funny looks from everyone who passed me.
The relief when I finally pulled up outside the house was short-lived. I still had to get all the wood under cover, get back to Northenden to pick Nikki up, and then get across to Holmfirth by 6.30. I took the long section in first. As soon as I cleared the front door it was obvious I wouldn't be able to get the beast upstairs. It will have to be cut to length in the kitchen, but for the time being at least I could stand it in the stairwell.
That's the second time I've transported building materials like that and definitely, definitely the last!
Friday Five:
1. What do you do?
Trying not to overanalyse here - I guess this means "... for a living" in which case the answer is I'm a computer systems architect. I design large-scale (as in, thousands of users) computer solutions for government, finance, banking and retail customers.
2. What makes you pay attention?
A loud noise or kerfuffle
3. What's your inspiration?
It's when I breathe in.
4. Do you believe in magic?
Not in the Harry Potter sense, but I do believe in the paranormal.
5. What is your favorite subject to write about?
Aside from stressful journeys home from the builder's merchant I like to write about anything at all, and have written a novel about a man and his discovery of some science that goes wrong.
So I ordered the skirting board last week and today the wood yard called to say it was ready for collection. Now I remembered from the cutting list that several of the pieces were quite long, and I was more than a little doubtful that I'd be able to fit them in the car, so I enquired about delivery. As it happened, they're a driver down at the moment and the earliest they could deliver was Tuesday of next week - a day when I have to be in Sheffield. Any later than that and it's getting scarily close to Radiator Fitting Day and I knew the pressure would be on for me to fit those two pieces. I decided to call round to the woodyard and size things up.
It's been raining here pretty much every day for the last 4-5 weeks, but today in particular it was absolutely hissing down. I arrived at the woodyard and was directed to the mill, where our skirting had been piled neatly by the door. 27 metres in total, cut into about eight lengths. I let down the back seats, rolled the passenger seat forward, wound the window down and started loading up. Some of the lengths protruded from the open passenger window about a metre but I've travelled like that before. It's not ideal but I knew as long as I took it slowly I'd be OK. That was, until I came to the bottom of the pile.
It was quite logical for the mill manager to put the longest piece on the bottom, but until I saw it I'd forgotten quite how long it was going to be. 5.4 metres to be precise. When I fed it into (or to be more precise through) the car, it stuck out of the passenger window by a good eight feet. Way beyond the front of the car and, since it was at an angle of about 30° to the left, way out to the side too. Every good sense screamed at me to unload the wood and let them deliver it, but it was still pouring with rain, I was at risk of being late to pick Nikki up, AND being late for the evening's concert, AND I didn't want to wait to fit those bits behind the radiators, so I belted up and took off.
As before, when I'd transported the plank, I couldn't get above 30mph without the wood vibrating madly and waving all over the place, so I took it slow and headed for the M60. Staying in the inside lane I soon built up quite a following, only I wouldn't call them fans. Whenever they saw an opportunity they would swerve past me, some grinning, some honking, more than one showing their impatience by cutting me up as they swung back in front of me. Quite what that achieved I couldn't work out.
Then, on the hard shoulder a couple of hundred yards in front of me, I saw a sight that sent a chill down my back. The traffic cop I'd seen on the way over was still there, dealing with someone he'd pulled over. I drove slowly past, one arm on my load to stop some of the wobble, and sent up a silent prayer. Checking my rear view mirror every few seconds I could see the patrol car had not pulled out to follow me. Pretty soon the curve of the motorway took him out of sight, but I still kept an eye out behind. Not that I could have done anything to avoid being pulled over, if he decided I was worth booking.
About half a mile further on, as I passed the exit for Manchester Airport, a bump in the road or a sudden gust of wind shifted the long section and it slipped down a couple of feet. Now sitting parallel with the road and with its back end pressed against the roof of the car, the wood would not pass harmless over anything on the hard shoulder; it would hit it. Cars joining from slip roads were a hazard too. I had to stop. I pulled over and as I stopped the skirting board clipped the trees at the side of the motorway, knocking several leaves and twigs off. I got out of the car and adjusted the section, moving it to the inside of the bunch and wedging it between them and the door so that it wouldn't move again.
I looked behind. Still no sign of the patrol car. I was less than half a mile from the exit. Slowly I pulled away and entered the inside lane again. The countdown markers appeared for the exit. Still nothing in the rear view mirror. I took the long sweeping slip road onto Princess Parkway and breathed a sigh of relief. The worst was over. Now I was a mile or so from home, and on local roads. But was it better to stay on the Parkway as long as possible, or take the side roads? I figured the Parkway had the greater risk of encountering more police, but it was wider. By hugging the outside edge of the left hand lane I could keep the plank as far away from the footpath and the street lights as possible. I decided it was safer to stick with the main road, even though I was continuing to get funny looks from everyone who passed me.
The relief when I finally pulled up outside the house was short-lived. I still had to get all the wood under cover, get back to Northenden to pick Nikki up, and then get across to Holmfirth by 6.30. I took the long section in first. As soon as I cleared the front door it was obvious I wouldn't be able to get the beast upstairs. It will have to be cut to length in the kitchen, but for the time being at least I could stand it in the stairwell.
That's the second time I've transported building materials like that and definitely, definitely the last!
Friday Five:
1. What do you do?
Trying not to overanalyse here - I guess this means "... for a living" in which case the answer is I'm a computer systems architect. I design large-scale (as in, thousands of users) computer solutions for government, finance, banking and retail customers.
2. What makes you pay attention?
A loud noise or kerfuffle
3. What's your inspiration?
It's when I breathe in.
4. Do you believe in magic?
Not in the Harry Potter sense, but I do believe in the paranormal.
5. What is your favorite subject to write about?
Aside from stressful journeys home from the builder's merchant I like to write about anything at all, and have written a novel about a man and his discovery of some science that goes wrong.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Est Est N'Est
After weeks (well, days) (well, hours) of planning, excitement reached fever pitch tonight as we headed off to Est Est Est in Didsbury to celebrate one of Nikki's colleagues leaving the firm.
We were the first there, so we bought some drinks (the first shock of the evening - £3.25 for some up itself Italian lager) and found some stools in sight of the door to wait for the rest of the party. A good turn out was expected (it's only a small firm) and by 7pm were were all assembled barring a few stragglers.
The waitress showed us to our table - a rather strange affair with a lit glass table top which looked as though it was made from a thin slice of rock from Treak Cliff Cavern. A kind of translucent volcanic yellow colour. The fact that it was lit below posed a problem for us lager drinkers, since if we stood our beer on the tabletop it would be warm in no time. Nikki, sat near the middle of the long table (which was actually the point where two tables had been pushed together) was OK as she had a larger expanse of wood to set her beer on. I elected to sit mine on my folded napkin.
A few minutes later this proved to be a mistake, as I took a drink and put the glass back on the napkin while talking to someone on the other side of the table. I didn't notice I'd rested it on the fold, and when I removed my hand the glass pitched forward and smashed itself to pieces on the table top.
Luckily there wasn't much beer left in it!
Starters arrived. Nikki had ordered field mushrooms roasted with Italian sausage, which proved to be very nice. My order was cold pasta salad with smoked salmon, roasted sweet potato & roasted onion, which would have been fine except for the fact there was no smoked salmon in it. Nikki's main course wasn't much better - chicken caesar salad. When it arrived, it was exactly the same size as the starter version (but twice the price), the dressing was just mayonnaise rather than caesar dressing, there was no parmesan and the chicken was as dry and stringy as leather. One other diner had ordered the same dish, and they both complained. The manager's idea of sorting the problem was firstly to talk to only one of the complainants (in this case, not Nikki) and secondly to offer more chicken! First class people skills in action. My main was a bit off too. Skewered beef, chicken and sausage with saffron risotto. The italian sausage was delicious, but the chicken looked like it was made from all the dirty bits off the same one that went into Nikki's "caesar" salad and the beef was as tough as old boots and riddled with fat.
The desserts were OK, but we left two very dissatisfied customers even though they agreed in the end to knock the caesar salad off our bill. Definitely won't be going there again.
We were the first there, so we bought some drinks (the first shock of the evening - £3.25 for some up itself Italian lager) and found some stools in sight of the door to wait for the rest of the party. A good turn out was expected (it's only a small firm) and by 7pm were were all assembled barring a few stragglers.
The waitress showed us to our table - a rather strange affair with a lit glass table top which looked as though it was made from a thin slice of rock from Treak Cliff Cavern. A kind of translucent volcanic yellow colour. The fact that it was lit below posed a problem for us lager drinkers, since if we stood our beer on the tabletop it would be warm in no time. Nikki, sat near the middle of the long table (which was actually the point where two tables had been pushed together) was OK as she had a larger expanse of wood to set her beer on. I elected to sit mine on my folded napkin.
A few minutes later this proved to be a mistake, as I took a drink and put the glass back on the napkin while talking to someone on the other side of the table. I didn't notice I'd rested it on the fold, and when I removed my hand the glass pitched forward and smashed itself to pieces on the table top.
Luckily there wasn't much beer left in it!
Starters arrived. Nikki had ordered field mushrooms roasted with Italian sausage, which proved to be very nice. My order was cold pasta salad with smoked salmon, roasted sweet potato & roasted onion, which would have been fine except for the fact there was no smoked salmon in it. Nikki's main course wasn't much better - chicken caesar salad. When it arrived, it was exactly the same size as the starter version (but twice the price), the dressing was just mayonnaise rather than caesar dressing, there was no parmesan and the chicken was as dry and stringy as leather. One other diner had ordered the same dish, and they both complained. The manager's idea of sorting the problem was firstly to talk to only one of the complainants (in this case, not Nikki) and secondly to offer more chicken! First class people skills in action. My main was a bit off too. Skewered beef, chicken and sausage with saffron risotto. The italian sausage was delicious, but the chicken looked like it was made from all the dirty bits off the same one that went into Nikki's "caesar" salad and the beef was as tough as old boots and riddled with fat.
The desserts were OK, but we left two very dissatisfied customers even though they agreed in the end to knock the caesar salad off our bill. Definitely won't be going there again.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
I've seen the sign!
The petrol station was busy when I filled up today and I was sat in the queue for quite a while twiddling my thumbs and gazing aimlessly about like you do. People watching. And reading every sign and billboard in view.
Eventually I spotted a sign on the pillar between pumps:
"Don't Commit Crime!"
And in smaller letters underneath, something about how all petrol must be paid for.
So I thought sure, that makes sense. Here's a guy who pulls up at the pump, intending to fill his car and then do a runner. He's a petrol thief. He's maybe not even bothered that his number is on the CCTV because it's a stolen car. He starts to fill up and then he spots the sign.
"Don't Commit Crime!"
And he thinks "Oh, my God! You're right! I mustn't do this! It's wrong!" And he totally changes his mind, finishes filling the car, and walks over to the kiosk to do his civic and legal duty and pay for his petrol.
And on his way over to the kiosk, he notices a flock of pigs flying by at about two thousand feet.
Eventually I spotted a sign on the pillar between pumps:
"Don't Commit Crime!"
And in smaller letters underneath, something about how all petrol must be paid for.
So I thought sure, that makes sense. Here's a guy who pulls up at the pump, intending to fill his car and then do a runner. He's a petrol thief. He's maybe not even bothered that his number is on the CCTV because it's a stolen car. He starts to fill up and then he spots the sign.
"Don't Commit Crime!"
And he thinks "Oh, my God! You're right! I mustn't do this! It's wrong!" And he totally changes his mind, finishes filling the car, and walks over to the kiosk to do his civic and legal duty and pay for his petrol.
And on his way over to the kiosk, he notices a flock of pigs flying by at about two thousand feet.
Monday, July 09, 2007
A Study in patience
You're probably wondering (because I know you hang on my every word about the progress we're making with our decorating - lol) what's happening with the study, since the last time I mentioned it was way back in June.
Well, we've had a bit of a set back.
We always wondered why the plaster on the ceiling around Nikki's chimney breast took MUCH longer to dry than the rest of the room. Once I'd put on the first coat of primer, the answer became obvious: the roof is leaking.
Probably, we suspected, just a small hole in some of the flashing around the chimney stack. We've been let down by roofers badly in the past (we still haven't managed to extract any money from our insurers to pay for our last lot of roof work, because the guy wrote a non-existent VAT number on his invoice), so this time we wanted to go by word of mouth. Luckily our friendly plumber (who installed our new boiler, and who we asked to quote for new radiators for the study) knows a reliable roofer.
Not *that* reliable as it turns out, because he didn't return our calls or messages for over two weeks. We assumed he'd gone on holiday but it turned out he'd "just forgotten." Anyway when Andrew called to check if we were ready for him to install the rads, and we moaned about his roofer, he agreed to chase the guy up for us and amazingly he called the next day.
When he came round to size the job up, I took him into the study first so he could see where the problem was from the inside. I pointed up at the chimney breast.
"It doesn't look like a bad leak at the moment," I said, "but it's holding up the decorating."
"It's not so bad over there," he agreed, "but what about here?"
And he pointed up at the ceiling opposite the chimney breast.
This part is hidden by the beam between the two rooms and to be honest we'd never looked up there, although the damp did appear to be new and the rain today and yesterday has been particularly bad. I was quite taken aback, but there was a silver lining - he agreed the work was urgent because damage was being caused, and he's put us at the front of his queue.
Nevertheless he can't get onto the roof until the rain stops, so we still have no idea when we'll be able to get on with the study.
Well, we've had a bit of a set back.
We always wondered why the plaster on the ceiling around Nikki's chimney breast took MUCH longer to dry than the rest of the room. Once I'd put on the first coat of primer, the answer became obvious: the roof is leaking.Probably, we suspected, just a small hole in some of the flashing around the chimney stack. We've been let down by roofers badly in the past (we still haven't managed to extract any money from our insurers to pay for our last lot of roof work, because the guy wrote a non-existent VAT number on his invoice), so this time we wanted to go by word of mouth. Luckily our friendly plumber (who installed our new boiler, and who we asked to quote for new radiators for the study) knows a reliable roofer.
Not *that* reliable as it turns out, because he didn't return our calls or messages for over two weeks. We assumed he'd gone on holiday but it turned out he'd "just forgotten." Anyway when Andrew called to check if we were ready for him to install the rads, and we moaned about his roofer, he agreed to chase the guy up for us and amazingly he called the next day.
When he came round to size the job up, I took him into the study first so he could see where the problem was from the inside. I pointed up at the chimney breast.
"It doesn't look like a bad leak at the moment," I said, "but it's holding up the decorating."
"It's not so bad over there," he agreed, "but what about here?"
And he pointed up at the ceiling opposite the chimney breast.
This part is hidden by the beam between the two rooms and to be honest we'd never looked up there, although the damp did appear to be new and the rain today and yesterday has been particularly bad. I was quite taken aback, but there was a silver lining - he agreed the work was urgent because damage was being caused, and he's put us at the front of his queue.Nevertheless he can't get onto the roof until the rain stops, so we still have no idea when we'll be able to get on with the study.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Genesis 2007 - the Turn It On Again tour - Manchester
The day before my 50th birthday last year was a red-letter day. After all the rumours of a reunion and a tour, tickets for the UK legs of the first Genesis live concert in 15 years went on sale and although they sold out in half an hour, I was successful in my purchase, securing four tickets in the North Stand at Old Trafford.
Tonight, eight months later, four of us walked in through door N43 - only the second time I have entered Old Trafford football ground in my life, and the first time in the "new" stadium - and up through entrance N1405 - to be greeted by this sight:
Well, not quite *that* sight, as this photo was taken by my mate Phil who was also at the concert but sat at the back, on the third tier. We were over there on the right, about two-thirds of the way back. On this very special night I didn't want to be annoyed at anything or let the slightest niggle spoil the atmosphere, but it was hard not to be irked by the massive number of cameras present. The tickets and concert promos had made it quite clear that digital recording devices of any kind were forbidden, and we'd played with a straight bat and left our cameras at home. From what we saw way more than half the audience had simply ignored this message and were happily snapping away the whole night. We had to make do with phone pictures, of which Phil's are easily the best quality.
The first thing that struck me was how small the stadium is. Admittedly it was foreshortened by having the stage and all the lighting gubbins at the Stretford End where all the seats were closed, but even so it was a lot smaller than I remembered from the one time I saw a match there, sometime in 1977.
To say I was excited would be the mother of all understatements. Genesis are my favourite band of all time and I've been a fan since around 1972. I'd seen them live twice before, but the last time was well over thirty years ago.
That the tour had proved popular was obvious from the speed of the sellout. The band had allegedly settled on only two UK dates because they were worried about the level of interest and didn't think tickets would sell. However an early press conference tells a different story. Since most of them are now well into their sixth decade, they basically wanted to take it easy and make the limited number of appearances (20 quoted in that interview; 22 on the concert t-shirt) fun for them as well as the fans. A 20-venue American tour will follow later.
We were in our seats easily an hour before the start time (billed as 7.45pm), which gave us plenty of time to take in the stage and watch the follow-spot operators climbing into their gantries just in front of us and to the left. The stage looked incredible. Two oval screens - later to prove to be high-definition screens which looked to be about 20 feet high - bracketed the main stage and were joined by a grey metallic wave. This appeared to be studded with light bulbs but once the show got underway it was obvious that it too was a massive versatile computerised graphics unit which was used throughout the concert to display animations, project band members or act as an adjunct to the amazing array of lights that hung above the stage and around the auditorium.
About twenty minutes before start time the black drapes were removed from the main stage to reveal an intricate series of lights suspended from lightweight gantries, and the famous two drum kits - one for Phil Collins and one for Genesis' tour drummer of 30 years standing, the amazing Chester Thompson. These two kits we knew would be the scene for the well-practiced Drum Duet later in the evening.
Shortly after that we heard a cheer from the crowd as the band left their dressing room and then the introductory music swelled through the stadium, the rhythmic drumbeat shaking my spine as it pumped from the massive speaker arrays all over the stadium. With a whoop and a cheer from the crowd near the stage which rippled back through the audience, changing to a polite round of applause as it went, the band took the stage and launched into the first number: a medley of Behind the Lines; Duke's End; and Turn It On Again.
It was a slow start and as the HD screens flicked through close-ups of each of the band members I couldn't help feeling they looked as if they didn't want to be there. Like a bunch of grumpy old men forced into a day out with irritating younger family members. The soundstage was powerful but this early performance a little lacklustre.
But I needn't have worried. As soon as they hit the next number - No Son of Mine - the old energy returned and the concert started to take off. With only the shortest of short pauses the next number followed right along - Land of Confusion - another rocky one and then we were into the second medley of the night: In The Cage; The Cinema Show; Duke’s Travels; Afterglow which cleverly took the atmosphere from fast hard rock to slow love ballad.
By the time the strains of Afterglow died away, I was a wreck. These lyrics were always beautiful and meaningful, as many of Genesis' songs are. That's one of the things that lifts them above being "just another rock band." But the older I get the more meaningful they
become, and the stronger the effect they have on me.
So as the tears fell, I wiped them away. It was, after all, still light in the stadium.
But now, now I've lost
everything,
I give to you my soul.
The meaning of all that I believed before
Escapes me in this world of none, no thing, no one.
And I would search everywhere
Just to hear your call,
And walk upon stranger roads than this one
In a world I used to know before.
I can't even write them out without feeling the pricking behind my eyes.
There was no respite from the emotional charge as the band followed up this medley with Hold On My Heart but then came the part of the concert where, had I needed to take a comfort break, or if I was one of those really strange people who seem incapable of sitting through a concert without sucking on a bottle of beer or fetching themselves a cup of tea, I would have gone and had/fetched one. For this was Home By The Sea / Second Home By The Sea from the self-titled 15th album, released in 1983. And now it's confession time, because despite being a life-long fan of Genesis music we had a falling-out around the time of Duke/Abacab (I thought they were pretty crap at the time, and still don't like Abacab much) and then when they released another live album (I've always hated live albums for some reason) I stopped buying their music altogether, so I'm almost totally unfamiliar with tracks recorded in the first half of the eighties.
Things picked up again though with the sing-a-long single Follow You Follow Me, but surprisingly we hit the doldrums again with a VERY disappointing Firth of Fifth. When we noticed this was in the set list we jumped about like excited kids. As it turned out we were not to be treated to the whole number but to a bastardised version consisting mostly of the guitar solo. Now don't get me wrong Daryl Stuermer is an excellent guitarist. On a good day he's almost as good as Steve Hackett and that is praise indeed. But this was a Genesis concert and you can't get away with playing half a song. Especially not when the song you choose to butcher is Firth of Fifth.
Ah well, no time to dwell on it as the strains of the Firth guitar solo drifted into Genesis' first single release - I Know What I Like - closely followed by the weird and wonderful Mama.
And then...and then it was time for some more magic. I said I hadn't seen them live for thirty years and that was the Trick of the Tail tour. And here they were playing Ripples.
One of the most beautiful songs on an album composed entirely of excellent songs, this time round Ripples was accompanied by an eerie watery-themed backdrop that perfectly captured the mood of the song and transported me back to the summer of 1976 as I sang along to the well-remembered lyric..."it's the last time you'll look like today..." Passing swiftly over Throwing It All Away and Domino (both from the Invisible Touch album which marked the end of my falling-out period with them) we reached longingly for what we expected to be the penultimate high-point of the evening: the Drum Duet.
Way back when, this was a drum DUEL, with Phil Collins and Chester Thompson taking it in turns to try and outdo one another with their percussive prowess. Nowadays they're a little (a lot!) more mature and the drumming is complementary but no less complex. Starting on a pair of leather stooltops and progressing after a few minutes to their respective kits, these two masters regaled us with a combination drum solo the like of which I haven't seen since Greenslade's performance at the Nottingham Albert Hall.
Fabulous in its own right, the drum solos then segued seamlessly into an energetic performance of Los Endos which brought the entire 60,000-strong crowd to its feet in rapturous acclaim.
Inexplicably, we then made a return to the Invisible Touch album for Tonight, Tonight, Tonight (admittedly a crowd-pleaser) and the title track, before the usual temporary interruption to proceedings with the traditional "end of the show" followed by raucous clapping and shouts of "Encore!" Having seen the set list, I knew there were two more songs to come so I didn't partake of this bizarre ritual and eventually the band returned to close off the evening with I Can't Dance and Carpet Crawlers.
Now again, this was a disappointment on two counts. Carpet Crawlers may well be my favourite Genesis track of the lot. It certainly makes the top five. But did they start at the beginning? Did they heck. There I was waiting eagerly for "There is lambswool under my naked feet..." and instead what I got was " The crawlers cover the floor in the red ochre corridor." They started with the second verse! So that's two of my favourites butchered in one night and on top of that, Crawlers doesn't actually make for a very good finale. It kind of fizzles out, leaving you listening to a lot of empty air and some half-hearted clapping as people start to realise they're done.
We all agreed Los Endos would have been a far better climax to the concert. They could easily have swapped the encore with the drum duet and Los Endos and ended the show on a real high note.
But these are small niggles really. In the end it was a cracking show, pyrotechnic fireworks at the end and musical fireworks all the way through. They might be old but they proved they can still rock, and so can we.
Tonight, eight months later, four of us walked in through door N43 - only the second time I have entered Old Trafford football ground in my life, and the first time in the "new" stadium - and up through entrance N1405 - to be greeted by this sight:
Well, not quite *that* sight, as this photo was taken by my mate Phil who was also at the concert but sat at the back, on the third tier. We were over there on the right, about two-thirds of the way back. On this very special night I didn't want to be annoyed at anything or let the slightest niggle spoil the atmosphere, but it was hard not to be irked by the massive number of cameras present. The tickets and concert promos had made it quite clear that digital recording devices of any kind were forbidden, and we'd played with a straight bat and left our cameras at home. From what we saw way more than half the audience had simply ignored this message and were happily snapping away the whole night. We had to make do with phone pictures, of which Phil's are easily the best quality.
The first thing that struck me was how small the stadium is. Admittedly it was foreshortened by having the stage and all the lighting gubbins at the Stretford End where all the seats were closed, but even so it was a lot smaller than I remembered from the one time I saw a match there, sometime in 1977.
To say I was excited would be the mother of all understatements. Genesis are my favourite band of all time and I've been a fan since around 1972. I'd seen them live twice before, but the last time was well over thirty years ago.
That the tour had proved popular was obvious from the speed of the sellout. The band had allegedly settled on only two UK dates because they were worried about the level of interest and didn't think tickets would sell. However an early press conference tells a different story. Since most of them are now well into their sixth decade, they basically wanted to take it easy and make the limited number of appearances (20 quoted in that interview; 22 on the concert t-shirt) fun for them as well as the fans. A 20-venue American tour will follow later.We were in our seats easily an hour before the start time (billed as 7.45pm), which gave us plenty of time to take in the stage and watch the follow-spot operators climbing into their gantries just in front of us and to the left. The stage looked incredible. Two oval screens - later to prove to be high-definition screens which looked to be about 20 feet high - bracketed the main stage and were joined by a grey metallic wave. This appeared to be studded with light bulbs but once the show got underway it was obvious that it too was a massive versatile computerised graphics unit which was used throughout the concert to display animations, project band members or act as an adjunct to the amazing array of lights that hung above the stage and around the auditorium.About twenty minutes before start time the black drapes were removed from the main stage to reveal an intricate series of lights suspended from lightweight gantries, and the famous two drum kits - one for Phil Collins and one for Genesis' tour drummer of 30 years standing, the amazing Chester Thompson. These two kits we knew would be the scene for the well-practiced Drum Duet later in the evening.Shortly after that we heard a cheer from the crowd as the band left their dressing room and then the introductory music swelled through the stadium, the rhythmic drumbeat shaking my spine as it pumped from the massive speaker arrays all over the stadium. With a whoop and a cheer from the crowd near the stage which rippled back through the audience, changing to a polite round of applause as it went, the band took the stage and launched into the first number: a medley of Behind the Lines; Duke's End; and Turn It On Again.
It was a slow start and as the HD screens flicked through close-ups of each of the band members I couldn't help feeling they looked as if they didn't want to be there. Like a bunch of grumpy old men forced into a day out with irritating younger family members. The soundstage was powerful but this early performance a little lacklustre.But I needn't have worried. As soon as they hit the next number - No Son of Mine - the old energy returned and the concert started to take off. With only the shortest of short pauses the next number followed right along - Land of Confusion - another rocky one and then we were into the second medley of the night: In The Cage; The Cinema Show; Duke’s Travels; Afterglow which cleverly took the atmosphere from fast hard rock to slow love ballad.
By the time the strains of Afterglow died away, I was a wreck. These lyrics were always beautiful and meaningful, as many of Genesis' songs are. That's one of the things that lifts them above being "just another rock band." But the older I get the more meaningful theybecome, and the stronger the effect they have on me.So as the tears fell, I wiped them away. It was, after all, still light in the stadium.
But now, now I've losteverything,
I give to you my soul.
The meaning of all that I believed before
Escapes me in this world of none, no thing, no one.
And I would search everywhere
Just to hear your call,
And walk upon stranger roads than this one
In a world I used to know before.
I can't even write them out without feeling the pricking behind my eyes.
There was no respite from the emotional charge as the band followed up this medley with Hold On My Heart but then came the part of the concert where, had I needed to take a comfort break, or if I was one of those really strange people who seem incapable of sitting through a concert without sucking on a bottle of beer or fetching themselves a cup of tea, I would have gone and had/fetched one. For this was Home By The Sea / Second Home By The Sea from the self-titled 15th album, released in 1983. And now it's confession time, because despite being a life-long fan of Genesis music we had a falling-out around the time of Duke/Abacab (I thought they were pretty crap at the time, and still don't like Abacab much) and then when they released another live album (I've always hated live albums for some reason) I stopped buying their music altogether, so I'm almost totally unfamiliar with tracks recorded in the first half of the eighties.
Things picked up again though with the sing-a-long single Follow You Follow Me, but surprisingly we hit the doldrums again with a VERY disappointing Firth of Fifth. When we noticed this was in the set list we jumped about like excited kids. As it turned out we were not to be treated to the whole number but to a bastardised version consisting mostly of the guitar solo. Now don't get me wrong Daryl Stuermer is an excellent guitarist. On a good day he's almost as good as Steve Hackett and that is praise indeed. But this was a Genesis concert and you can't get away with playing half a song. Especially not when the song you choose to butcher is Firth of Fifth.Ah well, no time to dwell on it as the strains of the Firth guitar solo drifted into Genesis' first single release - I Know What I Like - closely followed by the weird and wonderful Mama.
And then...and then it was time for some more magic. I said I hadn't seen them live for thirty years and that was the Trick of the Tail tour. And here they were playing Ripples.
One of the most beautiful songs on an album composed entirely of excellent songs, this time round Ripples was accompanied by an eerie watery-themed backdrop that perfectly captured the mood of the song and transported me back to the summer of 1976 as I sang along to the well-remembered lyric..."it's the last time you'll look like today..." Passing swiftly over Throwing It All Away and Domino (both from the Invisible Touch album which marked the end of my falling-out period with them) we reached longingly for what we expected to be the penultimate high-point of the evening: the Drum Duet.Way back when, this was a drum DUEL, with Phil Collins and Chester Thompson taking it in turns to try and outdo one another with their percussive prowess. Nowadays they're a little (a lot!) more mature and the drumming is complementary but no less complex. Starting on a pair of leather stooltops and progressing after a few minutes to their respective kits, these two masters regaled us with a combination drum solo the like of which I haven't seen since Greenslade's performance at the Nottingham Albert Hall.Fabulous in its own right, the drum solos then segued seamlessly into an energetic performance of Los Endos which brought the entire 60,000-strong crowd to its feet in rapturous acclaim.
Inexplicably, we then made a return to the Invisible Touch album for Tonight, Tonight, Tonight (admittedly a crowd-pleaser) and the title track, before the usual temporary interruption to proceedings with the traditional "end of the show" followed by raucous clapping and shouts of "Encore!" Having seen the set list, I knew there were two more songs to come so I didn't partake of this bizarre ritual and eventually the band returned to close off the evening with I Can't Dance and Carpet Crawlers.
Now again, this was a disappointment on two counts. Carpet Crawlers may well be my favourite Genesis track of the lot. It certainly makes the top five. But did they start at the beginning? Did they heck. There I was waiting eagerly for "There is lambswool under my naked feet..." and instead what I got was " The crawlers cover the floor in the red ochre corridor." They started with the second verse! So that's two of my favourites butchered in one night and on top of that, Crawlers doesn't actually make for a very good finale. It kind of fizzles out, leaving you listening to a lot of empty air and some half-hearted clapping as people start to realise they're done.
We all agreed Los Endos would have been a far better climax to the concert. They could easily have swapped the encore with the drum duet and Los Endos and ended the show on a real high note.
But these are small niggles really. In the end it was a cracking show, pyrotechnic fireworks at the end and musical fireworks all the way through. They might be old but they proved they can still rock, and so can we.
Friday, July 06, 2007
Friday Five
1. What troubles you?
At the moment, a particularly bothersome deadline at work for a document I don't especially want to write. More generally, how many people are starving in the world while I munch happily on whatever I like.
2. Do you like thunderstorms?
Love 'em. The whole bit. Lightning, really loud CRACKing thunder, torrential rain. Once, when I was six, it started to rain when I was out on my bike. I kinda liked the feel of it dripping down my shirt, and the smell of the wet pavement. I just sat there for ... must have been twenty minutes, listening to the rain, smelling it, watching it bounce up off the road and splash and gurgle down the gulleys. Eventually one of the neighbours must have spotted me there, sitting on my bike in the road, and called my Mum. She came out under a hastily-snatched raincoat and screamed blue murder at me to "get inside!" I was soaked to the skin and loved every minute.
3. Do you sleep easily or toss and turn?
I'm asleep within seconds of my head touching the pillow. In fact it pretty much doesn't matter where I am, if I lie on my back I'll fall asleep.
4. What do you offer a friend?
A lift, usually. You can take that however you like.
5. Friday fill-in:
Please don't ___.
...ask me to be serious.
At the moment, a particularly bothersome deadline at work for a document I don't especially want to write. More generally, how many people are starving in the world while I munch happily on whatever I like.
2. Do you like thunderstorms?
Love 'em. The whole bit. Lightning, really loud CRACKing thunder, torrential rain. Once, when I was six, it started to rain when I was out on my bike. I kinda liked the feel of it dripping down my shirt, and the smell of the wet pavement. I just sat there for ... must have been twenty minutes, listening to the rain, smelling it, watching it bounce up off the road and splash and gurgle down the gulleys. Eventually one of the neighbours must have spotted me there, sitting on my bike in the road, and called my Mum. She came out under a hastily-snatched raincoat and screamed blue murder at me to "get inside!" I was soaked to the skin and loved every minute.
3. Do you sleep easily or toss and turn?
I'm asleep within seconds of my head touching the pillow. In fact it pretty much doesn't matter where I am, if I lie on my back I'll fall asleep.
4. What do you offer a friend?
A lift, usually. You can take that however you like.
5. Friday fill-in:
Please don't ___.
...ask me to be serious.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
All Miked up
I've had many experiences that prove "it's a small world" and this afternoon was another such. I spent the day in Sheffield and left the office around 3.30pm to catch the early train home.
This is a train that is regularly standing at the station 15-20 minutes before its departure time, so I was waiting on the platform for the doors to be opened when a man walked past me and looked up and down the track as if expecting a different train to be there. As he glanced to left and right I caught sight of him in profile and immediately thought I recognised him, but it wasn't until he turned right around and faced in my direction that I could be sure.
I'd worked with him over twenty years ago in VME support and hadn't seen him since, but it was definitely him. "How's it going, Mike?" I asked casually.
He looked over towards me. There was a moment or two's hesitation and then he broke into a smile of recognition. "Hello!" he said, grinning broadly. "How are you?" We shook hands, exchanged pleasantries, and struck up a conversation. After about five minutes he said, "John Beresford, isn't it." To be fair, I've changed a lot more in those twenty years than he has.
If I was any good at complex mathematics I could, I expect, calculate the probability of meeting someone at random at any given public transport terminus in the UK on any given afternoon. I don't think it would be very high, but no matter how likely it would prove to be it still seems strange when it happens.
Since he too was waiting for the Manchester train we boarded together and spent the hour-long journey catching up. Is it just an accident, or is "fate" sending me these people who have become disillusioned with the computing industry and opted for jobs with less stress? It wasn't long ago that I'd heard news of the guy who had retrained as a long-distance lorry driver and now here was another example of someone who'd turned his back on the frantic pace of life as an IT consultant and was enjoying himself immensely by working as ... a car delivery agent.
Ever wondered how that particular car you ordered from the dealer, who told you it was in the Oxted branch, gets delivered to your local dealership? Someone like Mike drives it there, that's how. Self-employed and working only those hours or days he wants to, he phones his agency and they tell him where to go to pick up a car, and where to deliver it. And then, sometimes, where to go for the next one, and where to drive that. In between, he's on his own, so Mike had pretty much committed the entire rail and bus network of the UK to memory, but also carried with him a random sample of OS maps, a flask of tea, and a supply of fruit.
He was as happy as Larry. A relatively lonely existence it's true, and long hours (he often doesn't get home until midnight), but on the plus side he gets to drive a lot of brand new very fancy motors, sees the country from the open road (poop! poop!) and enjoys a lot of healthy exercise walking between depots and train/bus stations.
We exchanged anecdotes about people we'd worked with in the past that one or other of us had recent news of, shared memories of those we knew who had passed on, and generally caught up. A more pleasant way to pass a train journey I can't imagine, and certainly preferable to having my head buried in my book for an hour. I don't suppose I'll ever see him again but I'm glad I did. It's good to be reminded that there is life outside of IT.
This is a train that is regularly standing at the station 15-20 minutes before its departure time, so I was waiting on the platform for the doors to be opened when a man walked past me and looked up and down the track as if expecting a different train to be there. As he glanced to left and right I caught sight of him in profile and immediately thought I recognised him, but it wasn't until he turned right around and faced in my direction that I could be sure.
I'd worked with him over twenty years ago in VME support and hadn't seen him since, but it was definitely him. "How's it going, Mike?" I asked casually.
He looked over towards me. There was a moment or two's hesitation and then he broke into a smile of recognition. "Hello!" he said, grinning broadly. "How are you?" We shook hands, exchanged pleasantries, and struck up a conversation. After about five minutes he said, "John Beresford, isn't it." To be fair, I've changed a lot more in those twenty years than he has.
If I was any good at complex mathematics I could, I expect, calculate the probability of meeting someone at random at any given public transport terminus in the UK on any given afternoon. I don't think it would be very high, but no matter how likely it would prove to be it still seems strange when it happens.
Since he too was waiting for the Manchester train we boarded together and spent the hour-long journey catching up. Is it just an accident, or is "fate" sending me these people who have become disillusioned with the computing industry and opted for jobs with less stress? It wasn't long ago that I'd heard news of the guy who had retrained as a long-distance lorry driver and now here was another example of someone who'd turned his back on the frantic pace of life as an IT consultant and was enjoying himself immensely by working as ... a car delivery agent.
Ever wondered how that particular car you ordered from the dealer, who told you it was in the Oxted branch, gets delivered to your local dealership? Someone like Mike drives it there, that's how. Self-employed and working only those hours or days he wants to, he phones his agency and they tell him where to go to pick up a car, and where to deliver it. And then, sometimes, where to go for the next one, and where to drive that. In between, he's on his own, so Mike had pretty much committed the entire rail and bus network of the UK to memory, but also carried with him a random sample of OS maps, a flask of tea, and a supply of fruit.
He was as happy as Larry. A relatively lonely existence it's true, and long hours (he often doesn't get home until midnight), but on the plus side he gets to drive a lot of brand new very fancy motors, sees the country from the open road (poop! poop!) and enjoys a lot of healthy exercise walking between depots and train/bus stations.
We exchanged anecdotes about people we'd worked with in the past that one or other of us had recent news of, shared memories of those we knew who had passed on, and generally caught up. A more pleasant way to pass a train journey I can't imagine, and certainly preferable to having my head buried in my book for an hour. I don't suppose I'll ever see him again but I'm glad I did. It's good to be reminded that there is life outside of IT.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Bob's not your uncle
Our cat Mimi, who we "inherited" with the house, has been exhibiting a grossly enhanced appetite of late. Since she's an "outdoor" cat I immediately suspected a worm infestation, and bought some worm treatments from the supermarket. Bob Martin's to be precise. Two varieties: some stuff for tapeworms that you squirt on the back of the cat's neck (don't ask me how that works - you're the one on the Internet) and a separate and more traditional treatment for roundworm - granules to mix with the food.
I've had cats for over thirty years and I've never had much success with the "mix with the food" variety. Companies that make this stuff never learn. Cats have a much more sensitive sense of smell than we do. You sprinkle these grey granules over the food, mix it well in, cat walks up, takes one sniff and steps back smartly as if to say "I'm not going anywhere near THAT!", turns round and walks away.
In my experience it matters not how long you leave the stuff down, the animal would rather starve than deign to eat any of it. However in our case, it's dried food, so it remains to be seen which of us has the stronger will...
I've had cats for over thirty years and I've never had much success with the "mix with the food" variety. Companies that make this stuff never learn. Cats have a much more sensitive sense of smell than we do. You sprinkle these grey granules over the food, mix it well in, cat walks up, takes one sniff and steps back smartly as if to say "I'm not going anywhere near THAT!", turns round and walks away.
In my experience it matters not how long you leave the stuff down, the animal would rather starve than deign to eat any of it. However in our case, it's dried food, so it remains to be seen which of us has the stronger will...
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
A voucher to vouch for
A reminder popped up on my Outlook last week. "Return Regency Warranty certificate" it said.
When we bought a pair of sofas for our new house in 2002 we opted for the stain protection service. This came with a five-year guarantee which had an unusual (or so I thought) clause. If you didn't make a claim during that five years then you were eligible for the return of the cost of stain protection (£59 in fact) provided you returned the original certificate within 30 days of the anniversary date. I guess the company reckons on most people not being sufficiently organised to be able to comply with those terms. Not me. I entered an Outlook reminder right away and filed the certificate away.
Five years later and here we are. The anniversary falls due on Friday and I'm ready to go. Not that I'm holding out any hopes of actually getting my money back. Since the original warranty was taken out the company has changed its name three times (although still trading from the same address) and I've found at least one reference on the Net to someone who fulfilled all the criteria and was still refused their money back on a technicality. Still, if you don't try, you don't win, so we'll see what happens.
When we bought a pair of sofas for our new house in 2002 we opted for the stain protection service. This came with a five-year guarantee which had an unusual (or so I thought) clause. If you didn't make a claim during that five years then you were eligible for the return of the cost of stain protection (£59 in fact) provided you returned the original certificate within 30 days of the anniversary date. I guess the company reckons on most people not being sufficiently organised to be able to comply with those terms. Not me. I entered an Outlook reminder right away and filed the certificate away.
Five years later and here we are. The anniversary falls due on Friday and I'm ready to go. Not that I'm holding out any hopes of actually getting my money back. Since the original warranty was taken out the company has changed its name three times (although still trading from the same address) and I've found at least one reference on the Net to someone who fulfilled all the criteria and was still refused their money back on a technicality. Still, if you don't try, you don't win, so we'll see what happens.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Very early television
A little while ago we retrieved our old portable telly from my Mum's place. We lent it to her back in the days when she thought she wanted something to play video tapes on (it has a built-in VCR), but she could never get used to working it and she only owns one tape in any case. So now if she wants to watch it she takes it next door, and we have our telly back.
She seemed alright with this arrangement, but got her own back eventually. That's a story for another day though. This one centres around the TV.
We put it in our bedroom, intending to set it up for late night movie viewing from behind closed eyelids, but several weeks passed until we connected it up. The catalyst was a particularly good movie together with a cold wet night and an irresistible urge to be horizontal. So I duly plugged in power and aerial, and let it do its auto-tuning thing. The signal isn't great through the portable aerial even on the first floor, but it's OK for the main channels especially when, as I said, viewing mainly takes place with eyes shut.
When it came time to set the sleep timer though, we remembered that the device insists on the date and time being entered before it will accept a sleep time. Quite why this is I haven't worked out, since sleep time settings are measured in "minutes from now" rather than a defined date and time. Still, I entered the correct date and time and we duly fell asleep.
We had to repeat this process the next night. That's another annoying thing about this particular model. If you switch it off completely rather than leaving it on standby, which our green credentials insist we do, the darned thing forgets the time and you have to set it again when next you turn it on.
This palaver continued for several nights until Nikki (ever the pragmatist) pointed out that I didn't actually need to put the correct time in. Genius! My finger was hovering over the "2" button in the dark at the time, so I proceeded to enter a time using just that. This worked fine for 22:22 on the 22nd, but naturally there aren't any months in the 20s, so the machine cleverly wouldn't accept any more 2s. It's not all that clever though. I transferred my finger to the 1 and completed the date with that, leaving the TV believing the time was 22:22 on 22/11/1911.
This being several decades before TV was invented caused us to dissolve in fits of laughter and since then our bedroom telly has always been set to 11:11 11/11/1911. We haven't watched any silent movies yet though ;o)
She seemed alright with this arrangement, but got her own back eventually. That's a story for another day though. This one centres around the TV.
We put it in our bedroom, intending to set it up for late night movie viewing from behind closed eyelids, but several weeks passed until we connected it up. The catalyst was a particularly good movie together with a cold wet night and an irresistible urge to be horizontal. So I duly plugged in power and aerial, and let it do its auto-tuning thing. The signal isn't great through the portable aerial even on the first floor, but it's OK for the main channels especially when, as I said, viewing mainly takes place with eyes shut.
When it came time to set the sleep timer though, we remembered that the device insists on the date and time being entered before it will accept a sleep time. Quite why this is I haven't worked out, since sleep time settings are measured in "minutes from now" rather than a defined date and time. Still, I entered the correct date and time and we duly fell asleep.
We had to repeat this process the next night. That's another annoying thing about this particular model. If you switch it off completely rather than leaving it on standby, which our green credentials insist we do, the darned thing forgets the time and you have to set it again when next you turn it on.
This palaver continued for several nights until Nikki (ever the pragmatist) pointed out that I didn't actually need to put the correct time in. Genius! My finger was hovering over the "2" button in the dark at the time, so I proceeded to enter a time using just that. This worked fine for 22:22 on the 22nd, but naturally there aren't any months in the 20s, so the machine cleverly wouldn't accept any more 2s. It's not all that clever though. I transferred my finger to the 1 and completed the date with that, leaving the TV believing the time was 22:22 on 22/11/1911.
This being several decades before TV was invented caused us to dissolve in fits of laughter and since then our bedroom telly has always been set to 11:11 11/11/1911. We haven't watched any silent movies yet though ;o)
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