Friday Five

1. Who do you look up to?
My long-distance friend cp interviewed the wonderful British actress Samantha Morton for this month's edition of movieScope magazine, and she gave the most stunning (but sensible) answer to this: I don't look up to anyone, but I don't look down on anyone either. I don't know if it's legitimate for me to borrow that answer, but it comes close to my own philosophy.

People who look up to other people are more often than not disappointed. No matter who those people are, they are human and hence fallible. Best not to set too high expectations I find. Easy to fall off when you stand on a pedestal.

Did I mention that Samantha Morton went to the same school as me?

2. What is the last thing you cleaned?
The bookshelves as we were bringing them back into the study. They'd accumulated four months' worth of dust as they sat in their temporary positions on the landing and in our bedroom. Ask me that at the weekend though, and the answer will be "the whole house" - in preparation for a visit from the outlaws next weekend.

3. Do you measure with a ruler or do you eyeball it?
Depends what I'm doing. Putting shelves up? Ruler and spirit level. Cooking? Eyeball. Unless it's a recipe I'm doing for the first time.

4. What do people compliment you on?
My patience. Having "gravitas" - whatever that means. My decorating skills (lol!). My writing, especially lyrics. My ability to quickly grasp the essentials of a situation. My inventiveness when problem solving.

5. What is behind you?
The window overlooking the garden. I only have to swivel to get a really nice view :)

Thought crime

When I was a lad I read a lot of science fiction. Many of the classic SF stories revolve around increased mental faculties of some description, either natural or enhanced with technology. In others the technology itself can think, or read minds.

More recently the subject was explored by Hollywood in 'Minority Report'. Like so many blockbuster movies, this is based on a short story by master of the genre Philip K. Dick written in the year of my birth and, unusually for such films, bearing the same name as the story.

Over the years I've been interested to note how often science, although naturally lagging behind science fiction, has eventually caught up. The most well-known example of this is Arthur C. Clarke's prediction of geostationary satellites upon which the world's telecomms networks (including the Internet you're using to read this) now depend. Some scientists have even predicted that a warp-drive such as that used in TV's Star Trek is not beyond the bounds of possibility.

So it was with great interest that I heard a news item some weeks ago describing how scientists have developed a brain scanner that can detect what you're thinking. By interpreting the patterns of brain waves, electrical activity and changes in blood flow, the machine can differentiate between one thought and another. Still in its infancy the machine is crude at present, but will certainly become more accurate with further development.

This opens up some possibilities for colossal social change. Civil rights groups will be sure to take against it and the potential for misuse is clearly enormous, but at a simplistic level it could allow instantaneous democracy for the first time. Problems of security and fraud have always dogged any suggestion of electronic voting, but with ubiquitous brain scanning it would be possible for the reaction of the populace to any new government initiative to be measured almost immediately. No need to sign up for the whole of a manifesto when each of its parts can be tested individually. And if a majority of the people at any given time thought they disliked the incumbent party, out they'd go!

And right there is the reason it'll never happen! Nice to dream though. Welcome to 1984, even if it is about 25 years late!

The day dawns dark

There's a day every year that I really don't look forward to, and it's always a Monday. To be precise, it's the Monday after the Friday you got up when it was already daylight, but during the weekend something happens so that when you wake up on that particular Monday, it's still dark.

That, for me, irrespective of the actual date, is when autumn starts. And it was today.

True, the darkness had some help today from two quarters. Firstly, unlike most Monday mornings where we're quite content to hunker down under the covers and listen to the radio before deciding we *really* can't leave it any longer, this particular morning we both leapt out of bed on the dot of 6.30. And secondly Manchester was living up to its reputation as the Rainy City and was sitting under a blanket of thick black cloud that was busily dumping its load on the early risers.

It was black. Autumn is here.

We're in

After two days' concerted effort, reducing piles of paper to smaller piles of equivalent volume but sorted into "file;" "recycle;" and "shred" followed by much carrying to and fro, dusting and deciding exactly where things should be, we have formally reoccupied the study.

Don't get me wrong - it's not finished. The door isn't on and we still have piles of unsorted CDs, "to do" lists and things to take up into the attic. The wireless printer still isn't out of its box let alone powered up and connected, but the two main desks are in position and the two main computers are sitting on those desks, so I think we can legitimately say "we're in."

We need curtains; we need new lights; Nikki's fireplace is still a gaping hole, but we're in. It is sooo much warmer in this room (at the back of the house, and so South-facing) than it was in the dining room (North-facing) and we have natural daylight instead of an energy-saving bulb. Bliss!

I retrieved my desk calendar from the last bookshelf to move back into the study. As I remarked the other day, it was still set to May 25th. In another two days it would have been exactly 4 months since we emptied the study and began the long process of gutting and refurbishing. The last major project of our first year in this house and perhaps the most satisfying one since, for us, this room is where we will spend most of our time. During those months I've often reflected how glad I am that we chose to tackle this house one room at a time. Being able to close the door (metaphorically!) on a project like this is essential to me. It requires a greater degree of discipline to keep reopening that door in order to carry on with the project, but it allows you some respite when the day's work is done, to be able to move to another part of the house and forget about the dust and the mess.

Before too long, we'll be sleeping in this room while we redecorate our own bedroom. But for now it's enough to revel in its newness. Moving the furniture back in was in a way traumatic, with both of us desperate to avoid putting any dings in the new walls. We needn't have worried. All is in and no damage done. We can, at least for a few precious weeks, relax.

Friday Five and the student jive

Just got back from grocery shopping, and we had to laugh at Asda (now owned by Wal-Mart). But in the middle of laughing, on the other side of your face, you have to show appreciation for their market knowledge, and their ability to make a fast buck while at the same time providing a public service.

What am I talking about? The store was piled high (and I mean HIGH!) with cheap toasters, kettles, and portable TVs. Why? Today is the last day of Fresher's Week, so all this week new students have been settling into their digs and returning students have been drifting back ready to start lectures next Monday. How many of them will have arrived in their new bedsits, residence hall rooms, digs, and thought "damn! Forgot the kettle!" or "I could really use a toaster in here - it could sit on the windowsill!" or "I have my first wedge of student loan in the bank...I'm going to treat myself to a personal telly?" (At only £45 that last option must seem pretty irresistible).

It's working a treat. We saw two sets of students carting off telly boxes during the 40 minutes or so we were there. Way to go Asda!

1. Do you like looking at stars?
I have done this for as long as I can remember, so it's something that's always been with me. But of all those years of memories, two stand out.

First was about eight years or so ago. Blythe would be 4, or maybe 5. So Natalie was 10-ish. I took them up to the top of Holme Moss one clear winter's night and started pointing out constellations to them and waxing lyric about the clarity of the sky. After about ten minutes I noticed Blythe was physically shaking from the cold. With profuse apologies I bundled my freezing children back into the car and took them home for a hot drink.*

Second was the time we went for a late night walk along the beach in Pefkos. Summer 2005. Nikki and I, Natalie and Blythe. The stars that night were so clear you could almost touch them, and the almost total absence of any human-generated light gave us the best view of the Milky Way I've ever had.

2. Who do you say "I love you" to?
I'm sure we've had this one before. Nikki. My girls.

3. Did you say "good night!" to anyone last night?
Yes.

4. When is the last time you felt blue?
Any time I have to go to work, just lately :-\

5. Tell us one of your dreams:
I've bought a house. It's a fixer-upper, only it's the weirdest kind of fixer-upper you ever saw. It has a front wall with a door and windows, but behind that there aren't any floors. Only beams. And the staircase is really rickety. The builders have installed one of those cage lifts, but it's very temperamental and won't always go where you tell it. This is a real risk, because it might get it into its head to take you to The Top Floor. There are no lights on The Top Floor and there's a family living up there that we don't talk about. Then after a while, the heating or the plumbing system springs a leak. It's affecting the plasterboard (suddenly now there's plasterboard on some of the walls and ceilings), making it bow and sag. And the source of the leak is on The Top Floor, so I'll have to go and check it out... (and hope I wake up before I get there).


*The experience clearly had a profound influence on Blythe. One of the constellations I'd shown them was Orion (the obvious one, lol). A couple of days later we were driving home in the dark and Blythe had been gazing out of the window for some time, deep in thought. Suddenly she piped up "Daddy! I think I can see Brian!" Naturally, this has become a part of family folklore.

The longest ride

Had a leisurely start to the day today. I didn't have to be in London until 2pm so I thought I'd have a "normal" start, cup of coffee, take Nikki to work, that kind of thing, and catch whatever train I could get to Piccadilly in time for.

That train turned out to be the 9.15 and a big mistake. It made the day's start a lot more leisurely than I anticipated.

We'd been travelling about an hour (on what is usually a 2-hour-ten-minute trip) when I became conscious that the countryside whipping past my window wasn't countryside I recognised. Almost at the same time this impinged on my senses the train manager came on the PA to announce that, owing to a car on the line (I think he said "car" although it might have been "cow") we'd been diverted on to the West Midlands line and this would add ten minutes to the trip. I went back to my book while one or two passengers called colleagues to let them know they'd be late.

A few minutes later the train came to a standstill. We were somewhere near Nuneaton and this time the PA informed us that several other trains had also been diverted and we were now queued behind four of them. This was expected to add another ten minutes. However, after those ten minutes had passed and we still hadn't moved, a third announcement revealed that one of the four trains had broken down. We were going to have to reverse direction, returning northwards to the previous set of points where we could transfer onto another line. This second diversion was expected to add yet another twenty minutes to the journey time.

Now it was my turn to make a phone call. Even though my meeting was at 2pm, I'd been taking calls all morning trying to set up another meeting for sometime between 12 and 2 and this was clearly not going to be possible.

In the end we pulled into Euston just before 1pm - more than an hour later than scheduled and with only just enough time for me to get to Westminster.

Carpet!

The carpeteers (I just made that word up, but I like it) arrived at 12.20. I opened the door and headed upstairs...

"This way."
"Ohhh...don't tell me it's upstairs."
"Err, yeah. Think yourself lucky - I used to have a three-storey house!"
"It's just that it's a bloody big bit of carpet."
"Yes, well it's a bloody big room!"

By which time we were in it.

Gaffer looks around...

"Where's your underlay?"

They'd not put it on the van. I made it clear I had definitely ordered underlay, gripper rods, the whole works. After a short phone call the underlay was found, still in the warehouse. By the time this was sorted, the second fitter had finished laying the gripper rods, so they left.

The round trip to the depot is around 90 minutes. Owing to other jobs and complications they didn't return until 4.20, but they'd taken the opportunity to cut the corner of the carpet off in the warehouse to make fitting easier and to help them get the roll upstairs, which was a bit of a struggle and decapitated one of the newel posts.

The end result was worth the wait though. The carpet has been rolled up in their store for almost four months, so it will take a while for the lines to settle out, but it's every bit as plush as we'd hoped and already the room feels warmer and sounds less boomy. Once we have some curtains/blinds up it'll be the dog's.

Jobs remaining? Well, get the furniture back in obviously, which we'll be doing in dribs and drabs this week and at the weekend; sort out Nikki's fireplace with some new shelves, a little bit of plaster and paint, or maybe some tiles; rehang the door; paint the door (a project involving all the doors on the first floor); find some new light fittings and those curtains and that's pretty much it. Job done. At last.

Whiter than white

Heard on the news this morning: doctors are to be forbidden from wearing white coats as part of new rules being introduced by the Health Minister to try to curb the spread of infections like MRSA and c.difficile in hospitals. The Minister's comment was something like "the cuffs of long white coats could become infected."

What utter codswallop.

Yet another headline-grabbing move from this bankrupt government that will be forgotten as soon as the ink is dry on the newsprint, and one that will make not one jot of difference to infection rates in hospitals. Doctors have been wearing white coats for a hundred years or more. Why then did we not have massive rates of cross-contamination in the 50s, 60s and 70s? The simplest explanations are always the best: because the wards were kept clean by dedicated cleaners who took pride in their work, rather than agency staff who are paid a pittance, inadequately instructed or supervised, and content to sit on their backsides all shift having given each toilet bowl, sink and floor a cursory wipe with the same grubby cloth.

And moreover, each ward was kept under the watchful eye of a matron who let nothing get in the way of maintaining standards.

Let's have more attention to the simple, boring but essential details of running health care in this country, and less concentration on stupid initiatives that give the minister some air time in the media but do nothing to help either the overburdened NHS staff, or the patients at risk of coming out of hospital in a worse condition than they went in.

Sunday Supplement

So it was just the three of us "sleeping over" at ours last night: Nikki, me, and Blythe. Natalie had gone back to halls in case there was anything going on late evening or early morning that she shouldn't miss out on.

I have to be honest and say that felt kinda strange, and I think Blythe felt the same way too, waking up to Sunday breakfast without her sister. This is the start of what we all knew would be a weird time, when our relationships with each other all shift around to allow for the fact that one of my daughters is embarking on an exciting new chapter of her life while the other one is carrying on with the same life she had before, but without the comforting presence of her older sister for the first time in almost 14 years.

After breakfast we all split off as usual to do our own thing - Blythe on the XBox, Nikki and I went out to cut the lawn (a new 20-metre extension allowing us to cut down the weeds around the end of the garage for the first time this season) after which I repaired to the study to put the final final touches to it, in preparation for the carpet being fitted tomorrow.

I noticed today my desk calendar, sitting on one of the bookshelves that has a temporary home in our bedroom, was still set to May 25 - the day before our housewarming party and the last day the study was used as a study. From tomorrow we can finally begin the repopulation process and get back to some semblance of normality in the rest of the house. I retrieved the last few tools from the room, fixed the final two lengths of creaky floorboard and applied some sealer to the tops of the skirting board that still had small gaps and that was it. Good to go!

Picked Natalie up at 2.30 so she could have dinner with us, and we spent the afternoon watching a movie together, and then it was time for them both to pack up. Nat's hall is holding a (free!) "pizza and wine" evening to get everyone together, which sounds like fun. For Blythe and I it was a rather unusual drive back to Yorkshire. I never expected Natalie's move to Uni to redefine MY relationship with my younger daughter, but in a strange way it has. Since Blythe was born I've very rarely spent time with either of them on their own, and when I have it's been mainly with Natalie. As far as I can remember the only long period Blythe and I have been alone together was on our trip to Bath when Nat had an NYGE course and we went along and did our own thing for 4 days. So for all these years, it's been me/us and "the girls" whereas now, at least for some of the time, we'll have Blythe on her own.

I don't really know what I'm trying to say here, and I'm conscious that it's a bit of a ramble. These are times of change for all of us. In a lot of ways, it'll be hardest on Blythe. Natalie has the excitement of a new place, new friends and new activities. Life for Nikki and I, for 13 days out of every 14, continues pretty much as before. Blythe has to carry on with the "same old, same old," but on her own. It'll be tough. But she's tough, she has some good friends, and she knows we're always here - only a phone call, and MSN message, or a short car ride away - when she needs us.

A New Life

Two new lives actually. One literal and one figurative.

First, the literal one: congratulations to our good friends Jamie and Lise, whose son Isaac Dylan was born just before midnight on September 11! Well done all three of you - we'll be popping over shortly to poke him with spoons.

Second, the figurative one. Nat finally texted me sometime this morning to arrange to come over for lunch. The call of the crumpets was irresistible, especially since the hall she's in is only catered during the week and she has to fend for herself over the weekend. She'd been chillin' Friday night with her new friends in hall who all sound really nice. I was so very pleased that her first night in hall hadn't been as desperate as mine.

After my Mum & Dad dropped me off the Sunday before Fresher's Week, I'd soon discovered I was the only one on my floor and spent a very cold and lonely night bored out of my skull. There were no laptops in those days, naturally, no Internet, the hall didn't have a TV room and it was fully catered, so there wasn't even a kitchen where I could make myself a piece of toast.

I contrast, Natalie's floor sounds as though it was almost fully populated with three of the girls on her corridor in residence, and they spent the evening getting to know each other and watching the telly. When I took her back in the evening I popped in to have a look at her room. Although every bit as spartan as student rooms always are right at the beginning of term before whoever lives there has had a chance to personalise them, it is a nice size, has its own sink and the usual bed, desk, wardrobe and comfy chair (upon which, if student standards are followed, there will soon build up a pile of dirty laundry ;o)). The hall is in a quiet leafy lane, has a swipe card on the door and individual locks on the bedrooms and is quite secure enough to allay a Dad's fears. There's a warden in residence too, who insists on being called Norman, apparently.

During the day, I broke out my old student posters intending to offer them up for sacrifice. They're all at least 30 years old, so I was fully expecting Nat to decline my offer, although I thought at least they would cover the bare walls for a bit until she found something more to her taste. Her reaction was a real surprise. A pleasant one. "Wow!! Those are SO COOL!!"

I'd forgotten that thirty years was long enough for them to become cool in a retro kind of way. So my Roger Dean flying elephant and various insectoid invaders have found a new home and at least one of Natalie's new neighbours is quite jealous of her new wall coverings. Funny old world, in't it?

Friday Five

Thinking about #1 daughter a lot today as it's her first day at Uni. Strange day to start, you might think, Friday, but if I remember what it was like she'll be doing a lot of queuing. Queuing to register, queuing to join the students' union, queuing to join any of the multifarious societies that take her fancy, queuing for lunch...

And then...what? What do they expect new students, alone in a strange city for the first time to fill their time with at the weekend? Maybe they've concertina'd what used to be called "Fresher's Week" (and, as you might guess, took a whole week) into a weekend? The modern equivalent - everything has to be faster, shorter, and not get in the way of studying. I don't know, but I hope to find out later today as she will, if everything goes according to plan, be spending at least some of the weekend here. That is, of course, unless it really is "Fresher's Weekend" in which case there'll be loads of stuff to get involved with and we might only see her when it's time for bed!

And so to the famous five...

1. Have you ever run away?
No, but I used to take the bus into the city when I was a kid. I guess I'd be 12, 13, something like that. My Mum didn't find out until years later, and then had a fit when she realised she should have been worrying about me all that time. It was visiting the Victoria Centre that gave me away. One of the first large shopping malls in Britain, I used to love to hang out there as a kid and I knew exactly where all the lifts were, and which floors they served. So when my Dad parked up and they were casting around for the lifts, I just piped up "it's this way!" "How do you know that?" asked my Mum, and the game was up.

2. What is the longest you've dated someone?
Like Di, I can't figure out when dating ends and long-term commitment begins, so I'm assuming I can't count Nikki seein' as we live together. In which case the answer is about 2 years.

3. What don't you like to think about?
Leaving my kids.

4. What was your last illness?
When I was filling this in earlier in the week I couldn't remember, it was so long ago. Then on Tuesday I hurt my ankle, so the answer now is: a hurt ankle. This qualifies as an illness because it might turn out to have been a mild attack of gout.

5. Do you like to get revenge?
No. Cliche alert: I know it sounds trite but two wrongs don't make a right, you need to rise above it, don't let them drag you down to their level, etc, etc. I find being a Spiritualist helps in this respect. Because you know they will get their comeuppance in the end, even if you don't do anything about it.

Disposable society

I went to B&Q this evening. I had a list of "last minute" things for the study I needed (a vent grille for the hole in Nikki's chimney breast; a paint scraper for the windows; new hinges for the door; etc) and I thought I'd take the opportunity to stock up on decorating basics that I know I'll need on the next project - white gloss paint; white spirit; sugar soap; stuff like that.

One of the items on my list was a replacement "brush bath." Not sure what this was called originally as I've long ago lost both the instructions and the label, but it was a kidney shaped translucent plastic tub 5-6 inches high with a lid which had two oval soft rubber grommets. These would grip any size of paint brush handle so you could suspend them in the solvent overnight for a really efficient clean. Added to that the bottom of the bath had a couple of dozen tall plastic spikes that you drew the brush across to dislodge the paint and help the solvent reach through all the bristles.

I've had this thing for about 5 years and it was just about the best gadget I ever bought, but for some reason this project has completely knackered it - the spikes bent, the grommets went slack and the insides became totally gunged up with old paint - so I decided to bin it and buy a replacement.

Except there were no replacements to be found.

I worked myself up about this while in the warehouse, thinking about how no-one probably cleans paint brushes any more. They must buy new for every project. (This is certainly the approach our bathroom fitters took because I found all the paint brushes, not to mention rollers and buckets, in the skip after they'd left). This kind of waste really hacks me off (especially when I'm in the kind of mood to be easily hacked off). Makes me think about my old Dad, who as far as I could work out only had a single set of paintbrushes his whole life and looked after them, as he did with all his tools, religiously. After forty years' use they were still as clean and springy as the day he bought them, and had developed that patina of well-used things where they almost become like family friends and using them takes on a pleasure of its own. Like opening up the box of familiar Christmas decorations every December and remembering each one as you take it out and hang it on the tree.

OK maybe I'm getting a little poetic there, but the point is there was no disposable society for my Dad - he looked after his stuff and he brought me up to do the same. Here I was trying to follow his example and bloody B&Q don't sell my brush bath any more!

I needn't have worried. As always, Google is your friend. Although I couldn't find exactly the same model, that's probably because the last five years have seen some developments in brush cleaning technology for the home decorator, so now I have a choice:

The Paint Brush Tub from Stanley, available online at a retail price of just over six quid, plus VAT and postage, holds up to six brushes at a time. Not many details on the first link I found, or indeed on any of the other links. They've all borrowed the same text from each other: "Paint brush tub designed for storing and cleaning up to 6 brushes." One is left to guess at the method, probably similar to what I had before.

The alternative is the Brushdoctor. Not only a much snappier title, this device hits my techie buttons too. It uses a patented method of mixing air and water to "increase the surface tension of the water" (cod science alert!), thus enabling it to suck up more paint from the brush. It does have the environmentally attractive feature that the dirty water (or solvent) is contained and can be disposed of safely, but then so did Stanley's tub.

Basically you pour the solvent in, insert the brush (looks like a similar grommet mechanism as before) to suspend it in the solution and then switch on the attached battery powered pump to inject air into the container making the cleaning solution foam up and penetrate around the bristles, giving a much more thorough cleaning experience.

A little more expensive at £19.99, and it may prove harder to clean out between uses, but I think it's the one for me!

Ankle iron

My ankle's a lot better, thanks for asking. When I woke up most of the pain had gone but it was still really stiff, making driving risky (and still painful). So I elected to take another day off sick and make sure I was fully recovered.

Sitting in the conservatory this afternoon reading the Book Club book for this month (To Kill A Mockingbird) I noticed that the clock chimes have started up again. We have a tower clock just across the road from us which chimes the Westminster variety every quarter-hour from first thing in the morning until about 11pm (can't say I've ever noticed exactly when it stops, but it does).

Since we moved in last October, we had no inkling that the chimes would be suspended over the school summer break, but sure enough they stopped in July and we've really missed them during the summer. It's just another example of the things that add to the richness of life around here though, that quirkiness.

By the time I went to pick Nikki up from work, I had almost complete movement back in the ankle so it's definitely back to work tomorrow for me.

Ankling for sympathy

I've done something to my ankle.

Not exactly sure what, but it's bloody painful. It came on yesterday after my journey to Sheffield but at first I thought it was just aching feet having walked a little further than usual. The ache gradually got worse during the day but even so it wasn't as bad as I've had before from time to time so I pretty much ignored it, even though by the end of the day I was limping quite a lot.

I struggled back to the station making sure I left plenty of time to catch the train, and later across the road to the car park but once I was home I didn't notice it getting any worse during the evening.

This morning was a different story. I woke early - around 4.30am - and couldn't get back to sleep. There was no position where the ankle was comfortable, unless I rested it on my other leg and in that position sleep was well-nigh impossible. In the end I gave up shortly after 6 and got up. As soon as I put my foot on the floor I knew I was going to have trouble putting any weight on it, but of course I had to somehow get to the bathroom! Ow! And then downstairs! Ow! There was obviously no chance of me going back to work today. Not only was I supposed to be in Sheffield again (more walking), I couldn't even drive with this amount of discomfort as I wouldn't trust myself to change gear.

Been resting it all morning and it's a little better. At least I can put my foot on the floor without wincing. At this rate it'll be at least two days before I can return to work. The real mystery is how it happened. I don't remember twisting my foot or ankle and I certainly didn't turn it over. It just started as an ache and got worse.

Book Review: Notes on a Scandal

The book club choice for August, I finished reading this (all but the last two chapters) while we were away in the Cotswolds and then forgot to take it on the train on Tuesday, so irritatingly I couldn't finish it before the meeting. I have since though.

Apparently the film has been given the "Hollywood treatment." The family gets back together and lives happily ever after and the narrator moves on to her next "friend." I hate it when they do this. If I'm ever lucky enough to be published and luckier enough to have my novel made into a movie I'd fight tooth and nail not to have the story bastardised and sweetened to meet the perceived needs of an audience that thrives on a diet of pap and predictability. Not that I think that audience really exists except in the minds of producers and movie moguls.

But I digress. Notes on a Scandal tells the story of a 30-something female teacher - Sheba - who is pursued by an inadequate sweaty mid-teenage schoolboy, convinces herself there is more to him than anyone else can see, and allows herself to succumb to his advances thus risking her family, career and life for several moments of madness. It's told from the POV of another, ostensibly more mature, female staff member at the school who befriends the main character and tries to offer her help and support during and after the crisis.

The writing is first-rate and the book was a rapid, if somewhat uncomfortable read. Zoë Heller crafts a claustrophobic air to the story very well and keeps the tale tripping along the whole time, even though much of it is told in retrospect. You always know where you are in the timeline and the build up to the eventual relationship is very well done - the teacher's arrival at school, her isolation from the rest of the staff, the narrator Barbara's desire to befriend her, her jealousy when Sheba chooses another "unsuitable" staffer as her friend to begin with, the awkwardness of the boy, his embryonic (almost imaginary) artistic flair and the slow but persistent build-up to the relationship are all very realistic.

Where the book falls down for me is when the sexual relationship starts. Even though (apparently) real life protagonists have gone on record that this is exactly how it can happen, for me there was not a sufficiently strong trigger for her to make that decision. She is the adult. OK her marriage is a bit stale, but it's not like she even fancies the lad. Or that he's even fanciable. The way it's written he comes across as barely more than Neanderthal. His first pass, and later ones too, are so clumsy and immature (what else would they be?) that the only realistic response would be to send him packing. And yet she persists in seeing him and eventually "caves in" to his demands.

The behaviour of Barbara too, from this point on, is unlikely. It's not clear whether Barbara is gay, but if she is then clearly she doesn't consciously know she is. But in either case her betrayal of Sheba is unlikely to say the least. She is well aware of the potential impact on Sheba's life. If she loved her, why would she want to punish her? And if she doesn't, why would it matter whether she was having an affair or not?

The rest of the club scored this book quite highly but it only got a 6 from me. The first half was well done but the second half, as I explained, lacked realism for me and on top of that the subject matter made for unpleasant reading to the point where I was glad when it was over.

Breathe easy

...and breathe a sigh of relief too. The painting is finished!

The brasses are back on all the windows, the telephone point box is fitted, all the lights are screwed back up to the ceiling, the woodburning stove has been cleaned off and the floors are all swept. I even hoisted the pressure washer upstairs and hosed down the conservatory roof.

The only jobs remaining are those that can be done after the carpet is fitted and I'll be booking that tomorrow. Then maybe, finally, after all these months, we can take the computers off the dining room table and get back to being civilised!

Today also marks the end (almost) of our cat-sitting for some friends down the road. They've been in Portugal for two weeks and we've been over there twice a day to feed their mog Magic and give her her thyroid pills. She's a sweet little thing and always greets us at the door with a trill and a purr. I'd hate to have to give pills to someone else's cat if they weren't as placid as Magic, but she really is as good as gold.

Second wind...ow

Second coat of Satinwood on the second window today, followed by a complete round of skirting board and door frame. The end is in sight (for this room at least).

After a short break for lunch I busied myself for the rest of the afternoon doing the odd tidying up jobs that always get left for last. Screwing the light fittings back up, refitting a small piece of floor board damaged when the new radiators were fitted, refixing the brasses to the sash windows and making sure there aren't any creaking floorboards.

Tomorrow I'll refit the burglar alarm sensor that was ripped out when the plaster fell off the wall under my window, and fix the box for the telephone point, as well as putting the final touches on the rails of the second window that carry brass (the middle two rails where the two halves of the catch are fixed, and the bottom rail where the lifters are fitted).

Pretty pleased with progress today. I'll be able to book the carpet fitters on Monday.

Friday Five

1. Who never returns your phone calls?
I rarely make phone calls, so there isn't anyone who never returns them :)

2. What was your favorite childhood toy?
Lego. I never had a particularly big set, and back then you never got the variety you do now - there were no little people, animals, coloured "glass" to make cool spaceships, pirate rigs or any of that. It was basically just bricks and cylinders. It was cutting edge innovation when they brought out black, blue and yellow bricks to supplement the standard red and white ones. But even so I had years of fun building spaceships, working out ways to let the "shuttlecraft" dock - sometimes on the wings, sometimes on the front Fireball XL5-style. I would often spend entire weekends happily ensconced in my own small plastic world.

3. Who is the last person you greeted at your door?
Annie. She came round to talk about panto music.

4. Who do you need?
In my private life, Nikki, my daughters and my friends. Professionally, given the way my company works, I've had to learn to fend for myself. The camaraderie and team work of years ago is now a distant memory. We are just assets to be sweated.

5. Do you break hearts or do you have your heart broken?
Both. Sad but true.

Additive Behaviours

The UK Food Standards Agency recently commissioned a study into the effects of food additives on levels of hyperactivity in children. The study has completed and the report was made available today. Not surprisingly it made the headlines and radio news programmes right from the off, since it provides evidence of a strong causal link between the use of food additives (specifically those used to give food strong colours, and when used in combination) and incidence of hyperactive behaviour patterns.

These links have long been suspected, but the FSA has always shied away from imposing a ban on the most likely culprits, claiming it didn't have "sufficient evidence."

ADHD is a modern phenomenon. Pundits argue the toss about whether it has its roots in environmental factors (such as those additives, but also air pollutants, increased electromagnetic activity in the home, widespread availability of violent computer games, etc) or bad parenting, or both. Meanwhile the parents have to put up with unruly, often aggressive and violent children, and children have to put up with being chemically controlled (stunned, more like) through the use of drugs such as Ritalin, use of which has ballooned alarmingly over the last 10-20 years.

Well now the FSA has conclusive evidence from a study they themselves commissioned. So is a ban any nearer? Was that a pig I just saw flying past? On Radio 4 this morning the news presenter tried to tie down an FSA representative to exactly when a ban would be forthcoming. The guy was completely evasive, hiding behind the fact that the required legislation was a European-wide requirement (funny how "Europe" can be used as a shield to hide behind, a bludgeon to beat people with, or an excuse for doing nothing, as the need takes them); that there was a need for due process, and maybe a further need for YET MORE evidence before any moves could be made towards a ban.

I don't understand this.

When new drugs are developed, pharmaceutical companies have to jump through endless hoops for YEARS of trials and tests to prove them safe before they are made available, and even then only a very small percentage of the population will ever be exposed to any remaining risk, because the drugs are only given to people who are suffering from the condition they're intended to address.

Contrast this with food additives, which manufacturers ladle into our food by the bucket load, willy-nilly, are consumed by almost every person in the country, adult or child, and yet the approach taken here is that independent agencies (not manufacturers, note) have to jump through endless hoops for YEARS of trials and tests to prove them HARMFUL before anyone will agree to take them out!

And for the most part, they don't have ANY beneficial effect on our food except to make it more colourful! Can someone explain the sense of that to me?

57 Mini

Saw my first "57" plate today. On a Mini Cooper. Years ago, seeing the first new registration plate of the year was something of an event. In fact I used to "hunt" for them - driving along staring at number plates and even counting how many I saw. That was back in the day when August 1 was the date for the new plate and it only happened once a year.

Nowadays, with two changes of plate per year (March 1 and September 1) somehow it seems more run-of-the-mill. And you can get 5 days into the new registration before you even notice it's around.

Good old British engineering

The Channel Tunnel Rail Link opened today. It links St.Pancras station in London with the UK side of the tunnel.

A marvel of engineering you might think, to allow a train to travel at 186mph, with short bursts of speed over 200mph.

I'm not so excited. The French have had their High-Speed Rail link in place between Paris and the coast since the tunnel opened in 1994, so this "good old British engineering" is only 13 years late. At a cost of almost £6 billion its nett effect is to shave 20 minutes off the journey time between London and Paris.

Is that all? Well worth it. Ah, but, you see you're not looking at the whole picture. Those twenty minutes mean the rail option is now competitive with the flight option, so from the rail company's perspective it really is worth it, since they expect passenger numbers to grow significantly.

Tell that to the commuters in Kent. The HS1 lines pass through the lovely Kent countryside, but they don't actually stop to pick anyone up, so those locals get all the noise and none of the benefit. Well, stopping would reduce the average speed wouldn't it, and defeat the object?

New Vista; same old shit

Despite 30 years' experience I continue to naively hope and expect things to get better as time goes on. Microsoft has just become the latest in a long line of manufacturers to burst that bubble with the execrable Vista.

Yes, I'd heard and read bad things about it, but apart from walking past it a few times in shops I had no real-life, hands-on experience until we finally unpacked and set up Nikki's new PC yesterday afternoon. And then spent the next TEN HOURS trying to get the thing to (a) connect to the Internet; (b) allow her to download her email and (c) talk to the other computers on our home network.

It beggars belief that any system designed (supposedly) to work in a home environment, with novice or apprentice users, should by default be locked down to the point where it doesn't actually work until you've delved into the deepest, darkest configuration settings (which, incidentally, have now been moved into new and unexpected places) and changed a few things around.

The new concepts are not conceptual. The new features are no big feat. And the lock downs need locking up. It looks pretty, but that's really the only good thing I can say about it. I hope I never have to put it on my PC.

Good Morning Voldemort!

Listening to Radio 2 this afternoon while painting the study (what else? I'm on the last window! Yippee!) and Elaine Page's show came on. I say that rather glibly but the truth is I never listen to Radio 2 on a Sunday afternoon, so I wasn't aware until today that she had a show. Well, she does. Has done for three years apparently! She plays, not surprisingly, hits from the Broadway and West End musicals, and also from the big musical movies.

Concentrating on my painting, I wasn't really listening to her intros and as we all know, strange things happen to me when I'm not paying attention to sounds in my vicinity. It was with some surprise that I suddenly became aware of a woman's voice belting out the chorus to her number: "Good Morning Voldemort!" she shouted.

"Blimey!" I thought in utter amazement, "that was quick! I didn't even realise they'd written a Harry Potter musical. They've only just got round to doing Lord of the Rings!"

Then reality caught up with me and I started to engage my brain. This can't be a Harry Potter musical - I must have misheard. Sure enough the chorus came around for a second time...

"Good Morning Baltimore!"

(From the movie Hairspray, apparently).

Can I stop painting yet?

Forgot to mention yesterday that after paying for the PC, we were trundled over to a man with a clipboard who had to book the stock out of the shop for some reason. I guess it's probably a security thing. Thought I'd mention to him that I had one reserved so he could release it.

"Oh that's OK," he smiled, "those reservations are automatically cancelled after 24 hours." Huh? So because Nikki had made the reservation on Tuesday, if the offer hadn't still been current in the store, we would have lost out! Great system.

Today was mainly another painting day in the study. Second coat on my window; and finishing the first coat on skirting that I'd given up on on Bank Holiday Monday. What with that, and the fact that Nikki had a streaming cold, we didn't get around to unpacking the new PC today. Amazing eh? A year ago that would have been at the top of the priority list!